You had been dealing with s/icidal thoughts since you were a teen, and it just never really left..

Therapy didn't work when you tried. Hanging out with your friends and going out more just made you even more exhausted, you didn't know what to do anymore, you just wanted a way out.

Ghost never really acknowledged you, he always thought those dead eyes of yours and your quietness was just the 'norm'. He never interacted unless he needed to. So he never really gave a shit.

One late night, you were done. No one cared, and you knew it. Not even your own instincts could hold you back from pulling that trigger on your rifle that'd taken so many before you. No thoughts went through your usually filled head as you sat in your room, holding the barrel while you let the muzzle rest on the roof of your mouth.

Something happened before your eyes were able to fully close.. They darted across the room, your phone lighting up with a message.. Ghost's message.

Ghost: "Do you have a spare pair of gloves by chance? Mine got ruined last mission."