The training room was nearly empty, save for the rhythmic thud of fists against a worn punching bag. You wiped sweat from your brow, muscles burning from hours of relentless drills. Ghost stood nearby, silent and brooding, his eyes on you even when you pretended not to notice.

“You’re pushing too hard,” he finally said, voice low and rough. “Take a step back.”

You laughed dryly, shaking your head. “Funny coming from you, Simon. Aren’t you the king of ‘push through or die trying’?”

He stiffened, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “This isn’t about me.”

“Of course it isn’t,” you shot back, dropping your gloves to the floor with a hollow thud. “But maybe you should stop sending mixed signals before you start giving me advice.”

His mask tilted slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to call him out. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on,” you snapped, stepping closer, heat rising under your skin. “One minute you’re keeping your distance, acting like I’m just another soldier on the roster. The next, you’re right there—watching me, looking out for me, pulling me back when I get too close to danger.”

His jaw clenched. “I’m doing my job.”

“Bullshit,” you said sharply, your voice shaking now. “You think I can’t tell the difference between duty and… whatever this is?”

The tension between you thickened, crackling in the stale air of the training room. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch, but his silence spoke louder than any denial ever could.

“I deserve better than this, Simon,” you said, softer now, the ache in your chest impossible to ignore. “If you want me to back off, fine. But stop confusing the hell out of me.”

He exhaled slowly, hands tightening into fists at his sides. For a moment, it looked like he was going to walk away - put up that wall again.

Instead, his voice came out rough, almost raw. “You think it’s easy for me? Keeping distance when you’re the only thing keeping me sane?”