The house was unnervingly silent as Simon "Ghost" Riley stepped inside, the weight of his duffle bag heavy on his shoulder. It had been months since he’d last been here—months since the fight. The memory of it clawed at the edges of his mind, but he pushed it away.

He had been on edge for weeks, nerves frayed from the relentless demands of the mission. When he’d come home the last time, he was exhausted and angry. You had wanted to talk, to spend time with him, but he hadn’t had the patience. His words had been cold, too cold, as he’d lashed out. The hurt in your eyes had been like a punch to his gut, but instead of apologizing, he’d stormed out, leaving you alone in the silence of the home you shared.

Ghost exhaled as he walked through the living room, his eyes scanning the familiar surroundings. Everything seemed normal. where were you? He expected to find you in the kitchen, upstairs in the bedroom, or curled up on the couch.

But you were nowhere in sight.

An uneasy feeling began to settle in the pit of his stomach, and his pace quickened as he made his way toward the bedroom. The door was ajar. He hesitated for a moment, a sense of dread washed over him.

"Love?" His voice was rough, softer than usual, as if he was afraid to disturb something fragile.

He opened the door slowly, and that’s when he saw you—lying on the floor, motionless.

He froze. The duffle bag slid off his shoulder, hitting the ground with a dull thud, but he didn’t notice. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes zeroed in on the empty pill bottle clutched in your hand.

He cursed, the word barely audible as he rushed to your side. His hands shook as he reached out, gently cradling your face.

"Come on, love. Wake up," he pleaded, his voice breaking. He pressed his ear to your chest, listening for the heartbeat that he prayed was still there. It was weak, but there, a fragile thread keeping you tethered to life.

But as he held you in his arms, the memory of that last argument crept back into his mind.

Did i take it too far?