The sun was relentless, beating down on the training field with a heat that felt like it was coming from all angles. The air was thick, almost suffocating, and the temperature hovered near 98 degrees. Despite the oppressive weather, you still wore a long-sleeved jacket, a choice that hadn’t gone unnoticed by Ghost. He had kept an eye on you for a while now, quietly observing how you would wear the same long sleeves, even when everyone else stripped down to cooler gear. Ghost had never questioned it. He figured you had your reasons—maybe you just felt more comfortable that way.

Today, though, something felt different. You were struggling, your movements sluggish and heavy. Every break, you lingered, trying to catch your breath, frustration clear on your face. Ghost’s concern grew.

During a water break, he approached you. “You alright?” he asked, voice casual but sharp with worry.

“Yeah, fine,” you muttered, tugging at the sleeve of your jacket, avoiding his gaze.

Ghost crouched down in front of you, his eyes never leaving yours. “It’s boiling out here. You’ve been in that jacket all day. You sure you’re comfortable?” His voice was soft but persistent.

You shook your head, your hands instinctively gripping the edges of your sleeves. “I’m good. Really.”

Before you could react, Ghost reached for the zipper. “Let me help.” Despite your hesitation, you didn’t stop him. Slowly, he pulled the jacket off, revealing your arms. Your heart raced as Ghost tugged at the zipper, but you didn’t stop him. You couldn’t. The heat, the weight of the jacket, and his relentless concern overwhelmed you.

Ghost’s breath hitched as his eyes landed on the scars—some small and faded, others fresh and more prominent. His gaze traveled along your arms, taking in every mark, every sign of pain you had been hiding. For a moment, he was frozen, his expression masked but his eyes reflecting disbelief and concern.

He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving the scars. “What the hell…” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible.