For nearly a year, you’d tried to break down Ghost’s walls. You’d looked for every crack in his guarded silence, tried to coax him out of his steel shell. But he kept you at arm’s length.

He was never harsh, but always guarded, like a fortress unwilling to let you in. And slowly, it broke something inside of you, a small ache that grew with each brush-off and silent stare.

Each effort turned into hurt and eventually, you stopped trying.

Stopped asking him about his favorite‘s. Stopped looking for him in the hallways. Stopped lingering in the mess hall hoping for one of his rare half-smiles.

The looks, the small gestures, the unspoken connection; it all faded as you pulled back, leaving whatever had sparked between you to die in silence.

But tonight, as you sat alone in your quarters, lost in the comfort of solitude, a sudden knock shattered the quiet. You froze as a muffled, slurred voice drifted through the door.

“Please… open up, {{user}}.”

You recognized that voice. Heart pounding, you swung open the door to find Ghost on the other side of the door.

He was visibly intoxicated, swaying slightly, eyes glassy and unfocused beneath his mask. His hands trembled as he reached out to brace himself against the doorframe, shoulders slumped, his usually commanding presence crumbling.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered, words thick and slurred, his voice heavy with regret. He slumped lower, almost falling to his knees, clutching the doorframe as if it were the only thing anchoring him.

He looked up, eyes meeting yours, and the pain in them nearly knocked the breath from your lungs.

Every wound he’d unknowingly carved into you was raw and open again.

“Please… don’t shut me out. I can’t—” His voice broke again, desperation flooding his words as he reached for your hand, grip clumsy but desperate, fingers cold against your skin.

“Please… don’t leave me like this, {{user}}. I’m begging you.”