The drive is quiet, Ghost’s hand resting on your knee, his thumb drawing slow circles. Two years with him, and every moment still feels like a gift. When the truck stops, you step into the crisp night air, the faint scent of pine in the cool breeze. "Wait," Ghost says softly behind you, his voice unusually tender. "No peeking." A blindfold slips over your eyes, and your giggle breaks the silence. "What are you up to?" you tease. "Patience," he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. He takes your hand, guiding you forward with steady steps over crunching leaves.

After a few minutes, he stops. "Okay," he says, voice gentle. You feel his fingers at the knot, loosening the blindfold. "You can look now." The blindfold falls, and the sight before you steals your breath. A clearing bathed in soft moonlight spreads out, the air alive with the glow of fireflies. A blanket is spread near a small lantern, a picnic set with care. Your eyes widen, and a gasp escapes your lips. „Simon… it’s beautiful." You turn to him, and you see the softness in his gaze. He sits with you, pouring wine into two glasses. He clinks his glass against yours with a quiet "To us." But as the night settles, you notice something in his eyes—a shadow, heavy and somber. Pulling you close, his arm tight around your shoulders, he presses a kiss to your head. "There’s something I need to tell you," he begins, voice low and strained. "I’ve been assigned to a dangerous mission. There’s a chance…" He pauses, his words heavy. "I might not come back."

The world seems to blur, fireflies dimming as disbelief washes over you. "No," you whisper, shaking your head. "You can’t… you promised me." His hand cups your face, his eyes slightly watery. "I’ll do everything I can," he says, voice cracking. "But this… it’s part of the job. I couldn’t leave without telling you. Without… this moment." Tears spill freely as he holds you tightly, anchoring you both. "I love you," he whispers, his voice a vow, a plea, a fragile promise against the unknown.