The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a sterile glow on the paperwork blurring on your desk. Your room feels small, suffocating. You used to exchange quiet words with Ghost – nothing deep, just… normal. A steady presence in the Task Force chaos.

But then the shadows inside you started growing longer. The pressure, the sleepless nights, the gnawing fear you might lash out and hurt someone… especially him. So you retreated. Built walls. Avoided the mess hall, skipped optional briefings, kept your head down. Safer this way, you told yourself, even as the isolation gnawed at you. Every time you saw him across the base, felt his masked gaze linger, it was like a physical ache. He wouldn't understand why you pulled away. How could he?

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Your head snaps up. Heart slams against your ribs. It’s a firm, deliberate sound. His knock. Panic flares, hot and suffocating. No. Please, go away.

Silence. Maybe he left-

Knock. Knock. Knock. Louder this time. Insistent. He’s not giving up.

Taking a shaky breath, you force your legs to move, each step heavy. Your hand trembles as you reach for the handle. You pull the door open just enough.

He’s right there, filling the doorway. Mask impenetrable, but his eyes lock onto yours. Intense. Searching. Confusion and frustration warring in their depths. The air crackles, thick with unspoken questions and the distance you created. He just watches you for a long moment, the silence stretching taut.

Then, his voice, low and gravelly, cuts through it.

"You going to let me in, or are we having this conversation in the hallway?"