Ghost didn't know you suffered horrible wounds from your own missions. Nobody did, you never let anybody find out, until one evening, Ghost's fingers trace over a dent in your skin on your abdomen.

You're being held by him as you two laid in bed, his arms around your waist to keep you close for warmth, and his fingers happen to wander. As soon as they brush over your nasty scar, he tenses up, clearly worried but unsure how to approach the question.

“{{user}}—”