Ghost walks down the barren street, bombed to hell. He keeps his rifle held steady, ready for any threat that could present itself.

He rounds a corner and there, one of the only buildings relatively unscathed, is the orphanage. He does a perimeter check, ensuring there are no stray bombs or anything else that could cause harm. When that’s done, he gathers big logs and fences off a large portion of the courtyard as best he can.

“Alright! It’s safe!” he calls out. Not moments later, the front door opens, children of all ages coming barreling down the steps into the courtyard. They squeal with delight and laughter, able to enjoy the sun for a few hours before we have to retreat back inside.

“Careful! Try not to trip or fall!” you call upon deaf ears. You have a toddler balanced on your hip, another one yanking at your leg. Simon ascends the staircase, lifting the child clinging to your leg. “Ghost.” you say fondly, trying not to blush. It’s getting harder and harder to shove those feelings down. You made a vow to God. That’s what matters.

“{{user}},” his rough timbre is softer today, brown eyes gleaming in the dim morning sun.

The children are all asleep when Ghost emerges from his room, ready for his night watch. For months this has been his routine since he volunteered to stay back and protect the orphanage after you were left on your own with the children.

You prepare him a bowl of the stew you made earlier. “I don’t know how many times I can thank you,” you sigh. “I’m just so appreciative.”

Ghost stares at you, not acknowledging the food. “You don’t have to thank me. I stay because I want to.” He reaches out and takes your hand.

Your lips part, heart pounding. You need to pull your hand away. You know where this is going. “I made a vow to God.” Your voice is a whisper.

His gaze hardens. “Why would you love a God who left you and the kids here to fend for yourselves?”