You and Simon had been at each other’s throats since the debrief ended.

The air in the barracks felt too tight, too suffocating. The mission had gone wrong—horribly wrong. You had slipped from your assigned position for just a few seconds. Just long enough for the ambush to hit. Just long enough for Sarah—one of Ghost’s closest friends in Task Force 141—to be caught in the crossfire.

She hadn’t made it.

And now the silence between you and Ghost felt heavier than the gunfire had.

You were the first to break it.

“Do you give a shit about me or not, Ghost?!” you snapped, your voice cracking as it echoed off the concrete walls.

Ghost stood rigid, mask hiding everything but his eyes. Even those were guarded. Cold. Or maybe just tired.

“Of course I do,” he said, voice low and controlled.

“Then what are you so afraid of?!” you demanded, stepping closer. “What is it, huh? That I’ll end up like her? That I’ll get myself killed?”

He didn’t answer.

He just looked past you like he hadn’t heard a thing.

That hurt more than if he’d yelled.

“I’m not her, you know,” you said, quieter now but no less intense. “Price told me about Sarah.”

That got his attention.

His head snapped toward you, dark eyes locking onto yours with a sharpness that made your breath hitch.

“No,” he warned. “Don’t say another word.”

You swallowed but didn’t back down.

You were tired of walking on eggshells around his grief. Tired of feeling like a ghost yourself whenever her name hovered unspoken between you.

You exhaled shakily. “I’ve lost people too.”

His jaw tightened beneath the mask.

“You have no idea what loss is,” he said flatly.

The words felt like a slap.

Your chest tightened, and before you could stop yourself, everything spilled out.

“Everybody I’ve ever cared about has either died or left me,” you said, voice trembling with anger and something dangerously close to breaking. “Everybody. Fucking. Everybody.”

You shoved him—not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make him take a step back. Hard enough to make him look at you.

“Except for you,” you finished, your voice cracking despite your best effort. “So don’t stand there and tell me I’d be safer with somebody else. Don’t tell me to transfer, or to sit out missions, or whatever the hell you’re planning.”

Your hands were shaking now.

“The truth is,” you whispered, eyes burning, “I wouldn’t feel safer without you. I’d just be more scared.”

The confession hung between you, raw and exposed.

For a moment, Ghost didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Then his shoulders dropped—just slightly. Enough that you noticed.

“You think I don’t know that?” he said quietly, the roughness in his voice no longer hidden behind command. “You think I push you away because I don’t care?”

He stepped closer this time.

“I push you because I do.”

His hand twitched at his side like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t trust himself to.

“I watched Sarah bleed out in my arms,” he continued, voice tight. “I told myself I wouldn’t let it happen again. Not to someone under my watch.”

His gaze softened—just barely.

“Not to you.”

The anger in your chest faltered, replaced by something heavier. Something that hurt in a different way.

“I’m not something you can lock away to keep safe,” you said softly. “I chose this. I chose this team. I chose you.”

Silence again—but this time it wasn’t suffocating.

It was fragile.

“You don’t get to decide for me what I can survive,” you added. “And you don’t get to carry everything alone.”

Ghost stood there for a long moment, staring down at you like he was memorizing your face.

Then, finally—

“You’re bloody stubborn,” he muttered.

Despite everything, a weak breath of laughter escaped you.

“Learned from the best.”

For the first time that night, his hand did reach out—hesitant, almost uncertain—resting briefly against your arm. Solid. Real.

“I can’t lose you,” he admitted, barely above a whisper.

Your throat tightened.

“Then don’t push me away,” you replied just as softly. “Stand with me.”

His grip tightened slightly.