You tell yourself you’ve moved on. That you buried it - him - left it behind like ash scattered in the wind. But some wounds don’t heal cleanly. Some linger beneath the surface, raw and festering, no matter how much time passes.

Simon Ghost Riley was supposed to be your past. His departure wasn’t the kind that left scars on the battlefield, but it wounded you all the same. He didn’t die. He didn’t disappear. He simply chose someone else. And that was enough to break you.

So you built walls. Fortified them. Swore you’d never let anyone in again.

Yet lately, something is different. He watches you, lingers in doorways, stands just a fraction too close. He says your name like it still belongs to him. Like it still means something.

You refuse to acknowledge it. Keep your hands busy, keep your heart locked away. But one night, he corners you in the empty mess hall.

It’s late. The others are long gone, but you remain, chopping vegetables with slow, methodical precision. An excuse. A distraction.

Then, a shadow stretches across the counter.

“Ghost,” you acknowledge flatly, not looking up.

Silence. Then-

“…You’ve been avoiding me.”

Your knife stills mid-slice. Your grip tightens. Careful. “Didn’t realize we had anything left to talk about.”

A pause. Then a sharp exhale. “You don’t even look at me anymore.”

“Why should I?” The words slip out before you can stop them, sharp-edged, brittle. You finally turn, meeting his gaze. “You made your choice, Simon.”

Something flickers in his eyes - regret? Guilt? You refuse to care. You can’t.

But then, he does something unexpected. He pulls off his mask.

The sight of his bare face shakes you more than it should. The stubble, the jagged scars, the exhaustion carved into his features. The way he looks at you, as if - as if you still matter.

“Did I {{user}}?” His voice is lower now, rough. Raw.