The mission had gone sideways. Intel was bad, extraction was blown, and before either of you could make a break for it, you and Ghost were dragged into enemy hands.

Days blurred together—interrogation, sleepless nights, and the kind of “light” torture that left you aching in every breath. You’d both been through hell before, but this felt different. You’d been close once, painfully close—the kind of bond where you didn’t have to speak to be understood. But when Ghost got promoted to lieutenant, something shifted. He grew colder, more cocky, as if the mask wasn’t just for the field anymore. You drifted.

It wasn’t hate between you… but it wasn’t home anymore either. It didn't feel natural anymore.

The cell stank of rust and damp concrete. The single overhead bulb buzzed like it was on its last breath, swaying slightly with every footstep from the guards outside.

You sat slumped against the wall, one arm shackled above your head, the chain biting at raw wrists. Every breath scraped your ribs. The blood on your temple had long since dried, crusted into your hair.

Across from you, Ghost sat in the same position—wrists chained, ankles locked—his mask still in place, though it was torn at the edge, dirt and dried blood marring the skull. He looked worse for wear, but not nearly as bad as you.

For a while, there was only silence. Not the comfortable kind you used to share, back when the two of you had been inseparable—the other kind. Taut. Brittle. Every second stretching too far. Finally, his voice broke it. Low. Flat. “You’re breathing funny.”

You didn’t even look up. “You’re observant.”

“Cracked rib?”

“You want a gold star for guessing?”

There was a pause. A faint shift of his boot against the floor. “Not exactly the time to be a smartass.”

You laughed—or maybe it was just a cough. “What is it then? Time for you to sit there and pretend you're untouchable?”

His gaze sharpened, even through the mask. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, chained up same as me. What’s your point?”

“That I’d like you still breathing when we get out of here.” It came out harsh, but there was an edge under it you knew too well—the one he tried to bury.

You met his stare then, searching for… something. You didn’t find it. “You care now?”

His shoulders shifted, the faintest twitch of irritation. “Never stopped caring, {{user}}. Just got better at hiding it.”

You almost asked why, but your pride tasted too bitter on your tongue. The sound of boots in the hallway cut through the moment. Ghost’s eyes flicked toward the door, then back to you. The tension didn’t break. If anything, it coiled tighter, all the things unsaid between you hanging in the damp air.