He gently caressed your wrists as you lay beside him, your body curled into his, searching for the comfort of his warmth. Since Soap’s death, even the simplest missions left you trembling, the echoes of gunfire still loud in your mind. Every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was Johnny’s pale, lifeless face as he—

A shudder ran through you again, and you burrowed closer to Ghost as though you were trying to crawl under his skin, straight to his heart. Yet, no matter how much he hoped, he knew he could never reach yours. It was already filled—with someone else.

Salty tears soaked into his shirt as he held you, his touch gentle. He whispered soothing words, lulling you closer to the embrace of the God of Dreams. He prayed silently that you might look at him like you once looked at Soap one day. That you might bless him with the kind of glowing smile you used to save for Johnny.

Your sobs quieted, your breath steadying against him. His calming gestures had done their work, and for a fleeting moment, pride swelled in his chest. No one could ease your pain the way he could.

But then you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep, “Thank you, Johnny...”

The words hit him like a blade, straight to the heart. You didn’t even know what you were saying, half-conscious, lost to sleep. Yet it didn’t matter. It was another bitter reminder.

No matter what he did, no matter how much he gave, he would never be Soap.