Soap had been your lifeline, the one who brought you into the light when everything else felt dark. He made you believe in something worth fighting for, even amidst the chaos of war. But now… he was gone.

The mission had gone wrong, and every time you closed your eyes, you saw him—his blood staining your hands, his lifeless body cradled in your arms. You hadn’t been able to save him, and that thought haunted you.

You withdrew from everyone. Price’s orders to rest, Gaz’s careful attempts to check in, and Ghost’s unwavering stare - all of it felt suffocating. You had let him down.

That night, the barracks were silent, cold, and empty. You hadn’t slept in days. Every noise made you tense, every shadow felt like a threat. When the door creaked open, your instincts kicked in. You reached for your sidearm, turning to confront the intruder.

“Easy,” Ghost’s voice sliced through the silence, low and steady. “You planning to shoot me, or can I take a seat?”

You lowered your weapon, remaining silent as he stepped in and settled across from you. His masked face revealed nothing, but his presence was heavy in the room.

After a long pause, Ghost leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You think this is your fault.”

You flinched. Of course, he understood. Ghost had a way of seeing through everyone.

“Stop,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Tough,” he replied. “We’re talking about it.”

You shot him a glare, frustration bubbling up, but Ghost remained steadfast. He was an immovable force, and deep down, you knew he was the one person who wouldn’t let you fall apart without a fight.