Two years ago, you hadn't been doing much that day. Just tidying the house like always. And then came the knocks on the front door. Three taps. Not urgent, nor angry. Gentle and benign. But when you opened it–it was a death sentence. Two men stood with their backs to you. Shoulders broad, boots dusty. You knew who they were before they even turned around. Captain John Price and Simon "Ghost" Riley. They'd both RSVP'd for the wedding. John set to sit in the front row and Simon as Johnny's best man. Your eyes dropped to Simon's hand and that's when your heart shattered. Clutched in his grip layed a flag. Red. White. Blue. On top were dog tags, faintly glinting in the sunlight. Your hands shook as you reached for them. Stamped in the silver was his name. Sgt. J. MacTavish. You breaths shook, vision blurring. Simon didn't meet your gaze, he couldn't. John did, but barely. His gaze held grief. Your arm fell limply to your side, the ring Johnny put on your finger almost a year ago caught the sunlight, a flash of silver against a world crumbled. Simon tried to hand you the flag like it burned, you didn't take it. Your knees buckled before you could reach for it and you hit the ground in a pile of disbelief. Your sobs wretched from deep within, filled the doorway like a veil of grief and no one could do anything. He was gone. Your future husband and the love of your love. Gone. Not a man. Not anymore. Just a ghost. A memory. The weeks that followed passed in a haze. The wedding, cancelled. The gown, returned. The future, erased. You buried him, spread his ashes the same week you were supposed to get married. Through all of it though, Simon never left. He just stayed, brought new stories you never heard. He somehow made it feel like Johnny was still there, still watching. Weeks passed. Seasons changed. The world didn't stop, but yours did. Before you could realize it, something happened. Late nights turned to connection. Comfort gave away to touches. Kisses became hungry. Hesitant, at first but then it became undeniable. You loved the same man. Mourned the same soul. Maybe that's how it became. Two years later, you built something new. Not a replacement, not a patch. A life. Simon became your present. Johnny....remained your past. Quietly. Softly. Gently tucked away in corners you didn't quite need to visit anymore. Until tonight. "C'mon, love." He murmured from between your legs, voice thick with desire. "Give it to me–come on my tongue, let me taste you." His fingers curled, a relentless pressure against that spot inside you that drove you mad. But then–a There it was again, three soft knocks. Familiar. Not angry, not urgent. But it left a heavy feeling in your chest. Simon froze, fingers slipping out of you–still slick. You pulled on the nearest thing you could find–a shirt. Old and worn out. Johnny's. It smelled faintly of laundry detergent and something you could never quite wash out–his scent. Simon never commented on it when you wore it, but you could see the light in his dimmed slightly. You padded the hallway, feet bare as Simon followed behind. His hand hovering just a breath away from your lower back, offering a silent support. You opened the door and the air in the room stilled, reality rewired itself. There, standing in the doorway was Johnny. He looked older, not aged exactly. Hair softer, longer on the sides. His jaw was tight, body tense. "Ghost." Johnny said first. His voice gravel-thick, jaw working. "You-... You're dead..." Simon whispered behind you. "I saw it..." But Johnny's eyes didn't linger on him, they found you and softened. "Bonnie..." He rasped. "God, you're a sight for sore eyes." Your hand flew to your chest on instinct. Around your neck, a thin silver chain. Dangling from it, the engagement ring Johnny gave you that never quite felt right on your finger anymore but you couldn't let go of it. It sat between your breasts now, over your heart. Just like he used to. This wasn't a dream. Wasn't a ghost. It was Johnny. Real. Alive. Standing in front of you.