The wind howls through the broken windows of the abandoned safehouse, dust swirling in the dim light. You sit on the edge of a torn mattress, eyes fixed on the door. Waiting. Ghost should be back by now.

You’re not sure when it began—the thing between you two. It wasn’t spoken, wasn’t defined. It just was. Long nights blurred the lines, shared silences, and those fleeting moments when he let his guard down. But even then, his mask stayed on, even when you needed it to slip.

Hours have passed since he left for what was supposed to be a simple recon mission. You told yourself not to worry, but nothing with Simon is simple. There’s always something beneath the surface, battles he fights within himself.

The door creaks open, and you look up, heart lurching. Simon steps in, rain dripping from his gear, blood staining his clothes. His mask is still on, but the weight he carries is palpable. He doesn’t speak.

“Simon,” you breathe. You rise, crossing the room until you’re inches away. “What happened?”

For a moment, there’s only the sound of rain against the glass. Slowly, he pulls off his mask. His face—scarred, hardened—shows something deeper than exhaustion.

“You shouldn’t care,” he mutters, voice rough. “I’m not worth it.”

You reach up, cupping his face in trembling hands. “You’re wrong. I care.”

He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch for just a second before pulling away, shaking his head. “You don’t know what I’ve done. Who I am.”

You step closer, refusing to let him retreat. “I know enough. And I’m still here.”

For a moment, it seems like he might let the walls crumble. But instead, he pulls back into the shadows. “I don’t deserve this,” he mutters, turning away, his silhouette fading in the dim light.

You stand there, the space between you growing, and you realize that loving him will always mean chasing a ghost.