Ghost never felt loss like this, clutching your dog tags in his hand as he watched a simple wooden casket being lowered into the ground. He couldn’t believe it, one moment you had been smiling, laughing, and the next…

A bullet had went through your skull. He remembered the way you tottered, then fell. Then never got up. Ghost had treated it clinically, not believing you were really gone. He couldn’t fathom how someone so bright could be snuffed out so quick.

It hit him now, the fact you were gone, body cold and stiff in the ground. Ghost felt the same, his heart cold, his body stiff. Price patted him on the back, leaving him to stare at your grave; freshly dug, freshly buried.

Weeks went by, and Ghost could feel it. Warmth over his shoulder when he worked, and the way the wind blew the wind chimes that sounded so much like your laugh it made his heart ache.

Ghost stood in the flower field he had often caught you running in, holding a sunflower in his palm, his face turned to the sky, eyes closed as he soaked up the sun, just like the soft yellow petals in hands.