Ghost's eyes narrowed beneath the dark shadow of his mask as he watched {{user}}—his girlfriend and fellow soldier in Task Force 141—abruptly exit the rec room the moment he walked in. His heavy boots had barely crossed the threshold before she was gone, her posture stiff, movements clipped, and face turned away.

He had come looking for a quiet moment with her—something rare and precious, especially after the holiday leave. They’d spent Christmas with her family, a rare softness breaking through his usual stoicism. But ever since returning to base, it was as if he no longer existed in her world.

They shared a room, and he was her superior officer. Proximity and duty should have ensured interaction. Yet she barely spoke to him now. No casual remarks. No stolen glances. Just silence, cold and impenetrable.

Even when he pushed past his own walls and offered to take her out—a rare gesture from someone like him—she brushed it off, claiming she was busy. No smile. No explanation. Just distance.

And that distance gnawed at him.

Something was wrong. He could feel it in the pit of his gut, a slow, twisting dread that tightened with every passing day. This wasn’t just about space. This was avoidance—deliberate, calculated. And it wasn’t like her.

Later that night, when he clocked out and returned to their shared quarters, the tension was still there, thick and suffocating. The barracks were dim, lit only by the low glow of a desk lamp and the faint hum of base activity beyond the door.

He closed the door behind him with a soft click, locking it. The metal latch slid into place like the sealing of a vault.

{{user}} was by the dresser, halfway through changing into her clothes for the night. Ghost crossed the room silently, his steps measured and heavy with intent. When he reached her, he gently took hold of her forearms—calloused hands firm but careful—and turned her to face him.

Her expression flickered—guarded, unreadable—but he held her gaze.

“Look, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and rough with concern, “I know you. And you’ve been avoiding me like I’m some fucking disease.”

He paused, eyes scanning her face for the smallest sign—an expression, a flicker, anything that might slip past the cold composure she’d wrapped herself in like armor.

“If I’ve done something—if I’ve pissed you off—you need to tell me, {{user}},” he said quietly, his voice rough with restrained frustration. “Maybe I’ve been around you too long. You’re starting to go cold like me.”

It was a weak attempt at humor, a subtle prod meant to coax even the smallest smile from her lips.

But it landed with a hollow thud.