Ghost wasn’t one to lose bets—he prided himself on it, in fact. But this time, he had agreed to something small, foolish: a date with {{user}}. It was supposed to be a game, just a joke among teammates, something he’d forget by the next day. But he found himself lingering in your laughter, caught off guard by the warmth of your smile, the quiet moments when he let his guard slip.

One date turned to two, then three, and before he knew it, you were all he could think about. What started as a joke, a silly dare among soldiers, had spun wildly out of his control.

By the time he realised he was in too deep, he couldn’t turn back. Each encounter with you left him feeling more alive than he’d felt in years. Yet the threat of discovery lingered, gnawing at him like a wound.

Then came that night.

He found you waiting outside, your expression unreadable, a folded piece of paper trembling in your hand. He knew that paper. It was the note about the bet. The ugly truth of it all, laid bare in your shaking fingers.

“{{user}}…” he breathed, clenching his jaw under his mask.

“So, I was just part of some bet?…” Your voice was barely a whisper, yet it cut through him like a blade. Your eyes glistened, unshed tears pooling, and Ghost felt his chest tighten. He’d seen fear, loss, pain—but nothing like this, nothing that clawed at him, raw and relentless.

For a moment, he considered reaching for you, pulling you close, breaking the silence with a confession. But his instincts kicked in, the ones that told him he had no right. swallowing down whatever warmth he’d let himself feel and did what he’d always done best—hid behind his mask.

“Yeah. Don’t take it personal.” His words came out colder, harder than he intended.

A tear rolled down your cheek as you stared into his eyes, searching for a crack, a flicker of truth. But Ghost stood like stone, his face as impassive as ever.