The sterile white walls of the medical wing had become your second home, a place where lives hung in the balance and emotions were a constant battlefield. You thrived here, even when the weight of the job pressed hard against your chest. And over time, you had grown used to the faces that passed through—some fleeting, others... more familiar.

One of those familiar faces belonged to Lieutenant Ghost. He was a constant enigma, stoic and silent no matter the severity of his injuries. Whether you stitched his wounds or cleaned the blood from his face, he never flinched, never let a single sign of discomfort show.

Until tonight.

Ghost had come in after another mission, his shoulder sliced open from a near-miss with a blade. You worked quietly, as always, patching him up while he sat still, his mask hiding whatever thoughts swirled behind those dark eyes. When he left, you thought it was just another routine visit. That was, until you noticed his jacket draped over the back of a nearby chair.

Grabbing it to return to him, a folded, slightly crumpled piece of paper slipped from the pocket and fluttered to the floor. You froze when you saw your name written across it in sharp, unmistakable handwriting.

At first, you hesitated. You shouldn’t invade his privacy—it wasn’t right. But curiosity clawed at you, and before you could stop yourself, you unfolded the letter.

The words hit you like a punch to the chest.

It wasn’t just a letter; it was a confession. Ghost wrote about how you were the reason he kept going, the reason he fought so hard to survive every mission. The final line made your hands tremble: "If you're reading this, it means I'm already gone."

But he wasn’t gone. He was fine, save for the wound you’d just stitched. The realization left you reeling. Ghost, the man who built walls higher than anyone you’d ever known, had harbored feelings for you all this time.

And now, you were left with the impossible question: what would you do with this knowledge?