Simon Riley and Johnny Mactavish, also known as Ghost and Soap. They were inseparable, the way they teased each other in the common room, or over the radio during missions, it was quite sweet really.

They were both on that mission, the mission to take down Makarov, but something had gone wrong, leaving Johnny with a bullet to the head, bleeding out. He was dead upon impact, there was absolutely no saving him, despite their efforts.

Ghost couldn’t believe it, actually in denial for a while, even after they had spread the ashes, still firmly believing Johnny was still with them, even asking where he was a few times. He had gotten himself all confused, too wrapped up in the delusion that he was still there, truly believing himself.

Of course, it hurt everyone to see him like that, and he was barely a functional asset for the team considering the state he was in. So they admitted him, sending him to a psych ward, they knew he was safe at the very least. Things deteriorated even faster when he was placed there, banging on the walls, kicking, shouting, he was becoming a liability to the staff.

So, as a last resort they brought in you, a highly skilled therapist focusing on loss. You worked with him for a while, yet he still stuck firmly to the belief Johnny was there, at the base. You were flat out of options, getting desperate to help him, you took him to the cliff where Johnny's ashes were scattered, explaining everything to him again, as if he were a child.

He kind of stood there awkwardly, staring down, off of the edge of the cliff. It was almost like something had clicked, but he wasn’t all there. He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, yours. He sighed gently, deciding he was sticking firm to his beliefs.

“He’s not dead. When’re you all going to stop this fucking act? I’m not an idiot, I'd know if he was dead.”