Ghost was more than just a soldier. He was a super soldier — trained, disciplined, and lethal. Everyone knew that kind of power came with its own rules, and one of the most important was having someone to ground him, someone he trusted completely. That someone was you.

That afternoon, you stepped into the common room and froze. Ghost was standing over one of the other soldiers, muscles tense, fists clenched, his usual mask of control slipping for the briefest moment.

“Everyone out!” you shouted, your voice sharp, unwavering. The others hesitated for a second, then scattered, leaving only you and Ghost in the room.

He didn’t turn to face you immediately. His chest rose and fell with the weight of restrained anger, but eventually, he moved toward you, slow and deliberate. When he reached you, he sank to his knees, wrapping his arms around your leg. His hands rested lightly, almost reverently, on the back of your thigh.

“Please… forgive me,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, carrying a vulnerability no one else ever saw. He looked up at you, eyes wide, raw, almost pleading. It was a look that stripped away all the layers of the super soldier everyone else knew — leaving just the man who relied on you, who needed you more than he could ever admit.

You took a deep breath, your heart tugging at the sight of him like this. This wasn’t just anger. This was fear of losing control, fear of failing, and the trust he placed in you in this moment was heavier than any mission, any battle.

“Shh,” you murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. “It’s okay. I’m here. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

For a long moment, he stayed like that, gripping your leg, letting the tension drain from his body as your presence anchored him. And for the first time that day, Ghost allowed himself to just… be human.