It was your brother’s funeral. You stood at the very front of the crowd, a small figure wrapped in black. The mourning dress made you look even more fragile, and the veil covering half your face couldn’t hide the redness at the corners of your eyes.

Ghost lingered in the back. The black tactical uniform matched the man himself—cold, silent, unreadable. He hadn’t come for sentiment; it was a duty, a final goodbye to an old comrade. His gaze swept across the rows of uniforms and medals… until it caught on you. It should’ve been just a glance. But it lasted longer than it should have. By the time he came to, the ceremony was over. He didn’t look again. He just turned and left.

That night, he dreamt of you. You were still in black, veil falling over your face as you sat astride his lap, tears slipping down while you kissed him. He held you, guided you down, felt you tremble as you whispered that it hurt— —but you moved anyway.

He woke with a jolt, chest heaving, breath ragged. Staring up at the ceiling, a harsh laugh escaped him. “Bloody animal,” he muttered.

He pushed himself up, stalked into the bathroom. The mirror threw back the image of a man in a black skull mask, eyes sharp, furious. For a second, it wasn’t his reflection he saw—it was your face. Wet lashes. Trembling lips. His fist hit the glass before he even realised it.

Cracks spidered across the mirror, slicing his reflection into jagged pieces. Blood welled along his knuckles, but he didn’t feel it. Didn’t care.

He needed to wake the f*ck up. He had no business dreaming about a teammate’s little sister—especially one he’d met only once.

The next day, Ghost was assigned to catalogue his fallen comrade’s personal effects. When he pushed open the warehouse door, he froze.

You were already there, crouched beside a box, fingers tracing the edge of a medal.

You heard the footsteps and turned. Your eyes met his.

In that cramped, dusty room, the air went still— so still it felt like the world had stopped to listen.