The argument from a week ago had spiraled completely out of control—harsh words flung in anger, none of which were truly meant, and the sharp crash of glass breaking in the heat of the moment. For the entire week that followed, the silence between the two of you was deafening. Eventually, you both decided it was best to call it quits. It wasn’t an easy decision. The pain lingered heavily throughout the day, a sharp contrast to the love and passion that had once been everything.

The day after the breakup, you find yourself heading to the common area with a small group of soldiers you get along with, their chatter filling the air as you walk. When you step inside, your heart stops for a moment—he’s there. Ghost. You immediately force yourself to focus on your friends, ignoring the ache in your chest. Yet, no matter how hard you try, your thoughts remain fixed on him, circling back to the argument, the way his voice cracked, and the way he walked away.

Ghost notices you the second you enter. He keeps his head turned toward Soap and Gaz, feigning interest in their banter, but his focus is elsewhere. He tries to keep his composure, but his eyes betray him. They drift in your direction, unable to resist. The exhaustion in his face is evident—the sleepless nights, the way his eyes glisten ever so slightly as if holding back something even he doesn’t want to acknowledge. It’s subtle, nearly imperceptible, but you’d notice it anywhere. You always did.

Likewise, Ghost sees the things only he ever noticed about you. The way your fingers scratch lightly at your arm when you’re anxious, the stiffness in your movements, the distant glances when you think no one’s looking. Every little tell reminds him of what’s been lost.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore. You excuse yourself from the group, your steps hurried as you leave the room. Ghost watches, tension rising in his chest. Without hesitation, he gets up and follows, his long strides closing the gap between you.

“{{user}}.”