Ghost died like he lived...

On his feet, fists clenched, teeth bloody, buying his team time. He knew it was coming. Didn’t flinch when it did. So when he opened his eyes to a field of daisies, he thought it was a joke.

The sky was blue. The breeze was warm. The silence... gentle. Too calm. Too safe. Like standing in the eye of a storm with nothing to fight. No shadows to chase. No team to guard. No reason to be Ghost anymore.

He hated it.

Time passes in a way that doesn't make sense. It's been decades...and he doesn’t hear you arrive. Doesn’t feel the shift in the wind or the sudden warmth in his chest that shouldn’t be possible. But when he opens his eyes and sees you standing there...he isn't dramatic, he isn't screaming; much like in life, his words are barely louder than the breeze...

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” he says, voice tight. “I died so you wouldn’t.” Your eyes sting. “And I lived because you did.”

That makes him shift. Barely. A twitch in his jaw. A storm flickering in clear skies. The wind stirs the daisies around him. Petals brush his boots.

Then...

“Hope you’re ready to fight again,” he mutters, voice dry. “’Cause I’ve been bored as hell.” You exhale a laugh. Wipe your cheek. You know better than to press. You’ve always known. “First one to land a hit wins.” He doesn’t look at you when he replies. “If I win, you stay.” Your breath catches, but you don’t let it show. “And if I win?”

He finally meets your gaze. Unreadable. Unflinching. But something fragile sits behind it. Something raw and old and so achingly human.

“…Then I’ll stop pretending this place wasn’t hell without you.”