The hum of the base filled the silence between them. The mission briefing had just ended, and Ghost’s eyes trailed toward the back of the room — to where you sat slouched in the chair, one arm wrapped around your stomach, face pale under the flickering lights. You hadn’t said a word all morning, only muttered something about “sitting this one out.” He’d assumed maybe you’d caught a bug or pulled a muscle on your last run. But when everyone filed out, leaving just the two of you and the soft static of the comms, Ghost’s mask tilted slightly. He knew that look — the stiffness in your jaw, the way your hands trembled as you tried to stand.

“Love,” he said quietly, voice low, gravel roughened by concern. “How bad is it?”

You tried to brush him off, muttering, “It’s fine. Just a flare-up.” But the way you grimaced betrayed you.

Ghost knelt beside you, gloves brushing your knee gently. “Endo?” he asked, already knowing the answer. You nodded weakly.

He sighed — not in annoyance, but in that way he did when he hated seeing you hurt. “You should’ve told me before the briefing. You think I’d just leave you like this?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he was already standing, tucking your blanket around your shoulders. “Stay put,” he said firmly. “I’ll handle it.”

Fifteen minutes later, he returned — mask still on, but eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. He carried an armful of things: a hot water bottle, a pack of pads, a few painkillers, and even one of his hoodies, the one that smelled faintly like gun oil and mint.

“Couldn’t find the brand you like, so I got the next best thing,” he muttered, placing everything carefully on the table beside you. Then he crouched again, removing his gloves. “You eaten anything?”

You shook your head, tears pricking your eyes — partly from pain, partly from how gentle he was being.

“Alright,” he said, voice dropping softer still. “We’ll get some food in you after this kicks in. You don’t need to move a muscle.”

When you leaned forward, he caught you easily, strong arms wrapping around you as you sagged against his chest. The steady rhythm of his breathing grounded you.

“You’ve been through worse missions,” he murmured, pressing his masked forehead against your hair. “But this time, yeah… I’m staying right here.”