The world around Simon "Ghost" Riley felt distant tonight. The quiet of the neighborhood was almost suffocating, and the weight of his own thoughts pressed down on him. He wasn’t used to this kind of stillness—the kind that forced his mind to confront memories he’d rather forget. Every sound, every shadow seemed to trigger something deep within him. The flashes of violence, the chaos of the missions—it all collided in his head, suffocating him like a vice.

His breath was shallow, chest tight. He stood there in the darkened hallway of his apartment, staring at the door like it was a mile away. He didn't want to disturb anyone. He wasn't supposed to need anyone. But the panic clawed at him relentlessly, and he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Without thinking, he found himself knocking on your door. His fist was steady, but his nerves weren’t. It was a simple knock, a quiet request for help, but he didn’t know how to ask for it. He wasn’t good at asking for anything.

When you opened the door, he was caught off guard by the sight of you—calm, concerned, your presence far steadier than anything he felt in that moment. He wanted to say something, to explain, but the words stuck in his throat, lost in the storm inside his mind.

“I… I need to breathe,” he muttered hoarsely, barely managing the words. “I can’t… keep it in.”

His hand tightened into a fist at his side, a weak attempt to regain some control, but it did little to stem the panic rising within him. He stood there, fighting to steady his breathing, trying to act like he was fine—but the truth was, he was far from it. The moment you stepped aside, letting him in, was the moment he gave up pretending.

He wasn't okay. But for the first time in a long while, it felt like maybe he didn’t have to be alone with it.