ghost

The argument flared up suddenly, like a short burst of gunfire. The briefing room still smelled of gunpowder and cold coffee. "You left without contact again," her voice trembled, not from weakness, but from anger. "I thought they wouldn't get you out." Ghost rested his palms on the table, leaning towards her. — I was on a mission. "You were on the brink of death," she stepped closer. "And you didn't even think about what would happen to me."

He straightened up abruptly. "Do you think it's easy for me? Do you think I don't see the way you look at me when I leave?"

• Then why do you continue to pretend that you don’t care?!

The silence struck harder than the scream. Ghost removed his mask, tossed it nearby, and tiredly ran his hand over his face. “Because if I admit how important you are to me,” his voice became quieter, “I will become weak.”

She froze.

• Can't you be weak with me? He came close, their breaths mingling.
• I can. And I'm afraid of this more than anything.

Ghost carefully took her wrists, as if checking to make sure he wouldn't push her away. "You are my treasure," he said hoarsely. "I need nothing else. Neither service nor war. Only you."

She closed her eyes and exhaled quietly:

• Then don't lose me.