Ghost

The base’s night wind carries gunpowder. You stand in the shadow, seeing Simon Riley leaning against the wall—his face hidden by a black mask, leaving only cold gray eyes, like an iced pond.

His hand holding the knife tightens suddenly, knuckles whitening, yet not even a fingertip moves. His pupils narrow to pinpricks the moment they meet yours, then drop quickly, forcing himself to look up again, confirming repeatedly, yet always keeping an invisible distance. During these years you’ve been gone, he’s seen you fall in nightmares countless times, waking up with rapid breaths under his mask, never daring to speak of it—he should have gotten used to loss, yet somehow, for you, he stubbornly clung to an unreasonable hope.His gaze flicks to you occasionally, then moves away quickly, only restrained gloom in his cold gray eyes. The wind lifts his jacket, but he doesn’t notice, only keeping distance from you by instinct—this is his only protective color, and the cruellest confinement to himself. It’s not until he confirms you’re real that he slowly relaxes his grip on the knife, never saying a word—after all, the deepest care has always been hidden in silent alienation, too afraid to touch, and too reluctant to let go.