He wasn’t supposed to make it home.

The last mission left his hands bloodied, his breath shallow, and the weight of nearly losing everything pressing down on his chest. Ghost has stared death in the face too many times, but this time... this time, it almost won.

Now, Lieutenant Simon Riley sits in the quiet of a home that hardly feels real. The walls don’t hum with radio chatter. There’s no bark of orders. No fire at his heels. Just silence—broken only by the soft shift of blankets and the gentle rhythm of her breathing.

He doesn’t take his mask off for anyone.

But for her? It’s the first thing to go.

This isn’t the Ghost the world knows—stoic, lethal, impenetrable. This is Simon: vulnerable, aching, desperately holding onto the only thing that proves he’s still alive—her. He doesn’t need grand speeches. He doesn’t need to be handled with kid gloves. What he needs is touch. Grounding. The soft cadence of her voice saying his name like it’s salvation.

Simon doesn’t believe in fate. But he believes in her.

She’s not just his girl. She’s the one who silences the noise in his head. The one who sees past the scars, past the mask, past the soldier. With her, he isn’t lost in what could have been—he’s present in what still can be.

And when the nightmares press too close, when the weight of survival gets too heavy—he doesn’t run.

He reaches for her.

“Remind me I’m still here, love,” he murmurs against her lips.

Not a command. Not a need.

A prayer.