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The rec room was dim, shadows stretching across the walls from the single lamp on the far side of the room. Ghost sat in his usual chair, a book in hand, the soft crackle of pages turning the only sound. The mission earlier had been rough—one of those operations where every second felt dangerously close to the last. He could still feel the tension in his muscles, the exhaustion sinking deep into his bones.
But Ghost didn’t sleep easily. Not when the events of the day were too raw, too present. His mask stayed on, even now, hiding his face in the solitude of the room. There was comfort in the anonymity, even if no one was around to see him.
Or so he thought.
The door creaked open, and Ghost looked up just in time to see Soap step through. The Scot moved with less energy than usual, his usual cheeky swagger replaced by a quiet weariness. Without a word, Soap sank into the couch across from Ghost, letting out a long sigh as he leaned back, eyes briefly closing.
Ghost glanced back down at his book, though he wasn’t really reading. The silence between them was comfortable, the only sound now Soap’s soft, steady breathing. Eventually, Soap spoke, breaking the quiet.
"Thought you'd be asleep by now," Soap said, his voice low.
Ghost shrugged slightly. "Couldn't."
"Aye, me neither," Soap muttered, running a hand through his hair. "That was too bloody close."
The admission hung in the air between them. Gaz nearly taken out by a sniper, Soap dragging Ghost back from the brink of an explosion, Price holding them all together with commands that grounded them in the chaos. It had been close. Too close.
"Yeah," Ghost finally said, voice tight. "Thought about it."
Soap didn’t push for more. He never did, and Ghost appreciated that. Silence returned, softer this time, the tension easing slightly.
A few minutes passed before the door opened again, and Gaz appeared. He looked just as worn as the others, his body sagging with fatigue. He spotted them, gave a tired nod, and without a word, made his way to the couch.
"Room for one more?" Gaz asked, though he didn’t wait for an answer before collapsing beside Soap. He leant into him, his head finding its place on Soap’s shoulder with the ease of someone who’d done it a hundred times before.
Ghost watched them quietly. Soap didn’t hesitate, adjusting so Gaz could settle more comfortably against him, his arm resting around the younger man’s shoulders in a gesture that felt both protective and tender. Ghost could see it—the closeness, the familiarity.
"Comfy?" Ghost muttered.
Soap opened one eye, a smirk playing at his lips. "Jealous?"
Ghost snorted, turning his attention back to his book, though his thoughts were elsewhere. There was something about the way Soap and Gaz instinctively sought each other out, the quiet intimacy in their movements, that stirred something in Ghost. He didn’t usually think about these things. Comfort wasn’t something that came easily to him.
Yet, sitting here in the quiet, watching the two of them drift off together, Ghost felt that old ache of longing tug at him.
Time slipped by in the quiet room. Soap and Gaz had fallen asleep, their breathing soft and steady, filling the space with a peace Ghost rarely felt. He was beginning to think about heading to bed himself when the door creaked open one final time.
Price stepped in, his presence like a wave of calm settling over the room. His eyes swept the space, taking in Ghost, then Soap and Gaz, curled up together on the couch. A small, barely-there smile tugged at the corner of his lips before he moved further inside.
"Thought I'd find you lot in here," Price murmured, his voice quiet so as not to disturb the sleeping pair. He crossed the room, his movements deliberate, and stopped beside Ghost’s chair. He stood there for a moment, his gaze lingering on Ghost longer than necessary, something unspoken passing between them.
Ghost tilted his head slightly, meeting Price’s eyes. "Couldn’t sleep?"
“Never can, after ops like that.” Price’s gaze shifted back to Soap and Gaz, something soft in his expression. “They look comfortable enough.”
Ghost nodded, though his attention was still on Price. He knew this look—knew what it meant. Price had a way of cutting through Ghost’s defences without ever saying much. He was the one person who could see through the walls Ghost built around himself.
"You need rest, Simon," Price said softly, his tone more personal than commanding.
Ghost shook his head. “Not yet.”
Price studied him for a moment longer before sitting down beside him on the arm of the chair. The movement was casual, but the closeness was not. Their arms brushed, and Ghost felt the familiar warmth of Price’s presence settle beside him. He didn’t pull away. Not this time.
Price didn’t speak, didn’t push. Instead, he reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone. Ghost watched as he angled it towards the couch, snapping a quick picture of Soap and Gaz, bundled together like they had the whole world figured out.
When Price looked at the photo, his expression softened even further. "For the collection," he murmured.
"The collection?" Ghost asked, curiosity piqued.
Price slipped the phone back into his pocket. "I’ve got a few of these stashed away. Reminds me why we fight—what’s worth protecting."
Ghost didn’t respond, but something inside him warmed at the words. Price always had that way of grounding them, of making everything feel... lighter. Easier.
Price leant back slightly, his knee brushing against Ghost’s leg as he shifted. It wasn’t much, just a subtle touch, but Ghost felt it all the same. He wasn’t used to this—wasn’t used to letting someone in. But with Price, it felt... different. It always had.
"You did well today, Simon," Price said softly, his voice low, the words meant only for Ghost.
Ghost’s breath caught, the praise catching him off guard. It wasn’t the first time Price had said it, but tonight, it carried more weight. More meaning. Ghost turned his head slightly, catching Price’s eyes in the dim light.
"So did you," Ghost replied, his voice barely above a whisper.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The room was filled with the soft, rhythmic breathing of the others, and Ghost felt the tension in his shoulders slowly ebb away. Price’s hand moved, resting gently on Ghost’s arm, a small, grounding touch that sent a shiver down Ghost’s spine. He didn’t pull away.
"You don’t always have to carry the weight alone," Price said quietly, his hand giving a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve got me.”
Ghost’s throat tightened at the words, something fragile breaking free inside him. Price had always been there, a constant presence in his life, but hearing it said so plainly, so intimately, was something else entirely.
"I know," Ghost whispered, his voice rougher than he intended. He moved his arm down to interlace his fingers with Price's, the motion slow, almost tentative—like he wasn’t sure if this was something he was allowed to do. But when their hands connected, Price’s grip tightened gently in response, and a breath Ghost hadn’t realised he’d been holding slipped out in a quiet exhale.
It wasn’t just the touch; it was the quiet certainty of it. Ghost had spent so long keeping himself walled off, but with Price, it felt different—easier, somehow. He didn’t need to pretend, didn’t need to carry the weight of it all on his own.
Price didn’t say anything for a long while, the silence between them thick with unspoken understanding. Their hands remained intertwined, the soft warmth of Price’s skin grounding Ghost in a way that words couldn’t.
"You don’t have to be the strong one all the time," Price murmured, his thumb brushing softly across the back of Ghost’s hand. The gesture was so subtle, so intimate, it made Ghost’s heart pound in a way that caught him off guard. "I’m here. Always."
Ghost glanced down at their joined hands, the way Price’s thumb moved in small, slow circles over his skin. He wasn’t used to this kind of touch—something so simple yet so filled with meaning. His entire life had been spent pushing people away, hiding behind layers of armour, both literal and figurative. But with Price... it felt different.
"I don’t know how," Ghost admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t easy for him to admit vulnerability, but if he could say it to anyone, it was Price.
"You’re doing fine," Price replied softly, his voice like a steady anchor in the quiet room. His hand shifted, a gentle tug pulling Ghost closer. "You don’t have to figure it all out at once. Just... let yourself be."
Ghost swallowed hard, the lump in his throat tightening. He tilted his head slightly, letting his eyes meet Price’s in the low light. There was something in Price’s gaze—something deeper than comfort, deeper than friendship. It made Ghost feel exposed, in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time.
Price’s free hand came up, brushing lightly against Ghost’s forearm before trailing up to his shoulder, the touch deliberate but soft, giving Ghost time to pull away if he wanted. But Ghost didn’t move. He couldn’t. Something about the way Price was looking at him, the way his touch lingered just a moment longer than necessary, rooted him in place.
"I’m not going anywhere, Simon," Price said, his voice quiet but firm, like a promise.
Ghost’s breath hitched at the sound of his name, spoken so gently. He wasn’t used to hearing it like that—wasn’t used to hearing it at all, really. But coming from Price, it felt different. Safe. Like it was allowed to exist outside of the mask he wore for everyone else.
Without thinking, Ghost leant into the touch, his head lowering until his forehead brushed against Price’s shoulder. He felt the tension in his body begin to unravel, piece by piece, as Price’s hand slid up to cup the back of his neck, fingers threading gently through the short hair at the nape of his neck.
"It’s alright," Price murmured, his voice close, soothing. "You can let go."
For a long moment, Ghost stayed like that, his head resting against Price’s shoulder, their fingers still intertwined. He hadn’t realised how much he needed this—needed him. The room was silent except for the soft sound of Soap and Gaz’s breathing, but to Ghost, it felt like the world had narrowed down to this single moment. Just him and Price, here in the quiet.
"You’re not alone in this," Price continued softly, his thumb still tracing light patterns against Ghost’s neck. "You never have to be."
Ghost’s chest tightened at the words. He had spent so long keeping everyone at arm’s length, afraid of what it meant to rely on someone else. But here, with Price, it felt... different. Like maybe he didn’t have to keep pretending he didn’t need this. Need him.
"I don’t know what I’d do without you," Ghost whispered, the confession slipping out before he could stop it. His voice was rough, raw with the weight of everything he had held back for so long.
Price’s grip tightened, his hand a firm, reassuring presence against Ghost’s neck. "You won’t have to find out."
Ghost closed his eyes, letting those words sink in. He wasn’t used to feeling vulnerable like this—wasn’t used to feeling like someone had his back in more ways than one. But with Price, it felt safe. It felt right.
For a while, they stayed like that, the quiet between them filled with the warmth of their shared presence. Price’s hand remained on the back of Ghost’s neck, his touch steady and grounding, and Ghost didn’t pull away. He leant into it, letting himself be for once, without the weight of everything pressing down on him.
Eventually, Price shifted, pulling back just enough to look at Ghost, his eyes searching his face. Even behind the mask, Ghost could feel the intensity of his gaze, could feel the way Price was looking at him like he saw everything Ghost kept hidden from the world.
"Let me in, Simon," Price said softly, his voice barely a whisper.
Ghost’s breath caught, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew what Price meant. He had always known and maybe Ghost was ready to let someone past the walls he had built.
Slowly, Ghost reached up with his free hand, fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against the edge of his mask. He hesitated for a moment, his heart racing, before pulling it up, just enough to let Price see his face—the part of him he kept hidden from everyone else.
Price’s gaze softened, his eyes warm and full of something Ghost wasn’t sure he had words for. But it was there, in the way Price’s fingers gently brushed his cheek, in the way he looked at him like Ghost was something precious, something worth protecting.
"You’re safe with me," Price whispered, his voice filled with quiet certainty.
And Ghost, despite it all, believed him.
Their eyes met, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, there was nothing between them but the quiet understanding of what they had been tiptoeing around for so long. Price’s hand rested on Ghost’s cheek, and the simple intimacy of that touch, of this moment, was enough to make Ghost feel like maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to carry the weight of the world alone.
Slowly, cautiously, Ghost leant forward, his breath catching as their foreheads touched, the gesture soft but filled with meaning. Price didn’t pull away, didn’t flinch. He stayed right there, his hand still cradling Ghost’s face, his thumb brushing lightly against his skin in a way that made Ghost’s heart ache.
"You’re not alone, Simon," Price murmured again, the words a quiet promise.
Ghost closed his eyes, letting the warmth of Price’s touch, the safety of his presence, wash over him. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Ghost allowed himself to believe it.