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The flat was quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the floorboards as Price paced. His footsteps were soft, muffled by socks on hardwood, but the agitation radiating from him filled the space like a static charge, heavy and oppressive.
It wasn’t much of a flat—modest, tucked away in a quiet part of town, with mismatched furniture that spoke of utility rather than taste. The faint scent of lingering smoke clung to the walls, a stubborn remnant of restless nights spent nursing cigars and empty thoughts. A battered copy of Heart of Darkness lay discarded on the side table, its spine cracked and a dog-eared bookmark frozen halfway through, a silent witness to Price’s neglected attempts at distraction. The place wasn’t pristine—it wasn’t meant to be—but tonight it felt unusually barren, as if even the flat itself was holding its breath.
Ghost’s jacket hung haphazardly on the back of a chair, its weight pulling the fabric taut against the wood. His tactical boots sat neatly beneath it, the shine of their polished surface stark against the scuffed floors. The sight was jarring—Ghost always left his boots a mess after missions, the scuffs and grime almost as much a part of him as the mask he never quite took off. Price’s gaze lingered on them, unease prickling at the back of his neck.
On the counter sat a forgotten mug of tea, its contents long since gone cold, the surface flecked with stray leaves Price had been too distracted to strain properly. It was a bitter brew, hastily made and quickly abandoned—a reflection of his own state of mind. Next to it lay the note, crumpled and smudged from being read and reread, its sharp creases cutting through the hastily scrawled words:
"Needed some air. Don’t wait up."
At first glance, it had seemed innocuous—practical, even. Ghost wasn’t one for verbosity, after all. But the longer Price stared at the note, the harder it became to ignore the bitterness threading its way through his chest, coiling tight and unrelenting.
He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair and leaving it disheveled. He was overthinking it. He had to be. Ghost wasn’t one to make grand exits or leave poetic declarations. This was just him being… Ghost. And yet, the knot in Price’s stomach told a different story—a quieter, darker narrative he couldn’t shake.
It wasn’t just the note. It was the way Ghost had avoided his gaze that morning, brushing off Price’s concern with a clipped, “I’m fine,” when Price had asked about the stiffness in his movements. It was the silence Ghost had retreated into at dinner the night before, his expression blank but faraway, his hands too still. It was the too-casual way he’d left tonight, his words sharp and perfunctory, as though Price was no more than an afterthought.
And it wasn’t the first time.
Price’s grip tightened on the edge of the counter, his knuckles whitening as memories surfaced unbidden, their weight settling like stones in his chest. The time Ghost had returned from a mission limping, his movements careful and deliberate, swearing he wasn’t hurt until Price found the bloodied bandages stuffed hastily into the bin. The time Ghost had disappeared for three days, unreachable and silent, leaving Price to wonder if he’d been injured—or worse. The time they’d sat on the sofa, side by side, Price coaxing him to talk with quiet patience, only to be met with stony silence and a distant stare.
Ghost was a fortress, his walls high and unyielding. And for all his effort, Price still hadn’t found a way in—not completely.
And through it all, there was that damn promise.
"You don’t have to tell me everything, Simon," Price had said one night, his voice soft as they lay tangled together in the dark. "But if something’s wrong, if you’re hurting—you’ll tell me, yeah?"
Ghost had nodded, his fingers brushing faintly against Price’s arm like the words hadn’t cost him anything. “I promise.”
The memory landed like a blow, the weight of it threatening to pull Price under. That promise had felt like something unbreakable, a thread tying them together even when the rest of the world felt frayed and unstable. And now, standing alone in the too-quiet flat, Price felt that thread unraveling, slipping through his fingers.
He’d let it slide before. Ghost was stubborn, he’d told himself. Independent. He didn’t mean to shut Price out—it was just his way of coping. But tonight, the excuses rang hollow. Tonight felt different. The silence in the flat felt different. And for the first time in a long time, Price wasn’t sure if the cracks between them could be repaired.
Why does he do this? Price thought bitterly, his jaw tightening as his hand curled into a fist against the counter. Why does he think he has to do it alone?
The question lingered, unanswered and unwelcome. Price closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose, but the breath did nothing to loosen the knot in his chest. He wanted to believe Ghost had just needed space, that the note was nothing more than a man clearing his head. But deep down, he couldn’t shake the thought that had been gnawing at him for weeks, festering in the quiet moments when Ghost’s distance felt like an absence:
What if he’s had enough? Enough of this? Enough of me?
The thought hit like a gut punch, sharp and relentless. Price prided himself on being steady, reliable—a man people could count on. He was the one who kept his team together, who weathered every storm with quiet resolve. But with Ghost, he always felt… unsure. Unsteady. Like he was constantly bracing for the other shoe to drop, for the day Ghost would decide this—they—weren’t enough.
Ghost was everything Price wasn’t. Quiet where Price was loud. Guarded where Price wore his heart on his sleeve. And no matter how hard Price tried, he couldn’t shake the gnawing fear that Ghost deserved better. Someone who didn’t nag him about taking care of himself. Someone who didn’t cling to the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, they’d found something good.
Price rubbed a hand over his face, his breath shaky. He was overthinking it. He had to be. Ghost loved him—he knew that. Ghost had told him as much, even if the words came sparingly, each admission like a carefully rationed gift. But love wasn’t always enough.
The crumpled note stared back at him from the counter, a silent accusation. Price’s hand hovered over it, his fingers itching to smooth out the creases, to undo the damage. But the words wouldn’t change. The note wouldn’t rewrite itself.
Neither would the knot in his chest.
The front door creaked open just past midnight, the sound cutting through the oppressive silence like a crack of thunder. Price’s breath hitched despite himself, his hand tightening slightly where it rested on his knee. He’d been sitting on the sofa for hours, his elbows braced on his thighs, shoulders hunched forward. The faint glow of the streetlamp outside filtered through the curtains, casting long, jagged shadows across the room.
He didn’t need to look to know who it was. The familiar scuff of boots against the entryway tiles was enough to send a fresh wave of tension through him. Price’s jaw clenched as he stared down at the dark grain of the coffee table, his thoughts swirling too fast to grasp onto any one of them.
“You’re up late.”
Ghost’s voice broke the silence, even and neutral, but Price caught the hesitation in it, a note of uncertainty that hung between them like a frayed thread.
“Bit hard to sleep when you’re waiting for someone to come home,” Price replied, his voice low but sharp, the edges cutting enough to draw blood.
There was a pause, the soft rustle of fabric as Ghost shifted in the doorway. His broad frame was silhouetted against the faint light spilling in from the hall, his shoulders tense and squared. “Didn’t know I needed permission to step out,” he muttered, the door clicking shut behind him.
Price let out a bitter laugh, hollow and sharp. “Oh, is that what this is about? Permission? You think I’m trying to control you?”
“I think you’re making this into a bigger deal than it needs to be.” Ghost’s voice was calm, the words clipped, but Price could hear the faint strain creeping in, like a wire pulled too tight.
Price stood slowly, his bare feet silent against the hardwood as he stepped into the faint light. “Oh, that’s rich,” he said, his voice rising with each word. “You bugger off without a word, leave a bloody note like we’re housemates instead of—” He stopped himself, his breath hitching as frustration surged, threatening to spill over. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if it might clear the storm gathering inside him.
“Instead of what?” Ghost prompted, his tone taking on a defensive edge.
“Instead of partners,” Price snapped, the word landing with the force of a hammer. “Or is that not what we are anymore?”
Ghost froze, his brows furrowing, his hands flexing at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them. “What the hell are you on about?” he said, the confusion in his tone stark.
“I’m on about you,” Price shot back, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “You shutting me out. You lying to me. You breaking the one damn promise I asked you to keep!”
Ghost took a step closer, his shoulders rising slightly as his hands curled into fists. “What are you talking about? What promise?”
“‘If something’s wrong, you’ll tell me,’” Price quoted, the words trembling as they left him. “‘I promise,’ you said. And what do you do? You look me in the eye this morning and tell me you’re fine, all the while you can barely bloody stand!”
Ghost’s jaw tightened, his gaze flicking away as tension rolled through his frame. “I didn’t want to make a fuss,” he muttered, his voice quieter now.
“A fuss?” Price repeated, incredulous. “Is that what you think this is about? Me making a fuss?”
“You’re yelling, aren’t you?” Ghost countered, his voice rising now to match Price’s.
“Because I care, you daft bastard!” Price barked, stepping closer until they were nearly toe-to-toe, the air between them crackling with unspoken tension. “Because I see you hurting and shutting me out, and it scares the bloody life out of me!”
Ghost flinched, the bravado faltering for a moment, but he doubled down, his tone hardening as he muttered, “I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s not like I was dying—”
“That’s not the point!” Price’s voice cracked, and he clenched his fists at his sides, his whole body trembling with the effort to keep himself in check. “The point is you promised me, Simon. You promised me you wouldn’t do this—wouldn’t shut me out. And now I’m standing here wondering if I’m wasting my time. If you’re just waiting for the right moment to walk away and be done with it!”
Ghost’s eyes widened, his lips parting slightly as the words seemed to hit him like a blow. “Walk away?” he echoed, his voice dropping into something softer, almost disbelieving.
Price exhaled shakily, the torrent of words pouring out before he could stop them. “I know you’ve had enough of me. You’ve finally realised you deserve better—someone better. And this… this is you trying to let me down easy.”
The room fell into a heavy silence, the only sound the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Ghost stared at him, his eyes scanning Price’s face as if trying to decipher a code he hadn’t known existed.
“That’s what you think?” Ghost said finally, his voice low and strained.
Price let out another bitter laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “What the hell else am I supposed to think, Simon? You keep pulling away, keep lying to me—and for what? You don’t trust me enough to let me in? You don’t think I can handle you?”
“It’s not that,” Ghost said quickly, the defensiveness creeping back into his tone. “I didn’t… I didn’t know it would hurt you like this.”
“How could it not hurt me?” Price shot back, his voice breaking again. He shook his head, his frustration giving way to something rawer. “You think I’d be standing here shouting myself hoarse if I didn’t give a damn? Christ, Simon, you’re the love of my life, and you act like that doesn’t mean a thing to you.”
“It means everything to me!” Ghost snapped, his voice booming enough to echo off the walls. But the force of it seemed to take something out of him. His body swayed slightly, and he winced, one hand flying to his ribs.
Price’s anger faltered, concern flooding in to take its place. “What’s wrong?” he demanded, his tone still sharp but undercut with worry.
“Nothing,” Ghost muttered, turning slightly as if to hide. But the way he moved—slow and deliberate, his hand pressed tightly to his side—told Price all he needed to know.
“Let me see,” Price said firmly, stepping forward.
“It’s fine,” Ghost ground out through gritted teeth.
“You’re bloody useless, you know that?” Price muttered, his voice trembling as the words came out half-choked. “This is what I’m talking about, Simon. This—right here. You’d rather suffer in silence than let me bloody help you.”
Ghost didn’t respond, his head dipping slightly, his shoulders hunching as if he could make himself smaller.
Price exhaled shakily, the weight of it all settling heavy on his chest. “I can’t do this if you keep shutting me out,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less raw. “I can’t… I can’t keep wondering if I’m going to wake up one day and you’ll be gone.”
Ghost turned his head slightly, his expression unreadable in the dim light. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and strained but unwavering. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly.
“Then prove it,” Price said, his voice breaking on the words. “Prove it, Simon. Because right now, all I see is a man who’s pushing me away, and I don’t know if I can take it anymore.”
Price’s words hung in the air, the silence that followed heavier than any argument. Without another word, he turned sharply, his bare feet soft but deliberate against the floor as he strode toward the bedroom. He didn’t slam the door, but the soft click of it shutting felt louder than any shout.
Ghost stood frozen, his hand still pressed to his ribs, his mind racing with the weight of Price’s words.
The flat was silent again, the echoes of raised voices fading into the shadows. Ghost stood where Price had left him, staring at the closed door as though it were a fortress, impenetrable and unyielding. His shoulders sagged under the weight of the argument, and his chest felt tight, like every word Price had thrown at him had left a mark, cutting deeper than any blade.
He replayed the argument in his head, each line a sharp-edged shard that twisted in his mind.
"You’re the love of my life, and you act like that doesn’t mean a thing to you."
The words hit like a sledgehammer, knocking the air from his lungs all over again. His hand fell from his ribs, and he sank heavily onto the sofa, the old springs groaning beneath his weight. His elbows came to rest on his knees, his head bowing into his hands as his breath hitched.
He hadn’t meant for this to happen. None of it. He hadn’t meant to hurt Price, hadn’t meant for the walls he’d built around himself to close so tightly that they shut Price out completely. He’d thought he was protecting him—sparing him the burden of worry, of the darkness Ghost carried like a second skin. But instead, he’d pushed too hard, pulled too far away, and now…
Now he wasn’t sure if there was anything left to salvage.
"Prove it, Simon."
The words echoed, reverberating through the hollow spaces in his chest. Ghost sat back, his hands falling to his lap as he stared blankly at the darkened ceiling. Prove it. Prove what? That he loved Price? That he wasn’t going to leave?
It seemed so obvious, so fundamental, that he hadn’t even considered the possibility Price might not see it. But Price didn’t see it. Price doubted it. And he doubted it because Ghost had given him every reason to. The lies, the silence, the distance—it wasn’t just about tonight. It was about all the times Ghost had failed him, all the times Price had reached out only to be met with cold indifference and retreat.
Christ, John, Ghost thought, his chest tightening as his imagination ran wild. He pictured Price sitting alone in the other room, probably thinking the worst. Thinking he wasn’t enough. Thinking Ghost was planning to leave.
How could you not know? he thought, his hands clenching into fists against his thighs. The ache in his ribs throbbed in time with the relentless pounding of his heart, a visceral reminder of his own stupidity. How could I let it get this far?
He stood abruptly, his breath leaving him in a sharp exhale as he began to pace the length of the living room. His steps were uneven, his movements stiff with the pain that flared with every twist of his torso. He welcomed it—it grounded him, reminded him of the consequences of his own stubbornness.
The injury was nothing, really. A few bruised ribs, maybe a fracture if he’d pushed himself too hard. Price would’ve patched him up in an instant, his hands steady, his voice a low rumble of quiet reassurance. But Ghost hadn’t wanted that. He hadn’t wanted to see the worry in Price’s eyes, hadn’t wanted to feel like a burden.
Except that wasn’t what this was about—not to Price. To Price, it wasn’t about the injury itself. It was about the trust Ghost had shattered by hiding it. It was about the promise Ghost had broken.
Ghost stopped pacing, his gaze falling to the jacket he’d tossed over the back of the chair earlier. The glint of metal caught his eye, faint but unmistakable in the dim light filtering in from the streetlamp outside.
The dog tags.
He reached for them slowly, his fingers brushing over the cool, familiar surface. They were old, the edges worn smooth from years of wear, the name Simon Riley etched into them like a ghost of the man he used to be.
He hadn’t worn them in years—not since he’d buried Simon Riley alongside the rest of his past. But he’d kept them anyway, tucked away in the bottom of a drawer or the pocket of a jacket. A quiet reminder of a life he’d left behind. Or tried to.
Ghost sank back onto the sofa, the tags dangling loosely from his fingers. He turned them over, his thumb tracing the edges as his chest grew tighter with every passing second. He hadn’t thought about them in years—not really. They were a relic, a symbol of someone who no longer existed. Or at least, that’s what he’d told himself.
But Price had never seen it that way.
To Price, Simon Riley wasn’t a ghost. He was real. Flesh and blood. A man worth loving, even when Ghost couldn’t see it himself.
Ghost’s breath hitched, his grip tightening around the tags as the weight of it all came crashing down. Price had always seen him for who he was, even when Ghost had gone to extraordinary lengths to hide that man away. And what had Ghost done with that unwavering trust? He’d taken it for granted. He’d let his own fears, his own insecurities, chip away at the foundation they’d built together.
No more.
Ghost stood again, slower this time, his ribs protesting every movement. He didn’t care. He couldn’t let Price sit in that room for another minute thinking he wasn’t loved. Thinking he wasn’t enough.
He turned the tags over in his hand one last time, staring down at the name etched into the metal. Simon Riley. It wasn’t just a name. It was a piece of himself he’d buried so deeply that he’d almost forgotten it existed. The most vulnerable part of him. The part he’d spent years trying to erase, only to have Price coax it back to the surface with nothing but love and patience.
Price deserved to have it.
Price deserved everything.
Ghost’s fingers tightened around the tags as he turned toward the bedroom door, his resolve hardening. If Price wanted proof, Ghost would give it to him. He would give him the one thing he’d never shared with anyone—the truth of who he was. Not Ghost. Not the mask.
Simon Riley.
And Simon Riley was Price’s.
The knock at the bedroom door was soft, hesitant—so unlike Ghost that it made Price pause mid-step. He’d been pacing the small space, his hands clenched at his sides, his thoughts circling endlessly until the sound froze him in place.
“John?” Ghost’s voice was low, almost tentative.
Price swallowed hard, his heart twisting painfully at the sound. Part of him wanted to ignore it, to shut Ghost out just as he’d been shut out so many times before. But even now, with hurt and anger simmering just beneath his skin, he couldn’t bring himself to turn Ghost away.
“What?” Price said gruffly, his back still to the door.
There was a pause, heavy and uncertain, long enough that Price thought Ghost might leave. Part of him hoped he would—leave Price to the silence and the storm in his chest, where it was easier to sit with the hurt than risk being disappointed again. But then Ghost spoke, his voice quieter this time. “Can I come in?”
Price closed his eyes, his breath shaky as he fought the warring impulses within him. “Do what you want.”
The door creaked open, the faint sound reverberating through the room like a shot fired in the dark. Price didn’t turn, didn’t move as he heard Ghost’s quiet steps cross the threshold. The air seemed to shift, heavy with the weight of what wasn’t being said, and Price’s fists clenched tighter at his sides.
When Ghost finally spoke, his voice was rough, strained like he’d rehearsed the words a hundred times and still didn’t know how to make them come out right. “I’m sorry.”
Price huffed a bitter laugh, his shoulders rigid. “Yeah? For what?”
“For everything,” Ghost said immediately. His voice cracked under the weight of the words, raw and unguarded in a way Price had rarely heard. “For breaking your trust. For making you think…” He faltered, his breath catching. “For making you think I’d ever want to leave you.”
Price turned slowly, his arms crossing defensively as he faced Ghost. He couldn’t look at him without the sharp sting of anger and disappointment rising in his chest again, mingled with something softer that he wasn’t ready to acknowledge. The sight of Ghost standing there, slightly hunched, his hand hovering near his side like he was trying not to show his pain, chipped away at the wall Price was so desperately trying to hold up. But it wasn’t enough.
“Do you have any idea what it felt like?” Price asked, his voice quiet but trembling with the force of his anger. “Thinking you’d finally had enough of me? That you’d seen what I see every day—that I’m just a tired old bastard who doesn’t deserve…” He stopped, his throat tightening painfully around the words he couldn’t finish.
“Don’t,” Ghost said sharply, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. “Don’t you dare say that.”
Price stared at him, his chest heaving as his emotions swirled, unrelenting and overwhelming. His anger, his hurt, his love for Ghost—they were all tangled together, impossible to separate. Ghost took a cautious step closer, his hand slipping into his jacket pocket.
“I need to show you something,” Ghost said softly, his voice quieter now, almost pleading.
Price frowned, his arms still crossed, but he didn’t stop Ghost as he pulled out a thin chain. The faint glint of metal caught the dim light, and Price’s breath hitched as he realised what it was.
The dog tags.
Ghost hesitated, his hand trembling slightly as he extended the tags. His eyes darted to Price’s face, searching for a reaction, but Price didn’t move. He stood frozen, his gaze locked on the name etched into the metal.
“These are all I’ve got left of Simon Riley,” Ghost said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And they’re yours now.”
Price’s jaw tightened as he stared down at the tags. The faint light caught on the worn edges, the scuffed surface reflecting years of wear and neglect. The name blurred slightly as tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.
“Simon, you don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do,” Ghost interrupted, his voice firm despite the tremble in his hand. “Because I broke something tonight. Something I don’t know how to fix with words.”
Price shook his head, his fingers curling at his sides as he fought the wave of emotion threatening to drag him under. “This isn’t about fixing things, Simon. You don’t get to show up with a grand gesture and expect everything to go back to how it was.”
“I know that,” Ghost said quickly, his voice cracking under the strain of his emotions. He stepped closer, the distance between them shrinking but still feeling like a chasm. “It’s not about fixing things. It’s about giving you the truth. The part of me I’ve been too scared to share, even with you.”
His voice softened, the words trembling like they might shatter under their own weight. “This is who I am, John. Not just Ghost. Not just the mask. Me. And I’m trusting you with it because there’s no one else I’d want to have it.”
He pressed the tags into Price’s hand, his fingers lingering as if reluctant to let go. Price stared down at them, his hand trembling as he turned them over, the weight of the gesture settling heavily in his chest. He wanted to forgive Ghost, wanted to believe in the promise behind the gesture—but the pain of being shut out for so long still lingered, raw and unyielding.
“Why tonight?” Price asked hoarsely, his voice thick with emotion. “Why now?”
Ghost exhaled shakily, his hand falling to his side. “Because tonight, I realised I’ve been taking you for granted. And if I didn’t prove to you how much you mean to me, I might lose you.” His voice dropped to a whisper, the vulnerability in his words almost unbearable. “And I can’t lose you, John. I can’t.”
Price let out a shaky breath, his grip tightening on the tags. He wanted to believe him. He did believe him. But that didn’t erase the hurt, the sleepless nights spent wondering if Ghost would ever let him in, the weight of feeling like he’d never be enough.
“You’ve hurt me, Simon,” Price said quietly, his voice trembling but resolute. “You’ve hurt me in ways I didn’t think you could. And I can’t just pretend that didn’t happen.”
Ghost flinched, his head dipping slightly as his shoulders hunched. “I know,” he said softly. “I don’t expect you to. But I need you to know that I’m not giving up on us. I’ll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust.”
Price studied him, the raw honesty in Ghost’s voice cutting through the lingering haze of anger. Slowly, he reached out, his hand brushing against Ghost’s cheek. The touch was hesitant, testing, like he was trying to bridge the gap without fully closing it.
“I love you, Simon,” Price said softly, his voice steadier now. “But love isn’t enough if you won’t let me in. If you won’t trust me to carry the weight with you.”
Ghost nodded, his hand coming up to cover Price’s, his grip firm and grounding. “I’ll do better,” he promised, his voice hoarse. “I swear I’ll do better.”
Price’s thumb brushed over Ghost’s cheek, and for the first time that night, his expression softened. “You’d better,” he murmured, his lips twitching into a faint, weary smile. “Because if you don’t, I’ll kick your arse.”
Ghost let out a soft, breathless laugh, the sound breaking through the tension like sunlight after a storm. “Fair enough,” he said, his voice trembling with something close to relief.
They stood there for a moment, the silence heavy but no longer suffocating. Price still felt the ache of hurt lingering in his chest, but the weight of it had lessened, replaced by a cautious hope.
Price’s gaze softened as he took in the way Ghost held himself, still cradling his side despite his efforts to hide it. “Come here,” he said gently, stepping closer.
Ghost hesitated, his shoulders stiffening. “John, I—”
“I’m not going to crush you, you stubborn sod,” Price interrupted, his voice carrying a faint hint of amusement. “Just let me… let me hold you, yeah? Properly.”
Ghost swallowed hard, nodding as he allowed Price to guide him toward the bed. Price sat first, pulling Ghost down beside him with careful hands. Instead of wrapping his arms around him, Price leaned forward, pressing his forehead gently against Ghost’s, their breaths mingling in the quiet space between them.
“Better?” Price asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Ghost exhaled shakily, his eyes slipping shut as he leaned into the contact. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “Better.”
Price’s hand came up to cradle the back of Ghost’s neck, his thumb brushing soothingly against the bare skin. “You’re a bloody idiot, you know that?” he muttered, though there was no heat in his tone. “But you’re my idiot.”
Ghost let out a soft laugh, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I guess I am.”
They stayed like that for a long moment, their foreheads pressed together, the quiet intimacy of the moment grounding them both. Price’s hand drifted down, brushing lightly over the dog tags still clutched in his other hand.
“Simon Riley,” he said softly, his voice steady now. “You’re not just a name to me. You never were.”
Ghost’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t speak, letting Price’s words settle between them.
“You’re a stubborn, self-sacrificing bastard who drives me mad,” Price continued, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “But you’re also the man I love more than anything. And I’m not letting you go.”
Ghost’s breath hitched, his hand tightening slightly where it rested against Price’s knee. “You’re not losing me, John,” he said softly, his voice firm despite the emotion in it. “You never will.”
Price nodded, pressing a soft kiss to Ghost’s forehead. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m not sure I could handle it if I did.”
The quiet between them wasn’t heavy anymore. It was warm, comforting, like the calm after a storm. Price shifted slightly, pulling Ghost down to rest against him, careful to avoid his injured ribs. Ghost went willingly, his head settling against Price’s chest as Price’s arm wrapped around his shoulders.
“Rest now, love,” Price murmured, his hand brushing soothingly along Ghost’s arm. “We’ll figure the rest out tomorrow.”
Ghost hummed softly, his eyes slipping shut as he let the exhaustion take over. For the first time that night, Price felt the knot in his chest begin to loosen, replaced by a quiet, unwavering certainty.
They’d figure it out. Together.