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The base was quieter than usual. Yet even the tiniest noise made Ghost flinch, causing him to practically jump out of his skin at even the tiniest of disturbances.
He moved silently. Not even his heavy boots making a single sound as he walked down the hallways of the base. There were highly trained soldiers sleeping in the rooms left and right from him, he didn't want to wake anyone up or raise suspicions. He knew he would probably end with a gun against his head.
But that still sounded better than returning to his room.
He could still barely feel his fingers from the midnight smoke he had outside. Under his jacket, his shirt was clinging to him with cold sweat, reminding him over and over again of the scenes flickering through his head as he tossed and turned in his bed. Drifting in and out of sleep, feeling like he was losing his mind more and more with every second.
His chest felt tight, not allowing him to draw in a full breath, making him feel like had to fight for oxygen.
It made it all feel more real. The possibility of dying.
Blurring the lines of what was real and what had just been in his dream.
He had nearly died more than once. In cold nights like these he could still feel the meat hook in his chest, tearing open his skin, ripping through his flesh and holding his body up by his lower rip.
The scar ached and tugged on his skin relentlessly, silently screaming at him that this wasn't over.
That all that was left of him was nothing but a shell of what he used to be. Who he used to be.
Now, he was nothing but a ghost.
The taste of the cigarette was still lingering in his mouth, starting to make his tongue feel heavy and dead in his mouth.
His stomach was churning, refusing to calm down after the nightmare that had made him feel sick. Like cutting himself open and ripping out his organs was the less painful option.
He didn't know where he was going. Barely even felt the gun he had rested his cold fingers on, ready to pull it out of the holster and place it on the forehead of the first person that would surprise him.
Safety on but so easily clicked off. His finger already resting on the trigger.
The hallways never seemed to stop. He just kept staring into an endless dark labyrinth, knowing that as much as he was the Ghost, he was the one most afraid of the ghosts still lurking in the darkness, just waiting for him to make a single mistake. Waiting for a chance to claw at his clothes, rip away his skin, choke air out of his lungs.
One day, they would drag him back into the grave he was supposed to die in in the first place.
And he would let them. He would welcome it with open arms, allowing them to finally take him.
It felt like the easier option. Like it would finally free him. Take away all of the pain, mute the screams he heard in his head, no matter if he was asleep or wide awake. Maybe dying the way he had been supposed to would finally stop the nightmares. Give him a break. Allow him peace.
How could one be more peaceful than in death?
A creaking sound made him snap out of his own head. His grip around the gun tightened as he ripped it out of the holster and pointed it into the direction the creak had come from. He squinted his eyes, trying to see better in the darkness but everything was a blur of greys and blacks, swallowing the walls and ugly green linoleum flooring in a black hole farther down the hall.
He was alone. There was nothing. Not a single sound. Maybe he had just imagined it.
He dropped his gun to his side, his shoulder slumping down.
Slowly, he breathed in through his nose, unintentionally sucking the fabric of his mask closer to his face.
His chest constricted. The breath was stuck in his throat, not moving forwards or backwards.
It felt like he was choking but he didn't panic. Just kept staring straight ahead, waiting for his survival instincts to kick in.
He didn't know how long it took.
Seconds?
Minutes?
It was a blur. All he felt was the way his body finally convulsed and forced a cough out of him, forcefully pushing the air back out of him while leaving him desperately gasping for breath. He doubled over, holding himself up with his hands on his knees.
The world was spinning around him and he couldn't tell if he was swaying on his feet or if it was his imagination. For a while, he just stayed like that. Standing in the middle of the hallway, fighting for breath, his vision splotchy.
It took him a long time till he finally felt like he had the strength to straighten up again. He was trembling.
If he would have had to aim a gun in this moment, he would have failed miserably.
But he couldn't bring himself to care.
He blinked slowly, turning his head from left to right, scanning his surroundings.
His eyes focused on a name plate on the door to his right.
Ghost was standing right in front of it, able to clearly make out the white letters on the black metal plate.
Sgt. Gary "Roach" Sanderson
His hands started shaking more. He wanted to run to it but there was no point. The door was right in front of him. All he had to do was reach out his hand and push down the handle.
His movements were slow. Like he expected to walk right into a trap.
But finally, his cold fingers closed around the metal door handle, gripping it firmly and pushing down.
The door opened, no lock to keep him from coming inside.
How unsafe could you feel on a military base?
The moment he stepped inside, the warm light wrapped around him, pulling him in.
He pushed the door shut quietly.
The room smelled nice. Cozy. It was warmer than his own and he felt it creep up his skin and sink into his muscle, softly easing the anxious stiffness in each and every one of them.
His eyes hadn't fully adjusted to the light just yet but he didn't need them to. He knew the way to the bed blind, knowing where Roach liked to drop clothing onto the ground, rounding the pile with a few skilled steps.
Roach was peacefully asleep, wrapped up in his blanket and curled in on himself, his head resting on his hand.
Ghost practically jumped onto the bed, carelessly dropping his gun onto the bedside table. He didn't bother taking off his shoes, his hand simply pulling back the blanket to make the tiniest bit of space for him.
Roach turned his head, not saying a single word, simply blinking at Simon with tired eyes.
Simon pulled the corner of the blanket over himself, molding his body against Roach's smaller frame. Roach pushed into the touch, welcoming the arm Simon wrapped around him.
He felt how cold his skin was but he wasn't going to ask, already knowing the answer.
Simon melted practically melted at the contact, burying his face in Roach's neck. His eyes fell close before he even noticed. He was greeted by nothing but a comfortable darkness as his head pressed closely to Roach's.
The darkness was different than the one that seemed to haunt Ghost. It was warmer. Maybe from the light Roach kept on, even while sleeping. There was peace in this darkness. It welcomed him, calmed his nerves, eased his pain.
Roach was right there, allowing him to soak in his presence.
For the first time that night, Simon felt like he was able to breath.