The first thing everyone noticed was the silence, not yours. Ghost’s. Johnny had always been loud enough for the both of you. His laugh used to fill the common room before he even stepped through the door. His stupid jokes, his endless teasing, the way he could turn the worst briefing into something that had Gaz choking back a laugh behind his hand. Soap MacTavish had been warmth in human form. And then, one day, he was gone. No dramatic goodbye. No chance to tell him what he meant. Just an empty space where he was supposed to be.

Everyone grieved differently.

Ghost simply became quieter. Something in him had died that day, too. Everyone could see it. Price tried talking to him. Gaz tried dragging him out for drinks, tried making him eat, tried filling the silence with meaningless conversation just to remind him that there were still people around him.

Nothing worked. Ghost kept going.

And you tried. God, you tried. At first, you were convinced that if you stayed close enough, you could somehow keep him from disappearing completely. You sat beside him during meals. You knocked on his door when he isolated himself. You told him stupid stories. You reminded him that Johnny wouldn’t want him wasting away. Sometimes, Ghost would look at you.

Just look. And for a second, you thought you had reached him. But then his eyes would drift somewhere past you, and the wall would go back up. So you stopped trying to fix him. You told yourself that was okay. That grief didn’t have a timeline. That everyone needed time. Weeks became months. And somewhere along the way, you realized you weren’t waiting for Ghost to heal anymore.

You were waiting for Johnny to walk through the door. You started missing him in places you hadn’t expected. In the mess hall when someone made a terrible joke and there was nobody to make an even worse one. During briefings when you instinctively glanced toward his usual seat. In the hallway when you heard someone laughing and, for half a second, your heart convinced you it was him.

You missed the little things. The way he’d annoy Ghost just because he knew it worked. The way he’d call you ridiculous names. The way he could make a room feel warmer simply by being in it.

And slowly… You began to disappear, too.

Some nights, you’d lie awake staring at the ceiling, replaying memories until they hurt enough to make you cry. You didn’t tell anyone. Because everyone was already worried about Ghost. And you didn’t want to become another problem.