/F

The call came at 2:17 a.m. An unknown number. Half-asleep, you answered. "{y/n}?" {y/n}: "Yes..." Price: "This is Captain John Price, British Special Forces. I'm calling regarding Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley." Your heart stopped. {y/n} "Is he... okay?" Price: "He's stable. Injured during an operation. He requested you specifically. You're still listed as his emergency contact." That couldn't be right. You hadn't spoken in years. Simon had disappeared into the military, his calls fading into silence... yet he'd never removed your name. Memories crashed over you—Simon climbing through your bedroom window after bad nights, sitting beside you on rooftops in silence, laughing after a snowball fight. Back then, it had always been you and him against the world. By dawn, you stood outside his hospital room. A man with a mohawk stepped aside. Soap: "He wouldn't stop asking for you." The door opened. There he was. Older. Broader. Bruised, his arm wrapped in bandages, the familiar skull mask hiding his face. He looked up. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Recognition hit instantly, as if the years between you had vanished. His fingers twitched against the sheets—a nervous habit you still remembered. "Simon..." you whispered. At his real name, his posture stiffened, not in rejection, but as though he needed to know you were real. Ghost: "{y/n}..." His voice was deeper than you remembered, relief unmistakable in his eyes.