Gloss and Salt | Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

9

Ghost cracks open again. Thankfully someone gentle is there to mend him.

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The forest around him is thick. One tree posted close to the other, the brush fills any space between them. Somber fog creeps over the floor in a slow and steady roll of thick opaque white. Small beads of ice hang from the branches, glistening like pearls. And yet, Ghost feels drenched. Sweat drips over his brow, stinging in his eye when light lashes get too heavy to hold the weight. The heat is eating him from the inside, a feverish noose tightens, every breath hard labor for his lungs. The mask was lost a long time ago, any barriers between him and the oxygen trying desperately to get into his lungs eliminated. It doesn't help, it never fucking helps. Someone's behind him, pulling on the ropes, trying to keep him from finding his way out. There isn't one, but he tries every time nonetheless. His uncoordinated barefoot sprint through the undergrowth never leads anywhere, utterly lost he stumbles through the endless planes. Lost, but not alone.

His lungs are stinging now, struggling so hard to process the thick and heavy air, every breath burns away at him. But he has to go on, find his way, get his power back. An echo of steel passes over his belly, something he should remember, but can't. Dread claws up his back, sinking itself deep into him, he has to get out. Go on, leave, leave, leave, just fucking run, get away. The rope pulls on his wrist, then the other, so hard that they snap back with a nasty crunch, bending and twisting until his hands dangle by his side. He doesn't scream, nobody is around to hear it. A weight crushes on top of him, draining the life out of his muscles. Panic tightens alongside the heat around his neck, pushing out the last air in his chest. His own frantic gasps reach his ears as he struggles under the impending darkness over him. A presence makes itself known as he falls to his knees, laughing... at him? With him? Both voices jumble over each other, Ghost's own laugh rings in his ears, loud and deep, it's the only way his body will let him breathe, so he laughs. Until his chest hits the ground and the water on the leaves evaporates against scorching skin. When the lid closes, Ghost continues to laugh. Powerless, useless, lonely.

Alone.

The hand on his cheek is warm. It shifts over the fabric, the barrier between him and the outside world. He blinks. Once, twice. Finally, his chest expands. Life floods back into him, crashing into the barriers of weight at his side and his abdomen. Another presence next to him, soft and warm. Utter opposite to the cutting ice a few seconds ago.

"Ghost."

Focus comes back to him, recognizing the walls, the curtains, the stale smell of the old carpet. The hand on his cheek pulls, turning his head over. The focus shifts. His heart slows, the hand on her back relaxes, little crescent shapes of his nails remain in her skin.

She's here. He's not alone.

"Ghost." she says again. Tentative. Gentle.

Worry is written on her face. Any other time it would concern him. But this, this is a reminder that he's not dead, he wasn't buried, he wasn't gutted. He's here. She's here. Closely pressed to his side, leg hitched up onto him.

Like the first time.

She's not just her body anymore, she's the warmth seeping into him, she's her soothing voice, the weight on him, pulling him back out of his head.

He's safe. Another nightmare passed over him, another wave of shit he'd rather forget retreats into the back of his mind. Faster this time with her gaze on him, pulling him away from the grime and dark weight crushing him. His shirt is still damp like always, the back of his neck almost swims. But she doesn't mind, pressing herself further into his frightened body, banshing everything else.