The Destiny of Ghost and Me

Chapter 5: Connection

We arrived at an old, secluded location. Soap got out of the car with a laptop in hand. Graves brought Hassan out and made him kneel. The rest of us stood by, keeping our weapons ready. The camera turned on, showing General Shepherd and Laswell on the screen.

Hassan spat and cursed. He seemed to despise humanity as a whole, but I wasn't interested in his sentiments. What truly interested me was whether he would bring me closer to my target: Makarov.

The conversation began between the two, but I soon tuned out. Ghost noticed my detachment and nudged me. I looked at him, and he simply nodded. When I turned around, I noticed Graves mumbling to himself. My eyes focused on his hands. He had a tattoo, a very small one with an arrow and three dots. It was clear that he tried to conceal it, but as he spoke, it became visible. Something told me that I had seen it before, but I couldn't recall where.

We returned to HQ after Hassan indirectly confirmed Las Almas' involvement. Impatience consumed me, evident in my restless actions as I played with a lighter and contemplated the tattoo and its connection to Makarov. I was in my office when a knock interrupted my thoughts. Ghost entered, his mask as ever-present as before.

"What's up?" I asked, my gaze still averted.

"You made a grave mistake on the mission," he stated, drawing closer as I heard his footsteps.

On the mountain, when you didn't jump," he clarified, now standing just 50 cm away.

I finally looked into his brown eyes, unable to discern his true emotions. "I apologize for that mistake."
"You drive me crazy, you know that?" he asserted.

"Do you think so?" I replied, my voice filled with uncertainty.

Ghost pressed a hand against the wall, closing the distance to a mere 20 cm. I averted my gaze, but he demanded, "Look at me, Yn."
I looked into his eyes, feeling a shift in the atmosphere of the room. I'm not sure why, but despite our initial animosity and our current state of toleration, I felt a deep connection to him. He met my gaze and moved even closer, lifting his mask to reveal his mouth. And in that moment, everything around me faded away as he pressed his lips against mine. The warmth in my body surged, and the kiss grew more intense. He pulled away, his restraint evident, while I remained frozen in my place. He rested his forehead against mine.

He spoke softly, "I've lost my teams too many times, and I'm tired of standing at their graves, watching their bones turn to dust." My eyes welled up with tears. He held me tightly, and in that moment, I realized how much I needed that embrace.We sat together on the couch, and he asked about the events, about my life-he genuinely asked about everything. Forty minutes passed, with him posing the questions and me answering, both of us looking down, feeling despondent.

I decided to change the subject. "How old are you?" I asked.

He smiled slightly and replied, "Forty minutes."

At first, I didn't understand, but then it hit me. In that moment, Gaz barged in without knocking.

He glanced between us and asked, "Are you two arguing again? Well, forget it, come on now!"

Ghost and I exchanged glances and followed Gaz. As we walked, I asked Gaz what was going on. Gaz looked at me as if he didn't want to answer. We headed towards the bar, where everyone was gathered around a table. Laswell was there too, and I sat down next to Ghost. Normally, I don't pay much attention to men because they simply don't interest me, but since the kiss, I found myself intensely focused on him. He wore his mask up to his nose and had on a hoodie. He looked simply stunning, even though his face was concealed.
Laswell interrupted my thoughts as she passed around a photo. Price examined it, then handed it to Gaz, who passed it to Soap, and then Soap handed it to Ghost. Before Ghost handed me the photo, he looked at me one more time, and then he gave it to me. I felt my breathing become heavier, my hands started to sweat, and anger and sadness welled up within me. I crumpled the photo in frustration.

Laswell asked the group, "Does anyone recognize him?"

Price pointed his hand at me, and I replied in a cold tone, "Makarov..."
Laswell looked at me with a questioning look, asking, "Who is he?"

I replied in a cool tone, "He's the leader of an ultranationalist terrorist organization."

She nodded, seemingly aware of where the conversation was heading. I grew impatient and started fidgeting with my leg. Ghost noticed and placed his hand on my leg. His touch calmed me, and I looked at him, hoping to find solace. In his eyes, I found warmth. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and comforted me.