A Nurse and Their Ghost | Simon Riley "Ghost" x Reader

chapter 32

The cacophony of silence between the bursts of rifle fire grew louder, the weight of it a burgeoning presence as you observed Ghost from your perch. It seemed to be stitching a fabric of neglect around you, the sting of being unnoticed, unraveling a tight coil of frustration within. 

Each round that left Ghost's rifle seemed to be threading this looming tapestry. It appeared he was utterly ensnared in his craft, oblivious to your presence. The swirl of emotions within you simmered, threatening to snap the tether of patience.

With a surge of defiance pulsing through your veins, you moved toward the weapons cabinet, each step resounding against the cold, unforgiving ground, carrying a hint of purpose through the subtle echo. 

Your actions morphed into a silent dialogue; grabbing a pistol from the cabinet, loading it with a magazine, and thrusting earplugs to drown the tyranny of silence. The clatter of your preparations resonated through the range, each sound a fragment of the storm brewing within.

With a determined stride, you took the station next to Ghost. Raising the pistol, you aimed with a resolve that mirrored his, a silent challenge veiled in each shot that tore through the silence and hit the targets. 

The contrasting sound of the pistol against the rifle carried a dialogue of its own, echoing through the frigid air. Your stance was unyielding, each shot precise, a physical manifestation of your brewing need for acknowledgment.

Your silent crusade seemed to carve a note of curiosity through Ghost's focused facade. The rhythm of his rifle ceased as his head tilted slightly towards you, before he placed his rifle gently on the ground. His steps, a soft whisper against the gravel, carried him a few feet away from the shooting podium, though his gaze was fixed on you as you continued the concerto of bullets.

Each pull of the trigger seemed to channel the cacophony of emotions that had brewed a storm within you. It was a release, a vent for the days of restless pondering and a heart cluttered with unanswered questions. 

You could sense Ghost's gaze dissecting your stance, analyzing the rhythm of your shots, but your focus was an unwavering fortress. The world seemed to narrow down to the trajectory between your pistol and the targets that now bore the brunt of your unvoiced conversation.

As the final round left your pistol, the empty click that followed echoed the end of this silent discourse. Lowering the pistol, you allowed the veil of focus to lift, expanding the world around once again. 

Your breath danced in plumes in the cold air as your chest heaved to the rhythm of the fading echoes. Slowly, you turned to meet Ghost's gaze, your eyes a canvas of defiance and a touch of exhaustion.

The silence was a palpable entity between you two before Ghost finally broke it. 

"Finished?" His words, carried on a calm breeze, bore a hint of surprise and curiosity that seemed to probe the storm that had just passed. 

Your gaze met his, the shared silence now carried a whisper of understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the storm that was, and the calm that now prevailed.

"No," you retort sharply, your voice laden with frustration that transcends the shooting practice. You inhale deeply, attempting to steady the rapid rhythm of your heart while feeling the probing weight of his gaze upon you.

"And while we're on the topic," you continue, anchoring your eyes onto his as a surge of bottled emotions courses through your veins, "Do you have somewhere to run off to this time?" 

The space between you seems to condense, each word you utter charging the air with a thick tension. Every missed encounter, every elusive moment when he slipped through your fingers, accumulates, adding gravity to the standoff now unfolding.