A Collection of Short Stories | Simon Riley "Ghost" x Reader

la douleur exquise: chapter 2

You reached for Ghost's cigarette pack, pulling one out and gesturing toward him, an unspoken request for a light. This trivial act somehow felt intimate, adding another layer to a night already rich in revelations.

Ghost acknowledged with a nod, taking the cigarette, igniting it, and then drawing a deep breath. The cold air played with the emerging smoke, crafting an ethereal dance. Together, you shared this moment, grounding yourselves in a shared ritual that felt both new and timeless.

"Do you ever reflect on your past?" Ghost mused, his words piercing the hushed atmosphere. "Think about the decisions you made, and wonder how your life would be if you took another path?"

You pondered his words as the cigarette passed between you. "Yeah, I do, all the time," you replied, lost in thought.

"Especially on nights like this, when everything is still and quiet. I wonder what life would have been like if I'd taken that scholarship to art school, or if I'd never enlisted. But I also think about the moments that led me here, to this rooftop, sharing a smoke with you. And I can't say I regret those decisions either. I... I don't know. It's weird."

Ghost stared out at the skyline, reflecting on what you'd said. You had to admit, it was peculiar to ponder the choices and circumstances that had brought you to this very rooftop, alongside Ghost, sharing a moment and a cigarette.

"Do you still paint?" He asked. His words snapped you back from your reverie, and your gaze shifted to him. For perhaps the first time, it felt as though Ghost was truly seeing the person behind the soldier's facade, peering deep into your soul.

"Not as much as I'd like to," you confessed, a twinge of regret evident in your voice. "Between missions and training, there's hardly any time. But sometimes, when everything gets too overwhelming, I find a chance to sneak in some sketching or painting. It's a different kind of escape."

You took another drag from the cigarette, cherishing the brief respite it provided, allowing you to collect your thoughts. Sharing this part of you with Ghost, and observing his reaction, made you feel truly recognized for the first time in ages.

You could see Ghost's understanding in his nod. "It's important to take breaks. To forget about the mission for a while."

His gaze lingered on you, and that earlier spark in his eyes made a return. He was picturing the artwork you might've crafted, curious about this unseen aspect of your life. In this moment, Ghost felt less like the familiar comrade you knew, and more like someone you were discovering anew. The bond you felt with him seemed richer, more profound. You yearned to share stories of your artistic journey, the myriad pieces you'd crafted over the years.

Your lips curved into a teasing grin as you caught his look. "That's rich advice coming from someone who can't even follow it himself. Or is this 'do as I say, not as I do'?"

The atmosphere had become jovial, a pleasant reprieve from the weighty topics you'd delved into earlier. Challenging Ghost playfully felt liberating and added a touch of levity to your exchange.

A laugh escaped Ghost's lips as he processed your playful accusation. "I never said I took my own advice," he retorted playfully. "If only you knew what I did in my spare time, you wouldn't be able to say a word."

His words had an air of mystery, and the mood shifted to one of light-hearted banter. You found yourself laughing alongside him, grateful for the shift in tone and the easiness that now prevailed.

"But I'll tell you one thing," Ghost remarked, leaning closer for emphasis. "I always look forward to my cigarette breaks with you."

Your heart swelled at his words, a warmth enveloping you in contrast to the chilly surroundings. "Well, these smoke breaks do have a certain charm, don't they?" you remarked with a grin, taking another drag from the cigarette before handing it back to Ghost. "Maybe it's the company." Though a simple sentiment, it carried profound, unspoken depth.