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

a ghost's promise: chapter 2

⚠️⚠️ MW3 SPOILERS ⚠️⚠️ PROCEED WITH CAUTION! ⚠️⚠️

The cemetery lay still under the expansive, brooding sky, its silence as deep and profound as the ocean.

Here, amidst the regimented rows of marble and granite, Simon found himself a solitary figure against the sprawling canvas of memory and sorrow.

The world beyond the iron-wrought gates seemed a distant murmur compared to the quiet intensity within these hallowed grounds.

Approaching Johnny's grave, Simon's steps were measured, each footfall a somber drumbeat in the hush.

The grave itself was modest, the headstone standing guard over dreams unfulfilled and words unsaid.

Simon's shadow fell across the inscription, a temporary veil over the name of the brother he had lost.

"You'd barely recognize them now, Johnny," Simon's voice broke through the stillness, a confessional whisper carried away by the gentle breeze.

"They're getting stronger every day. Laughter's coming back to them, bit by bit. It's good to see."

There was a tremble in his words, a fissure in the fortress he had built around his emotions.

The wind seemed to lean in, listening to the burden of a man torn between duty and the ache of his own loss.

"They still miss you. There's this look they get sometimes, like they can hear a whisper of you in the wind. You left a mark, mate, one that won't ever fade."

As he spoke, his fingertips grazed the cold stone, a tactile connection that bridged the gap between the here and the hereafter.

His sigh hung in the air, a visible testament to the warmth of life amidst the cold reminders of mortality.

"I'm doing what I can, trying to keep things steady. But it's hard, you know? You were the one who made it all seem effortless. They lean on me now. I'm holding the line, but some days... some days it feels like holding back the tide with my bare hands."

Simon's words trailed off as he knelt, the soft green of the grass caressing his hands, a natural contrast to the starkness of the grave.

There, in the quiet company of the departed, he allowed himself a moment of vulnerability, a moment where the soldier could grieve.

"I won't let them fall, Johnny. I promised you that. I'll keep them safe, keep the shadows at bay. Just... give me a bit of strength when mine's running low, will you?"

His voice, imbued with a raw honesty, seemed to resonate with the silent stones around him.

Rising to his feet, Simon cast a longing glance at the headstone.

The small, weathered token he left behind was more than a mere object; it was a symbol of continuity, of the unspoken words and the bond that death could not sever.

As Simon stood by the grave, his heart wrestled with a silent storm.

Here, in the presence of his fallen brother, the truth of his own feelings loomed as large and as daunting as the marble headstones that surrounded him.

He spoke into the silence, giving voice to the thoughts that had long been his shadow.

"I'm torn, mate," he confessed, the words heavy with a pain that was both his and not his.

"Your absence left a void, and I've found myself caring for Y/N, not just because I promised you, but because... because they deserve to be loved. They deserve to feel the sun again."