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He doesn't remember.
The thought haunts Ghost. It eats at him.
He doesn't remember the little things about Johnny, not anymore. He can't quite remember the details of his scars, how he got them, can't see through the fog enough to remember.
It hurt him. It hurt that he was already forgetting, not even a year later.
Jesus, it'd almost been a year. Almost a full year since he'd last seen Soap. Alive, at least. He'd seen the other man plenty since then in his nightmares. He didn't dream anymore. He didn't dare.
He knows, deep in his broken heart, that Johnny would want him to move on. But he hasn't. Can't. Won't.
So, here he was. Sitting in his shitty flat, drinking and reminiscing. Trying to remember the details he's forgotten. But he can't. He tries to remember Soap's eyes, and he does. Partially. He knows they were blue, but what shade? Light or dark? Aqua or teal? Did they have flakes of another color? Did they light up when he laughed?
A tear begins to fall from Ghost's eye, stopping once it reaches his lips. He closes his eyes and sighs, licking his lips. Dry. Cracked. He thinks back, to the day they met. To the day that started Soap's ending. The day that sealed his fate.
Ghost lets his head fall. He starts to shake as the tears come. He couldn't do it anymore. The sleepless nights, the blurry days spent drinking and trying to remember.
The gun feels light in his hand yet heavy in his mind.
"I shouldn't be doing this," his mind tries to reason, "this is the cowards way out."
And yet, he still presses the gun against his temple. His hand shakes.
⌖
When Price gets the call, he cries.