Call of Duty Oneshots (Mostly Ghost)

autumn.

The autumn air settled around us comfortably, our outerwear keeping us snug from the winter chill that tried to come earlier that year. Along with the season change transitioning before us, drifting through my hair and the ends of his scarf, approached an agreeable silence as our steps crunched fallen leaves.

My eyes watched a stray, bright red leaf drift to the ground by our feet, surrounded by a pool of colors reminding me of sunsets and bonfires. We passed and kicked through puddles of crisp leaves, our lungs breathing air that seemed more crisp than the dead foliage blanketing the earth.

A floral shop already shut down for the day, a tea shop we'd tried out earlier, and a shopping center we both steered clear of all observed us as we winded down streets, further away from his flat.

I didn't understand where we were headed, or where he led us to, even as we passed through the gates, crimson resting with grey and brown. Not pressing it, I continued to stroll beside him and held the hush, our familiar companion, that wrapped around us, intertwining with our hooked arms.

Weaving through more grey granite, we slowed and stopped where he'd found right what he was looking for, tucked in a secluded section of this desolate property.

Four little graves peered up at us, all of them sharing the same surname as the man standing next to me.

Three adults.

One child.

Same date of passing.

I sucked in a deep breath, the realization whacking me in the gut.

What he was showing-

Who he was introducing me to...

Because almost fifteen years had gone by, their names were barely legible, weathered away by frequent rainfall, but the stone itself still hadn't begun to decay as if someone had taken the role of preserving them the best they could since these four had left this world.

I snuck a glance up at him, but an unreadable expression constructed of the same stone composing his late family's monuments intercepted any clues that might give me to him having any emotion.

A black face mask covering his mouth left his dark honey eyes exposed, but the expression he offered didn't help any. It only reminded me of Ghost.

"Simon..." I finally uttered, a small cloud escaping from my cold lips.

He extended a flat palm toward the one on the far left. "My mother," he responded with a subdued tone I'd never heard escape from him before. The direction of his hand changed with each person he introduced me to, "Brother, nephew, sister-in-law."

Another breeze passed by us, invisible and chilly. The only sound surrounding us was the rustling of fallen appendages as I blinked through everything that I could possibly say.

As much as I truly wanted to, I didn't want to ask. Didn't want to pry.

He was already opening up to me enough.

Unsure of how long we stood there, soaking in the stillness of the cemetery with an evening sky swiftly encroaching our visit, it somehow hadn't turned uncomfortable. We were just too accustomed to silence that it rarely felt awkward unless we made it so.

"Thank you for bringing me here," I murmured into the wind, letting it carry my words into his ears.

A break in his tough exterior showed as wrinkles spider webbing from his eyes as he gave me a crestfallen smile.

"C'mon," he muttered, "'s gettin' late."

Tucking me into his arm, the two of us left before nighttime could beat us home.