Gray clouds spit drizzle onto the SIS headquarters, and you escape the stuffy briefing room for a breath of fresh air. Halfway up the maintenance stairs you see Ghost already there, leaning against the service door, mask flecked with raindrops, city lights reflecting in his eyes.

“Couldn’t breathe in there either, huh?” you joke, settling beside him beneath a vent hood.

He huffs a laugh. “Too many suits, not enough common sense.”

The rain intensifies, tapping a fast rhythm on metal. You shiver, and he takes notices. Without hesitating he shrugs off his leather jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, the warmth and faint scent of his cologne wrapping around you like an embrace.

“Thanks,” you murmur, fingers brushing his as you clutch the collar closed. Electricity.

For a beat the world feels smaller. Just rain, neon lights, and the quiet between your heartbeats.

Ghost tilts his head. “You’ve been carrying the meetings weight all week. Tell me what’s in that mind.”

You exhale, letting the steam of your worries rise with the chill. He listens, really listens...only the patter of rain interrupting. When you finish, he steps closer, gloved knuckles tipping your chin up.

“Not alone in this,” he says, voice softer than the weather. The words hit warmer than the jacket.

Your pulse sprints. “Hold that thought,” you whisper, rising on your toes. He meets you halfway, mask lifted just enough for rain-salted lips to find yours in a quick, and gentle meet.

Thunder rumbles approval. Ghost’s hand stays at your waist, anchoring you. “Briefing resumes in five,” he mutters, but makes no move to leave.

“We should go,” you breathe.

“Yeah,” he agrees—yet neither of you budges, intertwined fingers hidden in the oversized jacket.