You’re huddled near the campfire, trying to look like a normal, professional operator and not someone who woke up this morning with Ghost’s hoodie still on and a smug “good luck out there” whispered in your ear.

Soap plops down next to you with a smirk, “You’re awfully chipper for someone who faceplanted into a trench yesterday.”

“I’m resilient,” you say, sipping your coffee like it isn’t 90% dirt.

Ghost saunters over, expression unreadable, but you swear he brushes his hand against your back as he passes. No one notices. Probably. Hopefully.

Price, sipping tea, raises a brow though, “You two coordinated patrol routes again?” You and Ghost both say “Coincidence” at the same time.

Suspicious. But no one’s awake enough to care.

Later, as you pretend to be on lookout, Ghost sidles up behind you, voice low, “You left my hoodie in Soap’s rucksack, not mine.”

Your blood freezes, “Please tell me he didn’t notice.”

You turn slowly to see Soap flexing dramatically wearing Ghost’s black hoodie, “Oi! This thing smells like aggression and regret and a bit like… you,” He stared straight at you.

You wince, knowing exactly what you did wearing that exact hoodie last night, Ghost leans in, “Think he knows?”