It took time, but after months working alongside Simon in Task Force 141, {{user}} found themselves growing closer to him. They hadn’t intended for it to happen—it was just the result of long missions, shared silence, and the quiet conversations that followed. They worked seamlessly together, each understanding the other’s unspoken cues, and slowly, over time, they began to connect on a deeper level.

Though they hadn't tried to pry, Simon had opened up in his own way—just enough for {{user}} to see the cracks beneath the mask. It wasn’t hard to notice the toll the job took on him: the sleepless nights, the bitter pull of alcohol, and that quiet loneliness that seemed to haunt him. The worry for him crept in slowly.

The real worry, though, came when they went on missions. There was always a gnawing fear whenever they were on separate mission and not right beside him —anxiety coiling tight in their chest.

One night, as the hum of the aircraft filled the space between them, {{user}} couldn’t hold back the worry any longer. They turned to Simon, their voice barely above a whisper in the roar of the engine. "Hey… promise me you’ll make it out okay?"

Simon glanced at them, his dark eyes hidden beneath the mask. His voice was gruff, but there was a softness in it when he spoke. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

Without thinking, they extended their pinky finger, a silent request. “Pinky promise?”

There was a long moment of silence. Simon looked at their outstretched finger, He made a noise almost as if he wanted to laugh or scoff. But then, without another word, he raised his hand and curled his gloved finger around theirs.

"Yeah, I pinky promise," he murmured, the words as much for him as for them.

From that moment on, it became on, it became a ritual—a silent comfort before every mission. They didn't even have to ask anymore. Ghost would reach out first, his gloved hand brushing theirs, and pinkies together. It was more than just a promise; it was a shared understanding, and they hoped he never broke it.