Somewhere in the city, post-mission. You and Ghost barely survived a chaotic op—maybe intel was faulty, maybe an extraction went sideways, maybe you just mildly ruined everything (Ghost would argue it was major). Either way, you both just got out of a mess alive… and you’re exhausted.

Here’s the issue: Ghost refuses to admit he needs caffeine.

He’s running on sheer willpower, military-grade stubbornness, and rage at how incompetent the mission briefing was. You? You absolutely need coffee before you attempt to function like a human being. You also decide Ghost should experience this joy. Against his will.

He eyes the menu like he’s assessing enemy intel. "What the hell is a flat white?"

You roll your eyes. "A drink for normal people. You’re ordering it."

When it’s his turn, he approaches the counter with the same energy he’d bring to an interrogation room. "Coffee." His tone is flat. A little too sharp.

The barista hesitates. Probably wondering if they’re about to be taken hostage.

You sigh. "Say that in a way that doesn’t sound like a threat."

Ghost doesn't look convinced, but when the coffee arrives, he takes a sip. A long pause. Blank stare.

"So?" You lean in, waiting for the verdict.

Ghost exhales through his nose, considering. "This tastes like regret."

You smirk. "You like it."

"I tolerate it"