Friendship between {{user}} and Ghost wasn’t something anyone would’ve predicted. Ghost wasn’t the type to invite people in. He was the Lieutenant, the mask, the silence that nobody wanted to disturb. But {{user}}, she had slipped past all of that. Bit by bit. She never forced him to talk, but she noticed things, filled silences without making him feel crowded and most importantly, never flinched when he dropped his guard, even slightly. The rest of the team had clocked it long ago. Soap never missed a chance to poke fun, Gaz watched with that subtle smirk like he knew more than he should, and Price, well, Price noticed everything, even if he didn’t say a word. Whatever it was between Ghost and {{user}}, it was steady, unspoken, and theirs.

This mission had dragged them out to the middle of nowhere. Hours of trekking through wet undergrowth, the kind of silence that pressed on your ears, radios crackling now and again with clipped updates. They needed sleep, even just a few hours of it. Price had picked the spot. A clearing just off a dirt track, surrounded by thick trees and brush that offered cover without boxing them in. Night was falling fast, clouds heavy with rain overhead, the kind of darkness that swallowed light whole. “Make camp,” Price ordered. “Quick and quiet. We’re movin’ again at first light.”

That was all it took. They fell into motion, each man unpacking his kit with soldier’s efficiency. Soap whistled low as he dropped his pack, already fiddling with his tent poles. Gaz muttered under his breath about wet ground, his gloves already slick with mud. {{user}} crouched down, pulling her own tent free of its straps. The ground was soft, sucking at her boots as she unfolded the canvas. It was routine, muscle memory but then her hands froze. There it was. A clean rip right across the roof panel, rain already dripping through the fabric in mocking little taps. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she hissed under her breath, tugging at the flap as if pulling harder would somehow mend it. “I checked this before we left.”

“Problem, Sergeant?” Soap’s voice carried across the clearing, thick with amusement. {{user}} shot him a glare over her shoulder. “There’s a bloody hole in my tent.” She jabbed a finger at the offending tear. “Big enough to let half the storm in.” Soap grinned. “Oh, aye? That’s perfect. Nothin’ like sleepin’ under the stars while we’re bein’ hunted. Romantic, don’t you think?”

“Romantic my arse,” she snapped, flicking water off her glove. Gaz laughed softly, though he didn’t look up from hammering his last peg. “Better hope it doesn’t pour, {{user}}.” Her frustration flared hotter. Sleep was precious out here. The mission demanded sharpness, focus, not shivering through the night in a soaked bag. She cursed under her breath again, staring at the torn canvas like she could will it fixed. And then she felt him. That presence at her back, steady and unmistakable. Ghost. He stood with arms folded, mask damp from the drizzle, eyes hidden but gaze fixed on the hole in her tent. For a moment he just looked, silent as ever. “Not much use like that,” he said finally, voice a low rumble. She sighed. “No kidding. Guess I’ll just curl up under a tree, then. See how that goes.” Ghost tilted his head slightly. “Or you could use mine.” {{user}} blinked. “Your tent?”

“Plenty of space.” He shrugged like it was the most obvious solution in the world. “Better than wakin’ up drenched.” Across the clearing, Soap’s head popped up instantly. “Wait, wait, wait! Did I just hear Ghost offer to share a tent? Bloody hell, someone mark the date! The apocalypse is upon us!” “Johnny,” Ghost growled, voice sharp enough to cut through the rain. “Shut it.” Soap only laughed harder, while Gaz smirked without daring to comment. {{user}} fought back a smile, warmth creeping into her chest despite the cold drizzle. “You sure?” she asked, softer now. “I don’t want to—” “You’re not sleepin’ in a leakin’ tent” he interrupted, tone final.