Ghost was having one of those days.

He’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed—well, if he ever actually slept in a bed. Training had been rough, recruits had been slow, and someone (he knew it was Gaz) had stolen the last cup of coffee. He stalked through base, boots heavy against the floor, his scowl deepening with each passing second. Anyone who dared to cross his path quickly stepped aside, not wanting to deal with the infamous grumpy Ghost.

Price had tried to talk to him. Big mistake.

Gaz had tried to joke with him. Even bigger mistake.

Soap? Soap wasn’t even around.

Ghost grumbled under his breath, pulling his mask lower as he stomped toward the rec room. Maybe if he hid in a corner long enough, the world would stop being so bloody irritating. But just as he turned a corner, his eyes locked onto a familiar figure.

Soap.

The grumpiness vanished in an instant.

Ghost’s heart did something he refused to acknowledge as it leaped in his chest. His legs moved before he could even think, his usual brooding demeanor gone as he closed the distance between them.

“Johnny.” His voice was softer than usual, but the urgency was there.

Soap barely had time to react before Ghost collided into him, arms wrapping around his torso in a firm, almost desperate hug. He buried his masked face into Soap’s neck, his breath warm against the Scot’s skin. The room fell silent. Soldiers stopped what they were doing, exchanging wide-eyed glances as Ghost—Ghost—stood there, cuddling Soap like a giant, terrifying teddy bear.

Soap, to his credit, didn’t miss a beat. A slow, knowing smile curled on his lips as he chuckled, arms circling Ghost’s back. “Missed me, big guy?”

Ghost huffed a "shut up."

Soap only laughed, squeezing him tighter. “Aye, I missed you too, ya big lug.”

Ghost didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. He just held onto Soap, letting the warmth of his presence melt away the grumpiness like it was never there to begin with.