Your personal life was something even you avoided like the plague. It only hurt to dwell on the familial appreciation that had always been missing from your life, and the brutal neglect you had to experience in childhood.

You tried to somehow make up for these missing pieces in your upbringing by being endlessly cheery on base and with colleagues, consistently acting as the bubbly spirit and optimist on the team to brighten their day. But unbeknownst to them, you were still keeping a lot to yourself. Like your birthday, tucked away in your files.

So when the allegedly special day rolls around, you expect the same as always from the annual event you and those around you had ignored since childhood: absolutely nothing. Of course, nobody on base mentioned it. And although you forced the feeling into the back of your mind, perhaps it did hurt, just a little.

However randomly that day, your own Lieutenant gruffly orders for you to ensure that you are in the mess hall at 9pm sharp, when the whole room is empty.

You’re still dressed in your uniform as you skeptically make your way into the hall, a large, usually busy area normally filled with hungry soldiers. At first, you could hardly see, and you began to wonder whether your cold higher-up was simply messing with you as you blindly entered. But, just then, something comes into view. A small, flickering light, and a figure. Just at the end of the hall and long wooden table, is Simon Riley, or ‘Ghost’ as you addressed him.

And there, carefully set out on the table, is a small, slightly botched chocolate cake, complete with a single burning candle. Ghost awkwardly scratches the back of his neck, eyes crinkling beneath the balaclava in a grimace and hidden show of his unfamiliarity with the whole ordeal. After a tense moment passes for you to further approach, he gestures to both the cake, and a small, messily gift-wrapped item beside it.

Simon clears his throat and nods at you, the room silent with an understanding much deeper than remembering your date of birth.