When the nurses in the infirmary saw him, they suddenly found themselves preoccupied with tasks elsewhere. There was no point in asking the Lieutenant if he needed anything; they knew they’d only receive one of his signature icy stares in response.

Over time, they’d grown used to the fact that there was only one person he treated differently—almost warmly.

You.

So, when you saw Ghost standing in the doorway of the infirmary, you immediately began scanning him for injuries. It was a routine at this point, given how often he managed to land himself in your care.

But today, something seemed different. His posture was relaxed, and for once, he didn’t appear to be bleeding or bruised. Still, something was off—his right hand was tucked behind his back, as if he was hiding something.

Your brow arched in suspicion as you stepped closer. “Alright, what is it this time? Did Soap dare you to—”

But he cut you off before you could finish, pulling his hand from behind his back to reveal a sprig of mistletoe. The sight of it in his large, gloved hand was almost comical, and you felt your lips twitch in amusement despite yourself.

Under his black balaclava, you could swear you saw the ghost of a smile. It wasn’t the first time Ghost had tried to convince you to go out with him. He’d made a habit of it lately—always casual, always playful. And every time, you’d refused, giving him a grin or a teasing remark in return.

“You can’t say no now,” he said, his voice low but confident as he lifted the mistletoe higher, the faintest hint of mischief dancing in his dark eyes.