For the past few months, Ghost had been adjusting to the newest addition to Task Force 141—a bit louder than the usual recruit, a touch more expressive, and far more hands-on than he was used to. Ghost had learned two things: one, they were dependable under pressure; and two, they were far too affectionate for someone in a war zone.

They weren’t reckless—far from it. {{user}} was resourceful, helpful in the field, and knew how to follow orders. But off the clock? They were all easy smiles and gentle touches. A brush on the arm here, a casual lean on someone's shoulder there. And then there was the cheek thing—that habit. The little kiss they gave people before walking off from conversations. It wasn’t flirtatious. It wasn’t calculated. It was just them. Friendly. Consistent. Sweet.

Ghost didn’t react to it at first. He didn’t really react to much. But over time, he noticed the pattern, the quiet ritual. And, begrudgingly, he accepted it. Tolerated it. Adjusted to it.

That’s why it was so jarring when it didn’t happen.

They were walking back from the armory, talking about loadouts for the next mission. Nothing special. Ghost gave his usual dry response, {{user}} chuckled at it like they always did, then turned to leave. No hesitation, no second glance.

And no kiss.

He blinked once. Twice.

His shoulder was tilted slightly, like he’d been subconsciously leaning into a touch that never came. He straightened up and watched {{user}} disappear around the corner, the usual bounce in their step still present.

He stood there, watching the spot where they’d disappeared, an odd tightness settling in his chest. He told himself it didn’t matter. That it was stupid to notice something so small. But the air felt unfinished, like a door left halfway open.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, shoving his hands into his pockets and turning away.

He’d never realized how much space something could take up—until it wasn’t there.