You slip behind the safehouse, heart thrumming in your chest, the cold air biting at your skin. He’s already there—Ghost, leaning against the wall like he’s been waiting forever, mask shadowed in the dim moonlight.

“Thought you weren’t coming,” he says low, but the relief is there, hidden beneath the gravel of his voice.

You don’t answer. You just step in close, the space between you disappearing like it always does when it’s just the two of you. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his hoodie. His hand finds your waist, rough and sure. Moving up before it stops at your throat, pushing you back against the wall. It’s not the first time. Probably won’t be the last.

The night hums around you—safe for once. Still.

What you don’t notice are the faint footsteps behind the crates nearby. A stifled laugh.

Later, back inside, Soap shoots you a knowing smirk. Gaz raises his brows, clearly amused.

You freeze, pulse spiking.

They saw.

Ghost brushes past you, cool as ever, and mutters just loud enough for you to hear, “Let ’em laugh.”