The base moved like a machine, boots echoed down concrete corridors. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Paper passed from hand to hand, stamped, signed, filed, forgotten. {{user}} was part of that system. As Ghost’s secretary, she kept the place running in quieter ways, tracking reports, organising briefings, making sure the right documents landed on the right desks. Every day, she appeared at his office door with a neat stack of folders held against her chest. Hair pulled back. Uniform pressed. She delivered updates and requisitions in a steady, efficient voice that never lingered longer than necessary. Their exchanges were brief. Professional. Work only. Nothing more.

Until coincidence intervened. Ghost took a rare day off, shedding the mask and the weight that came with it. No radio. No orders. He found himself in a small cafe off base, the air thick with the smell of coffee beans and sugar. He stood in line, absently watching the barista work, when a voice spoke behind him. “Is it always this busy?” He turned. {{user}} stood there, only it took him a second to realise it was her. No tight bun. No uniform. Just loose hair falling around her shoulders, a soft coat, eyes warmer than he’d ever seen them. She didn’t recognise him. Not without the mask. The realisation amused him instantly. She was talking to him like a stranger. For a fleeting moment, he considered telling her. Watching the recognition hit. But he liked this version of her. So he said nothing. “Seems like it,” he replied instead, voice low, unguarded in a different way.

She smiled, clearly relieved he’d answered. “Figures. I finally get a day off and everyone else has the same idea.” They exchanged a few words. Coffee preferences. Complaints about queues. But the air between them felt strangely light, almost intimate in its simplicity. He noticed the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she laughed, the warmth in her eyes. She noticed his hands, broad and steady and the quiet confidence in the way he stood, unhurried, attentive. Ghost found himself quietly amused the entire time. Amused that she didn’t recognise him. Amused that she clearly liked him. Then her order was called. She stepped forward, collected her drink, then turned back to him with a smile that lingered longer than politeness required. “Have a good day.” “You too,” he said. She left without asking his name. The moment slipped away like it had never existed, except it stayed with her.

The next day, back on base, {{user}} returned to her rounds but something was off. She still moved from office to office, still carried folders and schedules and reports that people depended on but her focus fractured in small, telling ways. When she reached Ghost’s office, her gaze was drifted, unfixed, like her thoughts were somewhere far. Ghost noticed immediately. When she finished listing updates, he didn’t reach for the paperwork right away. “You’re distracted,” he said. Her shoulders stiffened slightly. Then she exhaled, a quiet release. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be.” “What’s got your head elsewhere?” he asked. She hesitated, then gave a small, almost embarrassed smile. “I met someone yesterday. At a cafe.” She shook her head softly. “Didn’t even get his name. I don’t usually let things like that get to me but I keep thinking about him.” Ghost leaned back in his chair, amusement flickering beneath the skull mask.

“Oh?” he prompted. “What was it about him?” She considered it for a moment. “He was kind. He actually listened.” She let out a soft laugh. “It sounds silly, I know. It was barely a conversation.” “Did he look like your type?” Ghost asked mildly. Her cheeks warmed. “Maybe,” she admitted. “There was just something about him.” “You hoping you’ll see him again?” he asked. She nodded once, then caught herself, straightening as professionalism snapped back into place. “Anyway. I should get back to work.” As she turned and left, Ghost finally picked up the folder. smirking to himself. Because he knew exactly who she was thinking about. And he was in no hurry to tell her.