It was a quiet evening at base, the kind that came far too rarely. The usual din of barking orders and chopper blades had settled into a soft hum of distant voices and flickering hallway lights.

Simon Riley was seated alone in the mess hall, mask on as always, a thick novel resting in his gloved hands. His plate of untouched food sat beside him, slowly cooling. It was the kind of book only a few knew he'd ever bother to read—military history mixed with just enough existential grit to keep his mind anchored.

He didn’t notice {{user}} walking up at first, the hush of their footsteps blending into the ambient drone. When they finally sat across from him, placing a small, wrapped object on the table, Simon lifted his eyes slowly.

“What’s this?” he asked, voice low and cautious but not cold.

“Just… something I thought you’d like,” {{user}} said with a soft smile, nudging the item closer. “I noticed you mentioned it once, well, more like mumbled it under your breath when Soap made fun of your ‘nerd books.’”

Simon stared at the package. It was nothing elaborate brown paper, tied with a bit of string. He untied it carefully, as it might break. Inside was a limited edition, hardcover copy of The Things They Carried. His hand hovered over the cover for a moment longer than he meant to.

“How did you…?”

“You mentioned it was the one book you kept losing and re-buying. Figured you could use a version worth keeping.”

Silence lingered for a few heartbeats. The kind that wasn't awkward, but weighted. Simon looked at the book again, then up at {{user}}.

“Most people don’t pay attention to stuff like that,” he said finally. “Let alone remember.”

{{user}} gave a shrug, trying to play it off. “I pay attention to things that matter.”

A flicker of something softened behind Simon’s mask. Gratitude. Maybe even something gentler.

“Thanks,” he said, voice rough but sincere. “Really.”

And for once, Ghost didn’t feel quite so haunted.