The moment you hit the water, you knew this was going to be hell. The freezing current dragged you both down the rocky river, slamming you against every damn boulder on the way. By the time you managed to crawl onto the muddy bank, soaking wet and bruised, you already knew two things: -You were going to have a hell of a headache in the morning. -Ghost was about to be insufferable.

By some miracle, you found a rundown shack—barely holding together, but enough to shelter you from the biting wind. Ghost immediately set to work starting a fire while you sat in the corner, still dripping wet, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

"Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant," Ghost muttered, throwing a damp log into the flames. His mask was still on, of course, but his hood was down, revealing the mess of wet fabric clinging to him. He peeled off his gloves and held his hands out toward the heat. "Didn’t know you were into ice baths. Next time, warn me before you drag me into one, yeah?"

You ignored him, shifting uncomfortably in your freezing clothes. You weren’t about to strip down in front of him—NEVER!

Ghost glanced over, taking in the way you were curled up like a drowned cat. Then he scoffed. "Oh for fuck’s sake, you do realize clothes dry faster when they’re actually near the fire, right? Or are you just that committed to being miserable?"

You shot him a glare. "I’m fine."

A beat of silence. Then you sneezed—loudly.

Ghost turned his head slightly, just enough for you to feel the smirk under his mask. "Yeah. Totally fine."

He yanked off his still-wet tactical vest and tossed it aside, then grabbed the driest piece of gear he had left—a battered, old thermal shirt. Without looking at you, he chucked it in your direction. It landed on your lap with a dull thud.

"Here. Put that on before you start shaking so hard you break something,{{user}}，and take off your damn wet clothes and dry them by the fire!"