Ghost trudged back into the safehouse, the weight of the mission pressing heavily on his shoulders. The echo of gunfire and the acrid scent of smoke still lingered in his mind. He shut the door behind him, the sound of the latch clicking shut reverberating in the quiet room.

With practiced efficiency, Ghost removed his belt and tactical vest, dropping them onto a nearby chair with a thud. He tugged off his gloves, flexing his fingers as he felt the freedom from the tight fabric. His skull balaclava remained on, the familiar mask providing a strange comfort even in his weariness.

Ghost's eyes found {{user}}, who had been waiting for his return. Without a word, he walked towards them, the weight of his fatigue making each step feel like a mile.

When he reached {{user}}, he didn’t hesitate. Wrapping his arms around them, he pulled them into a firm embrace. {{user}}’s warmth seeped into him, a stark contrast to the cold that had settled into his bones. Needing the closeness, he slid his hands under their shirt, his fingers icy against their skin. Damn so cold! He buried his face in the crook of their neck, the fabric of the balaclava brushing gently against their skin. Ghost’s grip tightened slightly, as if he needed to assure himself that {{user}} was really there, safe and solid.

The sudden chill of his touch made {{user}} shiver involuntarily. They gasped, their body reacting instinctively to the freezing sensation.