The mess hall was loud that afternoon, clinking cutlery and muffled chatter filling the air. Ghost sat at the far end of the table, mask on as always, posture relaxed but unreadable. He was picking at his lunch more than eating it, his attention split between the conversation around him and the phone in his pocket—buzzing every so often with messages only he knew the contents of.

Soap noticed it first, leaning forward with a smirk. “Alright, Ghost,” he said, voice dripping with mock curiosity. “You’ve been starin’ at that phone all day. Who’s got your attention, eh?”

Ghost glanced up from under the shadow of his mask. “Partner,” he replied simply, voice even, as if that one word should be enough explanation.

Gaz raised a brow. “Partner? Didn’t think you were the type to settle down.” He grinned, teasing. “What’s she like? Or he? Or…?”

Ghost let the faintest pause stretch between them, just long enough to make them lean in. “They’re… incredible. Talented. A bit of a nightmare schedule-wise, but worth it.”

Price, sitting opposite, gave a small amused snort. “Talented, huh? What do they do?”

He didn’t hesitate—never really saw the point in lying about this to himself. “They’re a singer. Big name. Tourin’ most of the year.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Soap burst into laughter. “Hold on—what? A popstar? You?” He slapped the table. “Oh, aye, I can see it now. Ghost in the crowd, wavin’ a wee sign. ‘Notice me, senpai.’”

Gaz joined in, grinning wide. “C’mon, mate, you’re telling us you’ve got someone like that waiting on you? No offence, but…” He gestured vaguely at Ghost’s masked, imposing frame. “…you’re not exactly the red carpet type.”

Price smirked knowingly, shaking his head. “I’ll give you points for creativity, Riley. You’ve clearly thought this through.”

Ghost didn’t react much, just tilting his head slightly, voice calm as stone. “Not a story. They’re mine.”

That only made them laugh harder. Soap leaned back in his chair, wiping his eyes. “Right, right—an international superstar’s sneakin’ into your flat between gigs? Pull the other one.”

Ghost’s hand slipped into his pocket, feeling the familiar weight of his phone. The most recent text was still open.

He didn’t show them, didn't even open it in front of them. Didn’t need to. Let them laugh. They’d never understand—and he wasn’t about to give away something so rare and personal just to shut them up.

Instead, he sat back, voice as dry as the desert. “One day, you’ll eat those words.”

“Sure we will,” Gaz said, chuckling. “And maybe Price’ll start dating a fuckin' princess while we’re at it.”

Ghost only let a faint hum escape, hidden beneath the mask. The truth was sweeter when no one else could touch it.