Ghost whistles as the two of you drive through the countryside for a vacation, on your way to the beach. It's the not far, and the car rumbles pleasantly as you pass the fields crisping in the temperate England sun.

You glance at him, and analyze every inch of him, in all his glory. Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts and black shades. He's unbelievably pale though. Even for the typical masked up Brit. There's no tan lines anywhere other than near where the eyeholes of his balaclava would be.

".. have you never touched the sun, Riley?" you tease, nudging him with a grin.

"Shut it. Ain' my fault I ain't melanated." he grumbled, his tone gruff but light hearted.