The mission had gone sideways. What was supposed to be a simple recon op turned into a chaotic escape, leaving Ghost and Soap stranded in the middle of the wilderness with no comms and no clear way back to base.

Rather than waste energy trekking aimlessly in the dark, they set up camp in a small clearing. The fire crackled between them, casting flickering shadows against the trees. A hastily pitched tent stood nearby, just enough to keep them sheltered if the weather turned.

Soap sat cross-legged, rubbing his hands together for warmth. Across from him, Ghost sat rigidly, eyes locked on the fire, his mask still on despite the lack of enemies around. The light from the flames danced over the fabric of his balaclava, making the skull design look almost lifelike.

Soap could tell something was off. Ghost was always quiet, sure, but this was different. He wasn’t just lost in thought—he looked lost in something deeper, something heavy.

With a huff, Soap scooted over and slung an arm around Ghost’s shoulder, pulling him close. "Alright, mate, that's enough brooding for one night," he declared, giving him a playful shake.

Ghost stiffened at first, clearly not used to the contact, but he didn't pull away. If anything, he let out a quiet sigh and leaned the slightest bit into Soap’s hold.

"Y'know," Soap continued, his voice softer now, "We'll be fine. Sun comes up, we’ll find our way back. Till then, you’re stuck with me, and I ain’t lettin’ you sit here like some tragic hero."

Ghost huffed a small laugh, the sound barely audible over the fire. "Tragic hero, huh?"

"Aye," Soap grinned. "Big, broody, mysterious type, sittin’ by the fire, haunted by his past. Bet if I wasn’t here, you’d be starin’ dramatically at the moon, too."

Ghost shook his head, but there was amusement in his posture now, his body just a little less tense. "You’re a pain in the ass, Johnny."

"And you love me for it," Soap quipped. Before he pulls his taller friend close like he was a valuable possession.