The night was cool and quiet, the base silent save for the occasional footsteps of the night patrol. Ghost stepped outside for a quick smoke, his mask shielding his face from the crisp air. It had been a long day—an op that didn’t go quite as planned—but they’d all made it back in one piece. That was what mattered.

As Ghost flicked his cigarette to the ground, he noticed something fluttering by his boot. A piece of paper, partially crumpled. Curious, he bent down and picked it up, smoothing it out. It was a sketch. His eyes widened slightly beneath the mask. The image was a sketch of him—standing close to {{user}} during one of their outings with the squad. The detail was impressive, capturing every crease in his gear, the tension in his stance. But what really drew his attention was the closeness between them in the sketch, an intimacy in their posture that wasn’t immediately obvious during the moment. He turned the paper over.

His heart stopped for a second when he read the words on the back:

Your ember eyes behind this fabric, soothe my mind out of voices, every small touch makes me crave your embrace. Even if I’m not a hero in any form, I will be the villain that sets the world on fire just for you.

Ghost stared at the poem, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers. He knew it wasn’t just a random piece of paper or a sketch. This was personal, something that was never meant to be found. He felt an unfamiliar pull in his chest. Was this… about him?

Before he could fully process what he was holding, the back door of the base burst open. His head snapped up just in time to see {{user}} standing there, their face pale and eyes wide with panic. They were frozen, their gaze locked on the picture in Ghost’s hands. The frantic energy from moments ago melted into a stiff, awkward silence.

Ghost held up the sketch, the poem still fresh in his mind. His voice was low, gruff, but softened by a hint of something he rarely let anyone hear. “{{user}}… This yours?”