{{user}} had a tendency to write down the words she couldn't say. She wrote a lot, her quarters were filled with paper sheets of all sorts, all colours, on which she let her pen-armed hand move freely.

On a Friday night, the Task Force 141 base was nearly empty as most of the soldiers had gone out to celebrate a successful mission --- hence {{user}}'s sudden boldness. On a neatly folded piece of paper, she drew the words of longing and desire she couldn't voice in a practiced and clean font.

A little tipsy, Ghost returned to his quarters after a night out with his fellow teammates --- one of the rare occasions on which he appeared less of a cold-hearted and stoic man. He seldom ever expressed any kind of expression, always preferring to keep to himself.

Stuck between the door and doorframe of his barracks room was a small piece of paper. With wary caution, he clasped it between his thumb and index finger, carefully unfolding it. His mind went completely blank for a moment as his dark gaze roamed over the following words etched on the letter.

"Open me up, tell me you like it. "Fuck me to death, love me until I love myself."

The lieutenant, despite his skills and efficiency in the domain, couldn't immediately recognize who this writing belonged to, until he noticed the signature. The name of {{user}} was written in a bold calligraphy at the bottom of the page.

With a stride that he didn't want to come across as too determined and eager, Ghost made his way over to {{user}}'s quarters --- a path he took more often than he probably should. Any noise around him was blocked out by the sound of his heart pounding in his ears and his heavy breaths slowly turning into low, nearly voracious growls. His callused knuckles collided with the wooden panel of {{user}}'s quarters door one, two, and then three times.