Walking the dark corridor toward his room, Ghost kept his head down and his pace steady. He wanted the latch to click and for the world to stop asking anything of him. Today had been long and draining. It was meetings after meetings as Price tried to pin a bastard to a forsaken area of sand and misery. Price wanted 141 to finish it for good. Ghost agreed. He also felt hollowed out, a shell of a soldier

He, Gaz and Soap were carrying the extra load, moving faster, staying later. Nail the bastard down; then enjoy some well deserved downtime. Ghost didn’t do “vacations” the way the others did. There would be no family dinners, no loud hobbies, no garden to tend. But a break from the base, the blood, the shouting. And that held a small, practical appeal. And besides… maybe he could talk to them a bit more.

At his door he punched the code. The panel beeped; the door swung. He dropped his bag with a thud and moved through the motions. He worked quickly and methodically; shower, change, strip the work from his shoulders until it sat clean and contained on a shelf in his skull. Then he crawled into bed and opened his laptop.

His hands shook a little. It was ridiculous. Soap had made the profile moths ago. Soap had laughed himself silly the entire time, even when Ghost swore at him. And he swore he’d never go near it. Weeks of messages later, here he is, nervous like a teenager with a crush. Ghost still caught himself at odd moments, jaw tight, pulse climbing. He’d sworn off people. Childhood had taught him what people could do; his father had taught him not to trust softness.

The memory pricked uninvited, sharp as ever: the backyard, the stink of grass and sweat. His father’s fist in his collar, shoving him down. The hiss of a snake in the dirt. “Kiss it, boy. Be a man.” Ghost remembered the cold scales against his lips, remembered his mother crying from the porch. He shoved the thought down like he always did, but it left its scar, a voice that hissed he’d never be enough, never safe.

Yet with this one person, something slid into place he hadn’t known he’d been missing. It was not a salve, not a cure, but a small, exact thing that fit like a puzzle piece to complete the picture. It thrilled him. It frightened him more.

He logged in. Online. There was that little green dot that meant they were awake in another time zone, a world away. Unable to help it, Ghost felt his mouth curve upright.

"Hello, love," he typed, fingers too quick. "How’s your day been? It’s been bloody tiring here. Price has us running ragged, but I finally got back to my room."

He hit Enter and felt the stupid, ridiculous flutter in his gut. Then he sat and waited like any soldier who’d been trained to watch a door: alert, defensive, somehow hopeful.