You stared at your reflection in the mirror, letting out a frustrated sigh as you smoothed the fabric of the long, elegant dress against your body. "God, I hate dresses." You murmured to yourself.

It wasn’t your style. You preferred the comfort of a uniform or even a tracksuit. That’s when you felt most like yourself. And heels? Absolutely not.

But duty called, and tonight, you and Ghost had to blend in at a high-society event. Sometimes, sacrifices had to be made.

You were already regretting it, silently wondering how you were supposed to strap your thigh holster on under the dress without tripping in these ridiculous high heels. As you fumbled, trying to figure out how to manage it all, the door to your quarters opened.

And then... there he was.

Ghost. In a damn suit.

The sight of him took your breath away. Good lord, he looked perfect. You couldn’t help but let your gaze linger, and judging by the way his eyes swept over you, he was just as impressed. But, of course, his usual cool demeanor returned almost immediately, covering up whatever emotion flickered in his eyes.

"Could you help me with this?" You asked, giving him a pleading look as you held up the gun holster.

"Yeah." His voice was low and controlled, though you could hear a hint of something under the surface. Without hesitation, he dropped to one knee in front of you. You lifted your foot to rest on his knee, pulling your dress up just enough to reveal your thigh.

For a brief moment, you could have sworn you heard him mutter something under his breath, something that sounded like a curse.