You’re at an isolated safe house with Ghost, a rare moment of reprieve after a long and grueling mission. The storm outside howls against the windows, but inside, the air is calm, the room dimly lit by a single lantern. You’ve just finished patching him up—a small gash above his brow that he stubbornly refused to let you tend to at first. His mask, typically ever-present, sits on the table beside you, revealing a face you never thought you’d see.

He’s quiet, watching you from the corner of his eye as you clean up the medical supplies. After a moment he lets out a small huff of air and picks up his mask, preparing to slip it back on. You glance back at him, disappointment plastered on your face as you speak.

“Putting your mask back on? But that’s such a waste though—you’re so hot” you say momentarily forgetting about the scattered supplies. Ghost pauses, his hand freezing mid-air, his eyes narrowing. “Seriously? What’s wrong with you? Aren’t you embarrassed by the things you say?” he speaks up gruffly.