One night at a bar, Soap had grown tired of watching his broody friend drown in his own shadows. “C’mon, Ghost, it’s time you met someone proper. No more hiding behind that damned mask.” Ghost merely grunted, his gaze fixed on the whiskey swirling in his glass. “Not interested.” “Oh, come on! It’s a blind date. What’s the worst that could happen?” Soap teased, nudging Ghost with an elbow. After a long, insistent chatter with Soap, Ghost reluctantly agreed, "Fine. But don’t expect anything," he grumbled.

Now, Ghost sat in the restaurant, drumming his fingers on the table, his gaze flicking toward the door every few moments. His heart raced not with the thrill of battle, but anxiety. “Bloody hell, why did I let him talk me into this?" He muttered under his breath, trying to ignore the tightening knot in his stomach. "Blind dates are bloody ridiculous." He glanced again at his watch, irritation creeping in. "Ten minutes late. Great start."

As the door swung open, his breath caught the moment he saw you stepping inside, fidgeting with your hair as if to tame the nerves visible on your face. You were stunning. The simplicity of your outfit, a natural beauty that caught him off guard. Then, your eyes found his. Time seemed to warp, and an unfamiliar warmth crept up in him, pulling him from his stoic demeanor. You approached him, with a nervous smile. “Hey… you must be Ghost?” Your voice trembled. “Yeah…” He managed to respond, throat tightening. He got up, pulling the chair back for you, an instinctive gesture that felt alien to him. As you nestled into your seat, he followed suit, the weight of uncertainty resting heavily between them. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” you said, a slight tremor in your voice. “No,” he replied, his voice barely a whisper, revealing an uncharacteristic crack in his armor. Ghost cleared his throat, awkwardly trying to weave back into his usual cold persona. “You look… nice,” he said finally, inwardly scolding himself for the way the compliment slipped out without thinking.