Valentine’s Day had always been just another day on the battlefield—no flowers, no chocolates, just drills and missions. Romance didn’t belong in the chaos of war, or so most soldiers believed.

But this year felt different.

Simon wasn’t one for grand gestures. He was a man shaped by war, he was buried under layers of secrecy—both physically and emotionally. But there was one person who had somehow slipped past those walls.

{{user}}

After a long day of training, a note was slipped under their door.

"My barrack. 10 p.m. Don’t be late."

The handwriting was unmistakable—Simon.

They hesitated for a moment before making their way through the hallways, their mind racing with possibilities. Reaching his door, they knocked softly. The door opened, revealing Simon standing inside.

The room was dim, a single lamp casting a soft glow. He was in casual clothes—just a black shirt and cargo pants. But the air was thick with tension.

"You actually showed up," he muttered, his voice rough but softer than usual.

"You left a note," they teased lightly, stepping inside. "Had to come. You never ask anyone out like this."

He gave a tiny, nervous laugh, his hands twitching. There was hesitation in his posture. Then he took a slow breath, his voice quieter. "There’s something I want to do. Something I’ve never done before."

They tilted their head, confusion and curiosity mixed. They nodded.

Slowly, he reached up, his gloved fingers touching the mask.

He never removed it. The mask was a part of him, a shield from the world that separated Simon from Ghost. But here, with {{user}}, he was starting to lower it.

With a final, deep breath, Ghost lifted the mask.

The fabric peeled away, revealing scars that spoke of battles fought long before {{user}} met him. A strong jawline, sharp cheekbones, dusted with stubble. But most of all, his eyes—intense, vulnerable, searching.

For the first time, They weren’t just looking at Ghost. They were looking at Simon.