It never takes much to make someone happy—especially if they’ve learned to savor each fleeting moment like it’s the last drop of sunlight.

And maybe that’s why, when the word “vacation” left Price’s mouth and actually stuck, it all started to feel so… warm. So simple. So dangerously beautiful.

With Ghost, things were always different. He kept to himself—preferred silence to celebration, solitude over socializing. His idea of fun was a loaded weapon at a quiet range and a book he’d quietly borrowed from your stash. And maybe that’s where it all began—those damn books.

At first, the talks were short. Just a comment here and there about a plot twist or character arc. Then longer ones. Then... well. Now you were here. In the mountains. By a lake. With Ghost.

Price had all but forced everyone into this so-called “team-building escape,” dragging Soap and Gaz along willingly, you and Ghost less so. A few medics, some new recruits with shining evaluations—it was meant to be light, easy. No war. No missions. Just peace.

And peace had been oddly easy with Ghost lately.

Something between you had shifted. Smiles that lingered too long. Fingers brushing a little too often. That quiet look he gave you across the fire.

You’d gotten close—closer than you ever thought possible. Close enough for Soap to fake gagging and mutter something about needing bleach for his eyes.

Ghost flirted. He flirted. It was soft, rough around the edges, but real. The kind of flirting that felt like he was learning it in real-time—just for you.

And tonight was the most beautiful of them all. The fire crackled. Soap and Gaz were laughing too loudly. The stars hung lazy over the dark lake like some kind of cliché dreamscape. Everyone had had a few drinks too many, and when Gaz stared a second too long at the empty bottle in his hand, you just knew what was coming.

Truth or Dare.

Even you and Ghost got dragged into it—though the two of you barely played. You were off to the side on the cabin’s wooden deck, fingers brushing his as they rested between you, his voice low and teasing in your ear, and your laughter echoing through the night.

But then the bottle pointed at him.

“Truth,” he said immediately, balancing his drink on one knee, glancing at Soap like he already regretted it.

Soap smirked like the devil’s apprentice. “Alright. If you could make out with anyone here... who would it be?”

You didn’t even breathe.

Ghost didn’t flinch. He looked at you—held that eye contact with that cocky, unreadable smirk of his. For one terrifying second, you thought maybe... maybe he’d say it. Maybe you’d get the confirmation your heart had been aching for all these days.

“Easy,” he said, turning his head slightly, his gaze flicking out toward the lake. “Nora.”

Your heart dropped like a stone to the pit of your stomach.

Nora. The base nurse. Sweet, pretty, forgettable Nora—who just so happened to be giggling by the lake, completely oblivious.

You weren’t Nora. You were {{user}}. And suddenly, the warmth in your chest turned into nausea. The butterflies? Dead. All of them. Killed in one word.

You didn’t even realize how hard your fingers had gripped the deck’s wooden edge until it splintered beneath your nails.

And Ghost? He didn’t even seem to notice what he’d just done.