It was late, the base mostly asleep except for the flicker of light coming from the rec room. You were curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket you definitely “borrowed” from the medbay, eyes glued to the TV as Titanic played for the thousandth time.

Right as Jack was about to freeze into a very handsome popsicle, heavy boots echoed down the hall. Ghost stopped in the doorway, arms crossed, eyeing the screen like it personally offended him, “you watching this again?” You didn’t even look at him, “it’s a classic.”

“It’s propaganda,” he muttered, “there was clearly room on that door.”

You sniffled, clutching your mug like it might protect you from judgment.

He let out a low grunt and sat down on the couch next to you. Close. Not accidental close, but just enough to make your shoulder brush his when you shifted.

He waited a beat before blurting out, “you know, I’m not great with feelings…”

You turned your head, interested, “really? Could’ve fooled me, Lieutenant Emotion.”

He ignored that, he was on a mission now, “but I looked it up. Apparently, offering someone snacks is a form of affection.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a crumpled protein bar.

“Wow,” you said, holding back a smile, “you shouldn’t have.”

“I didn’t. Soap did. I stole it.” He chuckled nervously, “for you”.

Your laugh made something flicker behind the mask. “Also,” he added, awkwardly, “you must be a field radio… ‘cause I keep picking up signals.”

You blinked, “Ghost.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t ever say that again.”

“…Copy.”

He didn’t move away. And neither did you.