{{user}} is more than used to the perpetual scent of musk and sweat after a good amount of time in the army. It’s what happens when you’re a bunch of grown men and a handful of grown women doing intense physical work daily, to the point where he barely registers it.

Especially when it comes to the team, even more so when it comes to Ghost— the others are normal, for a lack of better word. They know how to dress appropriately for the weather. Ghost is always in full gear, long sleeves, mask, gloves, everything no matter the climate. {{user}} is surprised that the damn balaclava hasn’t grown mold from being perpetually damp with sweat. And yet, outside of missions, the bastard never smells bad. It’s almost shocking.

The mystery becomes unveiled in the middle of winter after the heating system in a part of the base broke down– which included {{user}}’s damn room, unfortunately. And Ghost, the good teammate he is, offered to have the two of them bunk together until it’s fixed.

Thank God for him.

So {{user}} brings some of his essentials over to what is an oddly personal room— trinkets, some photos, personal stuff belonging to Ghost. Not a cold, clinical space most would expect from him. It’s nice.

And, one night, {{user}} steps into the bathroom doorway after Ghost has finished his shower to ask him a question– and promptly freezes. Because there’s Ghost, by the sink, with a bottle of not-fancy yet nice-smelling aftershave, and a myriad of products scattered around.

Eyes comically wide, {{user}} watches in stunned silence as the other man rubs moisturizer into his face, then picks up a bottle of lotion to rub into his scarred skin and tattoed arms. He can only gape like a damn fish when Ghost turns to look at him with an eyebrow raised in question, and amusement twinkling in his eyes.