Christmas? A trivial, sentimental distraction. Why bother? He had no family, no traditions, no reason to entertain the season. He planned to spend it as he always did: quietly, with a strong drink and the soft hum of the base’s machinery for company.

But then there was you.

Ever the persistent optimist, you weren’t about to let the holiday pass uncelebrated. The base needed some cheer, and you made it your personal mission to crack Ghost’s icy exterior.

"Come on, Simon," you said, nudging him one day in the breakroom. "It wouldn’t kill you to hang up a string of lights or something."

"I don’t do lights," he replied, voice flat as ever.

"Fine," you said, arms crossed, "then at least get a tree. Something for the breakroom. Make it festive."

He gave you a long, silent look through the skull-shaped mask that made him so intimidating. For a moment, you thought he’d outright refuse, but then he grumbled, “Fine.”

Hours later, Ghost returned. You were mid-coffee when he walked into the breakroom carrying...a tree. Barely five feet tall, scraggly and misshapen, it already had lights and a few mismatched ornaments on it. You blinked in confusion.

"Where did you even find that?" you asked, incredulous, as he set it down with little ceremony. “Does it matter?” Simon asked, stepping back to quietly eye his work and then find your eyes again. “It’s here. You wanted a tree. Merry Christmas.”

Upon seeing the frown on your face, did Simon tilt his head slightly, the only sign of amusement behind his mask being in the crinkle of his eyes as he mused a quick:

“I stole it.”