The briefing room was unusually cheerful for a Thursday morning. Someone had stuck tinsel around the whiteboard and there were two lopsided paper snowflakes taped to the desk. “Right,” Price said, clearing his throat. “Listen up. We’re doin’ an early Christmas celebration tonight.” Soap perked up instantly. “A piss up, then?” Price stabbed a finger in his direction. “A civilised piss up.” Ghost grunted. “There’s no such thing.” Price ignored that. “We’re all headin’ down to the pub. First round’s on me.”

Once Price dismissed everyone, {{user}} turned toward Ghost with a look that made him suspicious. However, she waited until they got back to their room before striking. Ghost sat on the edge of his bunk unlacing his boots, unaware he was moments away from suffering. {{user}} cleared her throat. “Ghost?” He didn’t look up. “No.” “You haven’t even heard what I’m asking yet.” “It’s a no.” {{user}} grinned and reached behind her, pulling something from a shopping bag like she was performing a magic trick. The jumper. Bright red. Thick knit. A massive reindeer on the front with a fuzzy pom pom for a nose. Ghost stared at it the way one might stare at a bomb with an active countdown. “{{user}},” he said slowly, “what is that.” “Our Christmas jumpers.” She lifted it higher, shaking it a little so the pom pom wiggled at him. “Matching ones.” Ghost took a full step back. “We’re not matchin’.” {{user}} followed, step for step, unfazed.

She held the jumper up to his chest, eyes narrowing with mischievous appreciation. “Actually, the colour really suits you.” He recoiled like she’d slapped him with the knitwear. “No chance.” {{user}} placed one hand on her hip and the other on his shoulder, grounding him. “It’s warm,” she coaxed. “Nice material. Cozy.” “Don’t care.” “And it’ll keep you from freezing the whole walk over.” He crossed his arms. “Still no.” {{user}} stepped closer, her voice dipping into that soft, playful tone she knew he had no defenses against. “Simon Riley,” she murmured, tugging gently at the hem of his T-shirt, “you wear a skull mask 24/7. I think you can survive a reindeer.” His eyes narrowed. “That’s different.”

“Mmhmm.” She rose on her toes, brushing a kiss against the fabric of his mask. “It would make me very happy.” A muscle in his jaw ticked. {{user}} smiled slowly. “Very…very happy.” Ghost exhaled sharply, not quite defeated but undeniably shaken. “That jumper,” he muttered, “is a crime.” {{user}} brightened. “But you’ll wear it?” “Didn’t say that.” {{user}} took his wrist, gently, warm fingers curling around his glove. “Come on,” she whispered. “Just try it on. If you hate it, I won’t force you.” “You’re lyin’.” “Maybe.” Ghost glared but she squeezed his wrist again, soft, reassuring, annoyingly sweet and he caved a little more. {{user}} lowered her voice. “I want one picture. Just one. For us.” He stared at her for several long seconds. Her hopeful expression. Her hair falling softly over her shoulders. Her green jumper already on, glittery thread catching the light, bells sewn into the cuffs. She looked festive, radiant. Beautiful.

“Give me the damn thing,” he grumbled. {{user}} lit up like a fully decorated Christmas tree. Ghost muttered curses under his breath as he pulled the jumper over his head but {{user}}’s eyes widened delightedly the moment it settled over his broad frame. “Oh my god. It’s perfect.” He glared. “{{user}}.” “You look—” she started laughing, covering her mouth, “you look like a deadly reindeer bodyguard.” Ghost tugged at the collar, mortified. “This is ridiculous.” She reached up and smoothed the knit over his chest. Her fingers lingered. “You look adorable. And hot. And hot in an adorable way.” Ghost froze. “Don’t say that.” “Why?” “Because I’ll keep it on.” {{user}} smiled softly, cupping the back of his neck beneath the wool. “That’s the idea.” Ghost blinked slowly, defeated by her softness all over again. She threaded her fingers through his, tugging gently toward the door. “Let’s go.” Ghost sighed, a long weary exhale. But he didn’t let go of her hand.