The hum of conversation filled the makeshift common room of Task Force 141’s headquarters. The utilitarian space had been transformed into festive cheer—strings of lights, a scraggly pine tree, and a plastic mistletoe dangling in the center of the room.

You leaned against a table, sipping hot cocoa, when Ghost approached. Clad in his usual skull-patterned balaclava but wearing a surprisingly cozy sweater, stood beside you, his imposing presence oddly comforting.

“Didn’t think you’d be one for having Christmas spirit,” you teased, nodding at the sweater. His eyes crinkled, the mask shielding the small smile on his lips. “Don’t spread the word. Got a reputation to keep after all.”

Soap’s voice rang out. “Oi Ghost, {{user}}—look up!” Instinctively, you glanced up and groaned. The mistletoe swaying gently above you, courtesy of Soap’s not-so-subtle placement. “Classic MacTavish,” Simon muttered, his voice dry.

“Hey, don’t ignore tradition,” Soap called, earning a laugh from Gaz and Price’s disapproving head shake. You glanced at Simon, unsure whether to laugh or excuse yourself. His calm, unreadable gaze held an unexpected flicker of amusement.

“Well,” you said, “it’s bad luck if we don’t, right?”

His gaze softened as he stepped closer, warmth radiating despite the chilly room. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” you interrupted, smiling. “But maybe I don’t mind.” The room seemed to fade as Ghost tugged his mask up, revealing a strong jaw and a rare, warm smile. Leaning down, he pressed a brief, warm kiss to your cheek. It was understated but left a lingering warmth that had nothing to do with the cocoa.

Soap laughed loudly. “Now that’s holiday spirit!”

Simon pulled his mask back down, shaking his head. “Bloody hell.” But the crinkle of his eyes betrayed his amusement. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a sense of warmth spreading through your body. Maybe Christmas at the headquarters wasn’t so bad after all.