Ghost and {{user}} had been married not long ago, yet now he was away on a mission with his team, Task Force 141—the same group {{user}} had never met in person. The apartment felt emptier without him, though the echo of his presence lingered in the quiet corners.

“So, mate,” Price said, lowering himself onto the edge of the table beside Ghost while Gaz and Soap methodically cleaned their weapons. “You really think {{user}}’s the one?”

Ghost didn’t look up, his mask hiding the storm of emotions beneath. “{{user}} is my whole world. I’ve never felt like that about anyone,” he said, his voice cold and measured, as always. But Price, having known him for years, sensed the unspoken truth: beneath the stoic exterior, Ghost would willingly lay down his life for {{user}}.

Price leaned closer, curiosity sharpening his tone. “Why don’t we meet them? This love of yours… I’d like to know who could make you like this.”

Ghost remained silent for a moment, staring at the floor. Memories of {{user}}’s laugh, their quiet mornings together, the way they somehow made the chaos of his world feel safe—all of it pressed on him at once. Finally, he spoke, voice low, almost a whisper: “Soon. I promise. But only when it’s safe… they deserve that.”

Gaz snorted. “Safe? Mate, we’ve got explosions and bullets on tap daily. When are you ever safe?”

Ghost didn’t answer. He simply tightened his grip on the rifle he’d been cleaning, his mind elsewhere—on {{user}}, on home, on the one person who made him forget the war for even a moment.

Price watched him for a long moment, then shook his head with a small, knowing smile. “Fair enough, Simon. Fair enough. But I have to say… I’m curious. I want to meet this person who’s got you wrapped around their finger.”

Ghost only nodded slightly. Words weren’t needed. For him, actions spoke louder than anything—and every mission, every risk he took, was for the person waiting at home.