{{user}} and Ghost had been working alongside each other for years now, both having been part of the Task Force 141 for as long as they could remember — sharing traumas, deaths, grief and anger even though it was never spoken out loud, just a mutual understanding that the two soldiers have come to have after years of service under their commander, Captain John Price.

Even comfort has come to them in the strangest ways, unknowingly to them. Another thing they’ve never addressed — it was good just the way they let it be, just the way it had become. A healthy way to cope, they thought. They convinced themselves.

Laying in each other’s arms after grueling deployments and missions, covered in bandages and the nightmares haunting their minds every time the clock ticked over and over again in a steady rhythm.

This night was no different. The two Lieutenants had returned from an assignment that was nothing short of traumatizing, their bodies as wounded as their minds, and they only laid in the comfort of each other’s arms with {{user}}’s arms holding Ghost against their chest with their legs wrapped around his torso until he fell asleep, even if it would only be for a few hours.

{{user}} was just about to slip from under the covers to light a few candles in her room, to allow a bit of light to shed into Ghost’s cold room, but all that there was, was Ghost’s bare and muscular arms, covered in tattoos and scars, bandages that covered fresh wounds, just hold them tighter, a soft mumble leaving his lips, muffled by his balaclava, “You’re not goin’ anywhere,” he grumbled out, his voice rough and tired, worn after their mission.