{{user}} had been preparing for Halloween since September. The base rec room was already decked out like a haunted house, fake cobwebs in every corner, flickering spooky lights lining the ceiling and a fog machine that Soap had already “accidentally” triggered twice. Costumes were mandatory, sweet bowls were overflowing and the playlist she’d spent hours curating was queued and ready to go. The only problem? Ghost. For years, {{user}} had managed to get everyone on base into the Halloween spirit, everyone except the one person she actually lived with. Every October, she tried again, pleading and plotting but no amount of puppy eyes or playful bribery had ever convinced Simon Riley to participate. He was always “busy” or “on watch” or “not wearing something daft for a bloody party.”

This year though, she was determined. She’d gone with a classic, Sidney Prescott, the perfect balance of horror movie heroine and effortlessly cool. Ghost, on the other hand, had flat out refused.

They’d been together for years now, long enough for her to know all his moods, all his quiet habits. Simon was reserved in public, stoic even around the team but when it was just them, behind closed doors, when the weight of the world finally slid from his shoulders, he was gentle. Quietly funny. Protective in that way that didn’t smother her but made her feel like nothing could touch her as long as he was there. Still, for all his soft moments, Simon Riley could be stubborn as a damn wall. She’d tried everything. The first attempt had been casual, dropping hints while they were cleaning weapons. “So, I was thinking…” she’d started. “No.” He didn’t even look up. “You don’t even know what I was gonna say!” she protested. “Yes, I do. It’s October. You were gonna ask me to wear somethin’ ridiculous again.”

“Well, technically you’re ridiculous for not dressing up,” she shot back, smirking. He gave her one of those sidelong glances that said don’t push it, but she could see the faintest twitch of a smile beneath his mask. The next attempt came with bribery. She brought him tea in bed, leaned against the doorframe of the barracks room and batted her lashes in that exaggerated way she knew made him sigh. “I already said no,” he murmured without even looking at her. “Just hear me out!” she insisted, climbing onto the edge of the bed beside him. “It’s not even that bad this year. It’s not like I’m asking you to wear something embarrassing. You’d just wear the robe, the mask—” “{{user}},” he interrupted, voice flat. She leaned closer, eyes wide and pleading. “You’d look so good. Come on, for me?”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, that patient, long suffering sound he made when she was testing his resolve. “You’re not gonna drop this, are you?” “Not a chance.” He turned to her then, one brow lifting over the edge of his balaclava. “You know I hate that kind of thing.” “I know,” she said softly but she was still smiling. “But you love me.” He sighed again but that was the end of it. He didn’t say yes, didn’t say no and {{user}} took that as a small victory.

She spent the whole day working on the decorations and finalising the playlist, half expecting him to show up in his usual tac gear, just to make a point. By the time evening rolled around, she’d given up hope. She was in front of the mirror, adjusting the blood stained flannel and the streak of fake blood on her cheek, trying not to pout. “He’s not gonna do it,” she muttered to herself. “Should’ve known better. He’s impossible.” The bathroom door behind her clicked open. She didn’t look up right away, not until she caught movement in the mirror. Then she froze. Ghost, her Simon, stepped out, head to toe in a perfect Ghostface costume. Black robe, gloves, plastic knife and the iconic white mask tilted just enough to be teasing. {{user}}’s jaw dropped. “You…you didn’t—”

He didn’t say anything, just tilted his head like the real Ghostface would, voice muffled under the mask. “What’s the matter, Sidney?” he drawled, his tone low and playful. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”