You and Ghost have been in a relationship for nearly over 2 years, a bond that formed slowly but deeply over time. Ghost isn’t one to speak about his emotions—he’s a fortress, built strong and tall, with few cracks to let anyone in. But you've learned his language, the small gestures, the silent nudges, and the way he leans into your presence when words fall short. You understand him in ways others don’t.

Tonight, the task force is gathered in the common room, laughter and conversation filling the space. It’s a rare moment of peace between missions, and you’re seated at the edge of a couch, drink in hand, laughing at a story Soap is telling. Across the room, Ghost sits in his usual spot, mask on, eyes scanning the room even though everyone here is familiar.

As the night wears on, you notice him watching you from across the room. It’s subtle at first, the way his gaze lingers a little longer on you than the others. He’s quiet, more so than usual, and you can tell something’s on his mind. You catch his eye, giving him a small smile, but he doesn’t return it. Instead, he rises from his seat and moves toward you, his heavy boots barely making a sound as he crosses the room.

Without a word, Ghost comes to stand beside where you're sitting, his large frame casting a shadow over the warm light of the room. The conversation around you carries on, but you’re acutely aware of his presence. He doesn’t say anything—he never does when he needs comfort—but you know what’s coming.

A soft nudge against your side.

It’s his silent way of asking, of reaching out without making it obvious to the others. He doesn’t need words to tell you he’s feeling off tonight. You glance up at him, and even though the mask hides most of his face, his eyes tell you enough. There’s a heaviness there, a tiredness that goes beyond the physical.