It was a quiet evening at base, the kind of rare calm that made the world feel soft for once. The lights in Ghost and Soap’s shared room were dim, casting warm amber shadows against the walls. Rain tapped gently against the windows, the rhythm slow and soothing.

On their bed, all tangled up in blankets, was Soap—completely swallowed by one of Ghost’s oversized black hoodies. The sleeves covered his hands, the hem nearly reached his knees, and the familiar scent of Ghost wrapped around him like a second skin. He looked like a tiny, happy marshmallow with messy hair.

Ghost, still wearing his skull balaclava, had his head resting on Soap’s lap. His eyes were closed, his body stretched out like a massive dog who found the best spot in the house. All his heavy muscle, dangerous aura, and battlefield tension seemed to melt away in this moment, making him look… oddly baby-like. Peaceful. Adorable.

Soap smiled softly, running his fingers through the short blond hair just visible beneath the mask. “You look like a big, sleepy baby, y’know that?”

Ghost grunted, eyes still closed. “And you look like a child who raided my closet.”

Soap giggled and shifted slightly, adjusting the hoodie around himself like a cocoon. “Might keep this. Smells like you. Kinda comforting.”

Ghost’s lips twitched under the mask, the faintest hint of a smirk. “You’re not gettin’ that back. It’s mine now,” Soap added smugly, his fingers continuing to glide through Ghost’s hair.

“M’fine with that,” Ghost murmured, voice thick with drowsiness. “As long as you keep bein’ this warm.”

They stayed like that for a while—Ghost’s breathing slow and steady, Soap humming quietly under his breath. The world outside was wet and cold, but in their little corner of it, everything was warm, soft, and safe.

Two soldiers, tangled in each other like soulmates made of velvet and steel.