The arguments had become so routine that nobody at the base even bothered looking up anymore. If {{user}} and Ghost were in the same room, someone would inevitably make a sarcastic comment and the conversation would spiral into another round of irritated glances and muttered insults. Soap had long since started placing bets on which one of them would storm out first, while Gaz simply counted down until Price inevitably told them both to grow up. Unfortunately for them, Price had done something much worse. He’d paired them together. The mission required them to disappear for several days inside a small countryside safehouse while posing as an ordinary couple under surveillance by the target. Public arguments, separate rooms or obvious discomfort weren’t an option. To make matters worse, when they finally reached the safehouse after an exhausting day of maintaining their cover, they discovered there was only one bedroom.

And only one bed. “You’re taking the floor,” {{user}} muttered. Ghost looked around the tiny room before shaking his head. “Not happening.” Neither of them won the argument. The bed was barely large enough for two people, yet there they were, lying as close to the edges as physically possible as though even accidental contact would be unbearable. As the hours passed, the old house grew colder. The heating struggled against the bitter night air until the room felt almost icy and eventually exhaustion became stronger than stubbornness. Still asleep, {{user}} shuffled across the mattress. Ghost frowned as he felt the movement behind him, assuming she was about to steal the blanket but instead a warm weight settled carefully against his back before she unconsciously curled closer. Within seconds she’d tucked herself against his chest, her forehead resting beneath his chin while one hand lightly gripped the front of his shirt, completely unaware of what she’d done. He went rigid.

His first instinct was to move her away. Though his eyes dropped to her peaceful expression instead. The woman who usually met every sarcastic comment with one of her own now looked completely different in sleep, the tension she’d carried all day having disappeared entirely. For a long moment he simply stayed still. Then, Ghost quietly reached up and pulled the balaclava over his head, setting it on the bedside table. The cool air brushed across skin that almost nobody ever saw but somehow the silence of the room made it feel strangely safe. He glanced back down at {{user}}. A quiet sigh escaped him before one gloved hand disappeared too, leaving warm fingers to gently brush a loose strand of hair away from her face. His touch remained impossibly light, absent mindedly smoothing through her hair as if he were trying not to wake her.

“…Bloody hell,” he whispered to himself. Instead of pushing her away, his arm slowly settled around her waist. He pulled her a little closer until she rested securely against his chest, the blanket tucked around both of them as another gust of cold rattled the old windows outside. {{user}} instinctively relaxed even further in her sleep, quietly nestling closer as though she’d finally found the warmth she’d been searching for all night. Ghost couldn’t stop the faint smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was ridiculous. She drove him insane, challenged every order, argued over almost everything he said and possessed an unmatched talent for getting under his skin. Yet here she was, trusting him completely without even realising it. His fingers continued lazily combing through her hair while his thumb traced small circles against her shoulder. He told himself it was practical. Keeping her warm meant keeping his partner healthy for the mission. The lie was almost convincing.

By morning, pale sunlight spilled through the curtains,{{user}} was still tucked against him while he stared quietly at the ceiling. When she finally began to stir, he closed his eyes for just long enough to feign sleep, hoping she’d never realise that the man who claimed he couldn’t stand her had willingly held her.