After Logan was born your wife left, the strain of a family she never wanted driving her out the door. You were left standing in the kitchen with a newborn in your arms, swearing to yourself you’d give him everything he needed even if you had to do it alone. It hardened you in some ways, but it also softened you in others. The regiment gave you structure, and over time, Ghost gave you company. What began as small favors turned into a steady friendship, his presence something you started to rely on more than you ever expected.

One evening Soap offered to take Logan out, said he’d give you a break and treat the boy to a night of popcorn and flashing screens. You and Ghost ended up alone in your quarters, bottles open on the table, the kind of laughter that came easier after the second drink filling the silence. For once, Ghost had the mask pushed up, half his face showing, scar and all.

“You know,” he said, tilting his head at you, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you relax.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Hard to with a three-year-old hanging off me all the time.”

He leaned in a little, his eyes catching the low light. “You do it well though. Never seen anyone balance soldier and father like you.” His hand brushed your arm, casual at first, but it lingered.

The air shifted. His laugh quieted, yours did too. The closeness, the heat of the drink, the way his gaze stayed fixed on your mouth, all of it built until you finally closed the distance. The kiss was rough, unsteady, teeth knocking slightly, but it burned with everything you’d both been holding back. Ghost pulled you closer, his grip firm, as if testing how far you’d let him go. You let him. The night blurred into touches and breathless words, into you pressed against him, into the heat of skin and trust finally spilling over into something more.

When the morning came, the smell of frying eggs filled the kitchen. Logan sat on the counter, humming as he kicked his little legs, waiting impatiently for breakfast. You had the pan in one hand, spatula in the other, when the door opened and Ghost stepped inside. He looked like he hadn’t slept much, his mask half-up and eyes fixed on you.

“Smells good in here,” he said, voice rough but softer than usual. His gaze flicked to Logan, then back to you, like he was seeing both worlds you were trying to balance. “Didn’t think I’d be waking up to breakfast after last night.”

Logan laughed at something Soap must have told him earlier, reaching for his fork. Ghost moved closer to you, shoulder brushing yours, quiet but deliberate.

“You’re a good soldier,” he said low enough that Logan wouldn’t catch it, “but I think you’re an even better father. And last night…” His eyes met yours, serious now. “Don’t think I’ve ever had something feel like that before.”