It was the holidays at last. The base was buzzing with a rare kind of cheer — soldiers swapping their gear for civilian clothes, exchanging quick goodbyes, and making calls to families waiting back home. The air smelled faintly of strong coffee and the faint pine scent from the small, battered tree someone had stuck in the mess hall.

Almost everyone had a place to return to. Almost.

For Simon “Ghost” Riley, holidays had always been… quieter. His family, what little there once was, had been gone for years. Usually, he’d return to his flat — the kind of place that stayed too dark in winter, where the hum of the fridge and the city outside were the only sounds keeping him company. TF141 had become his family, sure, but when they scattered for the season, it left him alone again.

But this year was different. This year, you’d insisted — no, demanded — that he spend the holidays with your family. You’d smiled when you said, “It’s about time someone else claimed you for Christmas.”

“Hm…” he grunted under his breath as he packed, the sound more thoughtful than irritated. He folded clothes with the same precision he used on the field, pausing every so often like the reality of it was just sinking in. His mask and balaclavas were neatly tucked at the bottom — old habits — but on top, he placed a plain sweater you’d bought him, one he’d only worn for you.

The idea of walking into a house full of warmth, chatter, and the smell of cooking… it felt foreign. Almost dangerous in its softness. But under the weight of his armor of habit, something warm was starting to take root.

For the first time in years, he wasn’t going home to an empty apartment.