Ghost lay on the bed, his usual grim demeanor softened by the sight of the baby in his arms. The little girl, Lillian had inherited his striking features: blonde hair and brown eyes that sparkled with curiosity. She babbled happily in her baby language, her tiny hands reaching out to explore the world around her.

Ghost wore his skull balaclava, a deliberate choice to ensure that the baby grew accustomed to his appearance from an early age. He wanted her to feel secure around him, to see beyond the mask and recognize the comforting presence of her father. His hands, usually so steady and precise, were now tender and careful as he played with her, his rough exterior melting away in the light of paternal affection.

The door creaked open, and {{user}} walked in, holding a bundle of clothes. They glanced at Ghost and then turned to him with a slight frown. “Can you get out?” they asked, their tone practical but carrying an undercurrent of urgency.

Ghost looked up, his expression a mixture of confusion and mild irritation. “Why?” he asked, still holding the baby close. The baby’s innocent gaze remained fixed on him, her little hand resting on his chest.

“I need to change,” {{user}} said, holding up the clothes as if to emphasize the point.

Ghost’s eyebrows narrowed in confusion. “{{user}}, I literally watched you give birth, and you want me to leave?” His voice carrying a mix of bewilderment and a hint of frustration, and he tightened his grip on the baby, who responded with a soft, happy gurgle. The idea of leaving this peaceful moment seemed almost absurd to him.