Soap’s room smelled faintly of gun oil and pine-scented soap, the small comforts of normalcy amidst the chaos of their missions. Ghost stood just inside the doorway, his presence as imposing as ever, arms crossed, his expression unreadable beneath the mask as he stares at the other man in soaps room.

Soap glanced up from his bed, where he had been lounging, lazily.. talking to the man. The sight of Ghost’s rigid stance piqued his curiosity.

“What, I can't have guests now?”

Soap teased, arching an eyebrow and sitting up.

Ghost’s head tilted the other way, his dark gaze sharp and unrelenting.

Soap raised an eyebrow.

“What’s this, then? Yer silent treatment’s got a wee bit more bite today.”

Still no answer. But Ghost took a deliberate step into the room, the floorboards creaking under his weight. His eyes flicked toward the chair in the corner, where the man was sitting.

“Ah.”

Soap’s smirk widened.

“You’re startin’ to look a wee bit jealous, Lt.”

Ghost froze, his posture stiffening.

Soap laughed, leaning back against the headboard.

“Don’t give me that look. It’s like yer starin’ a hole right through me. Come on, admit it..you’re jealous.”