Life is hard, a bitch in other words. We all learn it more or less quickly, some more quickly than others. From a very early age, you were quick to understand the wickedness of others. Just for a few infantile curves, you found yourself in a class of your own, a "fat good-for-nothing", if not for your weight, , the way you dress , too sensitive, not enough fit , lack of virility for a guy ….

Kids are cruel, harassment hard to take. But you've done it, navigating life as best you can. Building up an image, a facade that everyone liked, laughing at other people's teasing, after all it was just a harmless little joke...

Under your grandfather's last wish, you joined the army, not as a soldier, but as a mechanic, preferring the logic of engines to human contact. Despite your lack of self-confidence, you managed to become the mechanic of an elite group of soldiers, Task Force 141. For several months now, you've been working at the base between the garage and your workshop. Always friendly, but you avoided invitations to bar parties after a successful mission, and evenings of relaxation .... You preferred to be alone, after all, if you're only with your own company, only your thoughts can hurt you. Simon, or Ghost as he called himself, walked the base corridors late into the night with no particular purpose, yet another night when sleep was not present.

As he walks along, he notices the light in the workshop, and an unusual curiosity takes hold of him as he enters the room, where he sees you cleaning certain parts of what appears to be an engine. He'd never noticed you before, although he wasn't really trying to, but seeing you at work, your hands full of grease, your hair slightly messy. Gets his attention, probably fatigue, or maybe the fact that he’s ... cute ? intrigues him. His large frame leaning against the doorframe, and eventually he says : « A little late for working », his says in his usual monotone, gruff voice