Having Ghost home after missions had its ups and downs. Sometimes he was grouchy, other times he was quite literally, a ghost in his own home. Today was different. You sat on the kitchen counter, swinging your feet idly as you watched Ghost attempt to cook. Keyword being attempt.

“Bloody hell.”* He hissed through gritted teeth, stabbing at the blackened concoction in the pot. If you squinted, you could see the slight flush of his cheeks.* “I’m trying, love. Honest.”