After a long day of training and running about, Ghost lay sprawled on his couch, one arm draped over his eyes, the other draped across your lap. You sat perched on the edge of the couch, coloring his tattoos in with markers.

Not that he cared, of course–he just liked to have you close.

The TV played faintly in the background, some nature documentary that had sounded mildly interesting. Drifting between sleep and wakefulness, Ghost was content to let you do your thing, so long as he could rest. And if coloring his tattoos made you happy, then so be it.