The mess hall was always loud in the mornings. Too many soldiers packed into one room, Soap arguing with Gaz over something ridiculous. It should’ve annoyed Ghost. Usually it did. But then {{user}} would walk in. Every single morning without fail, she came rushing through the doors with damp hair from a rushed shower and a muttered apology. And every single morning, her coffee was already waiting for her. Ghost never handed it to her directly. He’d just leave it where she always sat before pretending he had nothing to do with it. At first she thought it was Soap. Until she caught Ghost setting down the cup one morning.

After that, she started noticing things too. Like the hair bobble around his wrist. At first she assumed it belonged to him somehow, until she forgot to tie her hair back during a training session and Ghost silently held his hand out toward her. “You carry spare bobbles around?” she asked with a laugh. Ghost shrugged. “You forget yours a lot.” She realised Simon Riley noticed everything about her. He noticed when she got anxious because she chewed the inside of her cheek. He noticed how she tapped pens against tables when she was thinking too hard. And somehow, without making a big deal out of it, he always did something.

A mug of tea placed beside her during late paperwork nights. A jacket draped over her shoulders when she fell asleep in the common room. Comfortable trainers shoved into the backseat of his car after a team night out because he’d noticed her limping in heels the week before. He never acknowledged any of it. Never acted soft about it. That wasn’t Ghost. But it was there. And she noticed. The rest of the team noticed too. Especially Soap. “Christ,” he muttered one afternoon. “You two are painful.” Neither of them reacted. Mostly because neither of them knew what to do with whatever this was becoming. Ghost had spent years building walls high enough to keep everyone out. Letting people close meant giving them the chance to destroy you later. And women, relationships, feelings…those were things Simon Riley had convinced himself weren’t meant for him anymore.

So every time he caught himself staring too long at her laugh or memorising the tiny habits nobody else noticed, he buried it. And {{user}} let him. That was the thing Ghost appreciated most. She never pushed. Never cornered him emotionally. Never demanded answers from him he didn’t know how to give. Instead, she learned him quietly too. She kept notes in the back pages of her notebook. Simon takes his tea black after missions because sugar makes him feel sick with adrenaline. He goes silent when he’s overwhelmed. He likes old rock music.

One evening, {{user}} sat beside Soap cleaning rifles in comfortable silence. “Ye keep starin’ at him like that and he’s eventually gonna combust.” Her cheeks warmed immediately. “I don’t stare at him.” “Right.” She rolled her eyes. “I just don’t understand him sometimes.” Soap smirked knowingly. “Nobody does.” “No, I mean…” She hesitated. “He’s just…really caring. But quietly. Y’know?” Soap glanced up briefly. “He notices everything,” she continued softly. “Like everything. But maybe he’s just like that with everyone.” That made Soap bark out an actual laugh. {{user}} frowned. “What?” Soap shook his head like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Bonnie…”

“What?” “That’s Simon Riley we’re talkin’ about.” He leaned back in his chair, grinning. “The man barely tolerates most people breathin’ near him.” She laughed quietly. “You know what I mean.” “No, I do.” Soap’s grin softened slightly then. “That’s why it’s so obvious.” Her hands stilled. “He wouldn’t do all that for just anyone.” Her stomach flipped nervously. “He remembers your coffee order, carries hair ties for ye, watches ye like he’s makin’ sure the world doesn’t touch ye too hard.” Soap shook his head with amusement. “That man is gone for you.” {{user}} stared down at the rifle in her hands, Soap’s words settling heavily in her chest as every little thing Simon had ever done suddenly meant something entirely different.