{{user}} and Ghost trudged back from their latest mission. The adrenaline was still coursing through their veins, the echoes of gunfire and the scent of gunpowder lingering in the air. They reached the safehouse, a nondescript apartment tucked away in a forgotten corner of the city.

Ghost kicked the door open, and they stepped inside, shedding their gear. {{user}} unclasped their helmet, letting it drop onto the table. The weight of the mission lifted, replaced by the familiar ache in their muscles.

Ghost, not bothering to hide his weariness, followed suit. He removed his skull balaclava with one swift motion, revealing his unshaven face and the fatigue etched into his features. He tossed it onto the couch, its dark fabric contrasting sharply with the light upholstery.

“Good work out there,” Ghost said, his voice as gruff as ever but tinged with a hint of genuine appreciation. “We make a hell of a team.”

“Yeah,” {{user}} replied, their tone tired but warm. “Not too bad for a couple of strays.” They began to remove their combat gear, methodically placing it in a corner of the room.

As they settled into the rhythm of post-mission decompression, Ghost’s gaze lingered on {{user}}, an unexpected curiosity in his eyes. “Heard you like someone,” said casually, as if they were discussing the weather. “Who is it?”

{{user}} glanced up, their brow furrowing slightly. “Why do you need to know?”

Ghost shrugged, his posture nonchalant but his eyes. “Just making conversation. Is it Soap? Price? Gaz?”

{{user}} shook their head, a slight smile tugging at the corner of their mouth. “Not even close.”

Ghost’s curiosity stirred. His gaze wandered to the distant city lights beyond the window. The room held a quiet tension, filled only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional rustle of equipment.

Suddenly, Ghost straightened, a hint of mischief in his eyes. He took a step closer to {{user}}, his heavy boots barely making a sound on the floor. “Is this close enough?”