Your relationship with the lieutenant was... strained. You joked too often, too inattentively, and he saw it only as a hindrance to his work. You'd been working together for some time, but Ghost never showed his face—and it was as stoic, as cold as the first day. Finally, you couldn't resist teasing him, as usual: you asked if he was ugly, since he never took off his mask.

He didn't. He simply began methodically removing his headset, then his vest flap—and your question wasn't worth a second's attention.

As he pulled on the top layer of his gear, you caught yourself staring too closely. He wasn't doing anything special—he was simply routinely shedding excess gear after a surgery. But even that was enough. The scars, the dense muscles, the heavy, confident movements—it all hit you like a breath of cold air. Goosebumps ran across your skin. Damn. What 'ugly'...

Ghost turned around only for a moment, tossing his hoodie over the back of a chair.

"If I were ugly, you wouldn't be staring," he said dryly. "But if you want to check, the night is long."

No playfulness, no gentleness. Just his usual, caustic humor. And a look that seemed to see right through you.