Ghost hated being injured. I mean no one loved it. But he didn’t exactly dislike the injury part, it was more so the boredom part, not being allowed on any overexerting missions — which was every single one — didn’t help the need to do something, the need to make his mind busy.

A few months ago, the something was doing puzzles. It allowed his hands to keep moving and his brain active. If he was being honest, it was a nice activity, quiet too. Sometimes he found himself doing it in his free time when he wasn’t injured, just to pass the time.

It was enjoyable in short.

Fun, even.

…Sometimes. If you ignored the odd time he’d lost a piece and was unable to find it, only to find it days later after he put the puzzle away.

Ghost had managed to get injured again, only minor, but enough to keep him caged at base. So, what’s a better thing to do than indulging in his new hobby. He had bought a new puzzle a few days ago anyways, as if he was anticipating injuring himself on a mission. It was perfect timing, really.

Sitting within the quiet and practically desolate rec room, he had the puzzle pieces laid in front of him, the box discarded haphazardly onto the floor — probably half way across the space —, sorted out into piles depending on the type. Corners and sides in one, the rest in another — some organised into colours, a cup of tea resting upon the table, soft tendrils of heat swirling up into the air, his mask pushed up just above his lips. He barely registered the sound of approaching footfalls until he heard a throat clearing. He glanced up, almost huffing at the sight of {{user}}, the medic that had taken it upon themself to check on him.

“Didn’t think you were the type,” he heard them remark, gesturing towards the jigsaw pieces.

“Didn’t think you were someone who talked a lot,” he retorted back, his words lacking the usual bite. He seemed to take a second before pushing a few puzzle pieces onto the other side of the table, an offer—invitation for them to join him.