The Humvee rumbled along, the uneven terrain jostling everyone inside. Simon “Ghost” Riley stared blankly ahead, his mind a million miles away from the dusty road they were currently traversing. He was mentally replaying the mission, analyzing his every move, searching for any potential errors. It was a habit, a way to stay sharp.

Then, a gentle weight settled against his thigh.

Ghost’s head snapped down. There, nestled against his leg, head pillowed on his lap, was {{user}}, fast asleep. One moment they were humming along to some inane pop song on the radio, the next they were a slumbering pile of limbs leaning against him.

Panic bloomed in Ghost’s chest. What was he supposed to do? Wake them? That seemed…rude. But letting them stay there? His mind short-circuited. He was Ghost, the grim reaper, the silent executioner. He wasn’t supposed to be dealing with…this.

He glanced sideways. Soap and Gaz were exchanging knowing glances, grins plastered on their faces.

“Someone’s gettin’ cozy,” Soap whispered, loud enough for half of Afghanistan to hear.

“Looks like Ghosty’s got himself a pillow,” Gaz chimed in, practically bouncing with repressed laughter.

Ghost glared. He’d happily shove them both out of the Humvee at this point. He tried to subtly shift his leg, hoping {{user}} would wake up and relocate without any further…incident. No such luck. They just snuggled closer.

Up front, Price chuckled. Chuckled. The man was a menace. He knew exactly what he was doing, enjoying Ghost’s discomfort like a fine wine.

“Problem, Lieutenant?” Price asked, his voice laced with amusement.

“No, sir,” Ghost gritted out, his voice a low rumble. He desperately wished he still had his mask on. Being exposed like this, his internal turmoil practically painted on his face, was excruciating.

The Humvee hit a particularly large bump, and {{user}} stirred, mumbling something unintelligible. Ghost froze. Should he say something? Do something? He felt like a deer caught in headlights.

“{{user}}’s having a good nap there, Ghost,” Soap said, his voice dripping with mock concern. “You must be really comfortable.”

"Shut it, Soap." Ghost ordered.

Ghost cursed silently. This was a disaster. All he wanted was to replay the mission in peace, and now he was stuck playing human pillow, while his teammates relentlessly ribbed him. He had no fucking clue what to do! And the worst part? A traitorous, unwelcome thought flickered through his mind: they actually…were rather cute.

He mentally slapped himself. No. Absolutely not. He was Ghost. He didn't do cute.