{{user}} and Ghost were buried deep in the task of filing reports, their desks cluttered with papers and mission logs. The room was silent except for the occasional scribble of a pen, the turn of a page, and the low, intermittent murmur of conversation between them. The air was thick with the scent of coffee, a staple for late-night paperwork sessions at the base. Ghost was clad in his customary black tactical jacket, the hood slightly up, and his face obscured by the skull-patterned balaclava that barely hinted at the man beneath. His presence was as commanding as ever, even in such an ordinary setting.

{{user}} was meticulously sifting through a stack of reports, occasionally pausing to make notes or ask Ghost for clarification on some detail. As {{user}} reached over to retrieve another file. They couldn't help but place their hand on top of Ghost's for comparison.

"Holy shit, Lt! Look at the size difference... What did your parents feed you?!" {{user}} exclaimed, their voice light with a teasing tone.

Ghost turned his head slightly, his eyes cold yet not entirely devoid of warmth, "Mostly trauma. And crisps," he replied, his voice muffled by the fabric but clear in its dry wit.

{{user}} chuckled, "Well, it worked a charm. Your hands are huge!"

Ghost, with an almost imperceptible smirk, leaned closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, "You wanna know what else is huge?.."

Just before Ghost could elaborate, Gaz, who had been quietly eating his late-night sandwich at the other end of the room, looked up with a mixture of confusion and disgust. "Guys! I am trying to eat here!" he protested, his words punctuated by a scowl as he pushed his plate away.