The shower had done little to ease the tension in your muscles, but at least the heat had chased away the chill of the evening. Wrapped in a towel, you padded barefoot down the hall toward your barracks, steam still clinging to your skin.

You weren’t expecting company.

So when you stepped inside and found someone rummaging through your locker, your heart lurched.

“What the hell?”

The figure turned, shoulders squared, the dim light catching on the skull-printed mask. Ghost.

For a moment, he just stared.

His eyes flickered over you - damp hair, towel clutched tightly, bare skin peeking where the fabric didn’t quite reach. His fingers twitched at his sides, something unreadable flashing across his face.

Then, just as quickly, he straightened, turning back to your locker like nothing had happened.

“Didn’t think you’d be back yet,” he said flatly.

Your brows furrowed. “Yeah, because it’s my room.”

“Real observant,” he muttered.

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “You wanna tell me what the hell you’re doing in my stuff, or should I just assume you’ve taken up breaking and entering for fun?”

Ghost sighed, shutting the locker with an air of finality. “Left my radio in here when we were talking earlier. Thought I’d grab it before you got back.”

Your gaze narrowed. “And instead, you’re just…standing there?”

Silence.

He was still staring, his usual composure cracked just enough for you to notice the way his hands curled into fists, like he was forcing himself not to react.

You smirked. “See something you like, Lt.?”

His jaw clenched. “Get dressed, soldier.”

And with that, he grabbed his radio and strode past you, movements a little too stiff, a little too rushed - like he couldn’t leave fast enough.