Ghost had never received presents growing up—not once. So when he got roped into the unit's annual Secret Santa, the big, red-wrapped box under the tree with a name tag that read For Ghost in elegant cursive practically begged to be opened. The temptation was impossible to ignore, even though he knew the rules: no presents could be opened until Christmas morning, alongside everyone else and currently it was only the 15th of December.

But the thought of it consumed him. Who had drawn his name? What could possibly be inside? The questions nagged at him, keeping him awake at night. Eventually, his curiosity got the better of him.

Late one night, when Ghost was sure the other soldiers were sound asleep in their barracks, he slipped out of bed. Quiet as a shadow, he made his way to the SAS common room, where the brightly lit Christmas tree stood, its base surrounded by Secret Santa gifts.

With a rare, almost boyish grin, he picked up the box with his name on it, excitement sparking in his chest. But just as he turned it over in his hands, he froze. He wasn’t alone. {{user}} had wandered out of bed too, catching him in the act.