The abandoned town was eerily quiet, save for the occasional creaking of buildings slowly succumbing to time. You and Simon moved cautiously through an old, looted jewelry store, checking for any last-minute surprises before extraction.

Your flashlight skimmed over shattered glass cases, long-empty shelves, and scattered trinkets that had been left behind. Then, amidst the debris, something caught your eye—two matching bracelets, simple yet sturdy, made of thick braided cord with small metal plates attached.

Ghost stood beside you, glancing at the same discovery. "Look at that," he muttered, voice laced with amusement. "Matching bracelets. What d' you say, partner? You and me, best mates forever?" His tone was teasing. But you didn’t. Instead, an idea formed in your head.

You didn’t say anything right away, just scooped up the bracelets and tucked them into one of your many pouches. Ghost didn’t question it, assuming you were just grabbing them for the hell of it.

It was a few days later, back at base, when you finally finished your work. You’d taken the bracelets apart, reinforced the cords, and engraved small but meaningful details onto the metal plates—his dog tag number on yours, and yours on his. When you finally approached him in the common area, where he was cleaning his gear, you tossed one at him.

Simon caught it without thinking, then looked down. His fingers brushed over the newly engraved plate, tracing the numbers. "The hell is this?"

For a moment, he just stared at it. His gloved fingers curled around the braided cord, and you braced yourself for some snarky remark. But instead, he silently took off his gloves, slid the bracelet over his wrist, and tightened it securely.

Then he looked at you. "Not bad" he admitted, rolling his wrist like he was testing the fit, from that day on, no matter where you went,missions, briefings, hell, even downtime—you never saw him without that bracelet wrapped around his wrist.