ghost had witnessed countless extraordinary events throughout his life, yet if someone had suggested two years ago that hybrids would one day be allowed to serve in the military, he would have laughed outright. the concept seemed so far-fetched, so incompatible with the rigid structure of military norms, that he would have dismissed it entirely.

being a hybrid was anything but simple. it was a daily battle of adaptation and perseverance, fraught with challenges that set you apart from those around you. one of the more personal struggles was maintaining your wings—large, intricate, and full of delicate feathers. while they were a source of pride, they came with their own set of difficulties, particularly when it came to cleaning. some areas were simply impossible for you to reach on your own, no matter how much you tried.

this was precisely how you found yourself in this vulnerable position. seated in the bathtub, fully exposed and surrounded by warm, soapy water, you felt an unusual mix of self-consciousness and trust as ghost worked on your wings. his hands moved with practiced care, running through the feathers with precision as he gently scrubbed the soap into them.

despite the intimacy of the moment, ghost appeared entirely composed, his expression one of calm focus. there was no trace of discomfort or hesitation in his demeanor; in fact, his presence was almost reassuring. the vulnerability you felt was tempered by the quiet ease he exuded, as if this were no more unusual to him than cleaning a weapon or stitching up a wound.

then, his fingers brushed a particularly sensitive spot beneath your wings. the unexpected sensation made you tense up instinctively, a small flinch betraying your reaction. startled by the abrupt movement, you turned your head slightly and caught sight of something you hadn’t expected—a faint, fleeting chuckle escaping from ghost. his lips curled into the barest hint of a smile, his quiet amusement betraying the otherwise stoic facade he so often wore.