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The first hints of light crept over the horizon, soft and pale, brushing the edges of the base in muted gold. Their base was still, the kind of quiet that only existed in the moments before the day began in earnest. Price stood with his hands wrapped around a steaming mug, the warmth seeping through his fingers as the faint bite of dawn’s chill hung in the air. He glanced to his side, where Ghost leaned back against the low wall of their usual spot, his posture relaxed in a way Price had come to think of as rare and precious.
Ghost’s mask lay discarded beside him, forgotten like an afterthought. Price’s gaze lingered longer than he meant it to, tracing the sharp lines of Ghost’s nose, the scar that tugged the corner of his upper lip into the faintest hint of a smirk even when his face was neutral. A thin line cut through one of his brows, another scar, stark against his pale skin. His blonde lashes caught the early light, almost translucent, and his curls—too long for regulation—fell forward slightly as he bent his head to sip his tea.
Even now, after all these years, Price felt something stir in his chest at the ease with which Ghost shed his mask around him. It wasn’t just the physical gesture—it was everything it represented, the trust, the intimacy, the unspoken understanding that here, in these moments, they could be entirely themselves.
“You’re staring,” Ghost murmured, not looking up, but Price caught the faint twitch of his lips as he set his mug down. His voice was low, roughened by the chill of the morning air but carrying a warmth that didn’t need to be spoken aloud.
Price huffed softly, his mouth curving into a faint smile. “Admiring, more like,” he replied, his tone light but edged with something softer. “Don’t see why you bother with the mask. Bloody crime, hiding a face like that.”
Ghost’s brow lifted slightly, a flicker of amusement crossing his features as he finally turned his head. “That’s rich, coming from you,” he said, his lips twitching into what might have been a smile if not for the scar pulling it tighter on one side. “You’ve seen me on a bad day. Hardly ‘bloody criminal’ then.”
Price didn’t answer right away, his gaze steady as it lingered on Ghost’s face. The quiet vulnerability in the way Ghost held himself, unguarded in a way he rarely was, made Price’s chest ache in the best way. He let out a slow breath, the steam from his tea curling into the air between them. “You’re a sight either way,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “And I love you. Thought you’d figured that out by now.”
Ghost’s head tilted slightly, his expression softening into something unmistakably tender. “You’ve been telling me that every chance you get,” he said, his voice low, but there was a warmth in it that made Price’s lips twitch into a small smile. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like hearing it.”
Ghost set his mug aside and leaned forward, his hand lifting to brush the back of his fingers along Price’s jaw. The touch was deliberate, affectionate in a way that still made Price’s chest tighten despite how often he’d felt it. Ghost shifted closer, his other hand settling lightly on Price’s shoulder as he pressed a kiss to the corner of Price’s mouth, soft but lingering.
“Love you too,” Ghost murmured against his skin, his voice quieter now but carrying a weight that made the words settle deep in Price’s chest.
Price let out a slow breath, his hand coming up to rest over Ghost’s where it lingered on his shoulder. “You’re not half bad at saying it yourself these days,” he said, his tone light but his eyes warm as he met Ghost’s gaze.
Ghost chuckled softly, the sound low and rough, but there was no missing the way he leaned in just a little further, his forehead brushing against Price’s for a moment before he pulled back. They didn’t need to say anything else. The quiet between them said enough.
The sun climbed higher, the day beginning to press in around them, but neither of them moved to leave. Not yet. Not while the morning was still theirs.
The sky was streaked with faint pinks and oranges, the kind of colours that promised a clear day ahead. The base was still cloaked in the heavy quiet of early morning, the only sounds the faint hum of a generator and the occasional shuffle of a sentry’s boots. Price stood in their usual spot, a mug of tea cradled in his hands, the steam curling into the cool air. The warmth of it did little to ease the tightness in his chest.
Ghost was beside him, the line of his shoulder brushing Price’s as he leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. His mask was off, as it always was during these mornings, and Price found himself watching the way the light caught on the sharp planes of Ghost’s face, softening the angles just enough to remind him how young Simon looked in moments like this.
It wasn’t the first time Ghost had gone off on a solo mission, but it was the first in years that would leave them completely out of contact. The knowledge sat heavy between them, unspoken but impossible to ignore. Price took a slow sip of his tea, letting the heat ground him, before setting the mug on the low wall beside him. He let his gaze linger on Ghost’s profile, tracing the curve of his nose, the scar that pulled his lip up, the faint shadows beneath his eyes.
“You’ll hate it as much as I will,” Ghost said suddenly, his voice low but steady, as though they’d already been in the middle of a conversation.
Price huffed softly, the sound more exhale than laugh. “Reckon you’re right about that,” he said, his tone quieter than usual. He leaned back slightly, his hands resting on the edge of the wall as he tilted his head up toward the lightening sky. “Not being able to reach you—makes it feel different.”
Ghost turned his head, his gaze steady as it lingered on Price’s face. “It is different,” he admitted, his voice softer now, though the words carried a weight that settled deep in Price’s chest. “I don’t like it either.”
Price turned his head to meet Ghost’s eyes, the sharp brown softened in the early light. “You’re not going to tell me you’ve got a bad feeling about it, are you?” he asked, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles in an attempt to lighten the moment.
Ghost snorted quietly, the sound low and rough. “No. If I did, I wouldn’t be going.” He paused, his hand shifting slightly before resting lightly on Price’s knee. The touch was brief, almost hesitant, but when Price covered Ghost’s hand with his own, curling his fingers firmly around it, Ghost didn’t pull away.
They sat like that for a long moment, the silence between them filled with the quiet hum of their breaths and the distant sounds of the base waking up. Price let his thumb brush over Ghost’s knuckles, his grip firm but not harsh, grounding in a way that made Ghost’s shoulders ease slightly.
“You’ll come back,” Price said finally, his voice steady but carrying an edge of something softer, something unspoken. “And when you do, I’ll be here. Same as always.”
Ghost’s lips twitched into something small but unmistakably warm. He turned his hand under Price’s, his fingers curling to return the pressure. “You’d better be,” he murmured, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the scarred corner of his mouth.
The sun broke the horizon then, its light spilling over the area and catching in Ghost’s hair, turning the pale blonde curls almost gold. Price’s chest tightened at the sight, something he didn’t have the words for rising and settling in equal measure.
Ghost turned slightly, his free hand lifting to rest against Price’s cheek. The touch was deliberate, careful, his thumb brushing along the line of Price’s jaw. “I’ll make it back,” he said, his voice low but carrying a quiet conviction that made Price’s breath hitch. “Promise.”
Price leaned into the touch, his eyes closing briefly before he turned his head to press a kiss to Ghost’s palm. “I know,” he murmured, his voice almost too quiet to hear. When he looked up, the softness in his gaze was mirrored in Ghost’s, a warmth that lingered between them as the day began to press closer.
They stayed until the tea went cold and the sun climbed higher, neither of them ready to leave but both knowing they couldn’t stay. When Ghost finally stood, his hand lingered on Price’s shoulder, the grip firm and grounding before he stepped away. Price stayed until the shadows began to shorten, watching the horizon long after Ghost had gone.
The mornings felt wrong without him.
Price stood at their spot, a steaming mug in his hands as the first light of dawn brushed the horizon. The routine should have been comforting, grounding even, but today it felt hollow. His gaze drifted to the mug beside him, still full, the steam curling faintly into the cool air. He’d made two cups, out of habit more than anything, his half-asleep mind reaching for a normality that wasn’t there. The sight of the untouched tea tightened something in his chest, the absence of Ghost’s presence settling like a weight in his ribs.
The world around him was still, their base just beginning to stir in the distance. Normally, that quiet would bring peace—a chance to breathe before the day consumed them both. Now, it only emphasised the solitude, the space Ghost had always filled with his steady presence. Price took a slow sip of his tea, the warmth doing little to chase away the ache that had settled deep in his chest.
His mind drifted, unbidden, to the last time they’d sat here together. Ghost’s face in the early light, the soft curl of his blonde hair against his forehead, the warmth in his gaze that he only let Price see. It was those moments Price clung to now, the memory of them steadying him even as it made the absence cut deeper.
He shifted, leaning back against the low wall, his free hand running over his beard in an attempt to shake off the thoughts. It didn’t work. The stillness gave them too much space to grow, and he found himself gripping his mug tighter, as though holding on to it might ground him.
The sunrise climbed higher, its light spilling across the horizon and warming the stone beneath him. Price let out a quiet sigh, his shoulders sagging as he stared out at the sky. The base was waking now, the faint hum of movement and conversation beginning to rise, but he stayed where he was. It felt wrong to leave, like stepping away from this spot would be admitting Ghost wasn’t here.
The sound of approaching footsteps broke through his thoughts, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Soap and Gaz making their way toward him. Their expressions were lighter than his, but the faint furrow in Soap’s brow told Price they’d noticed his mood long before now.
“Morning, Captain,” Soap said, his tone easy but carrying the slightest hint of concern.
Price nodded, taking another sip of his tea. “Morning.”
Gaz leaned against the wall beside him, his gaze following Price’s out toward the horizon. “Any news?”
Price shook his head, the motion small but enough to make Gaz’s lips press into a thin line. Soap exchanged a glance with him, his mouth twitching as though he was about to speak before thinking better of it.
“We were going to grab some breakfast,” Soap said after a moment, his tone casual but his eyes lingering on Price. “Care to join us?”
Price glanced at him, his brow lifting slightly in response to the forced cheer in Soap’s voice. He knew what they were doing—trying to pull him out of his head, to distract him from the gnawing worry that had taken root in his chest. And he appreciated it. He did. But the thought of sitting in the mess hall, pretending everything was fine, made his stomach twist.
“Not today,” he said finally, his voice quiet but steady. “Got some things to take care of.”
Soap didn’t press, but the concern in his gaze lingered before he nodded. “We’ll catch you later, then.”
Price watched as they walked off, their quiet conversation fading into the distance. He stayed where he was, his tea growing cold in his hands as the sun climbed higher, painting the base in warm, golden light.
When he finally rose, the ache in his chest hadn’t lessened, but he carried it with him anyway, letting the memory of Ghost’s quiet promise—I’ll make it back—guide his steps through the day.
The sun was rising, but Ghost barely noticed.
He crouched near the edge of the ridge, his eyes scanning the terrain below, the faint streaks of lavender and gold reflecting off his scope. The plan was set, and the time for action was creeping closer, but his mind wasn’t entirely in it. It had been days since he’d left Price behind at the base, and though he hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on it too much, the quiet moments like these made it impossible to ignore.
The sunrise brought an ache with it, a strange emptiness that settled low in his chest. He should have been standing with Price, their shoulders brushing as they shared tea and easy silence, no need for words. His hands flexed slightly, the leather of his gloves creaking faintly as he tightened his grip on his weapon. The stillness around him didn’t help. It gave his thoughts too much room to roam, to linger on the image of Price leaning against the wall, his face soft in the early light.
Ghost took a slow breath, trying to push the thought away, but it clung stubbornly. He imagined what Price might be doing now. With the time difference, it was likely dark at the base, but Ghost liked to think Price had made his way to their spot anyway. Maybe he had his tea, and maybe—if Ghost was lucky—he’d spared a thought for him, too. The idea steadied him, grounding him enough to keep moving.
The morning air was cool, carrying the faint bite of the desert’s night chill, and Ghost took another slow breath, letting it fill his lungs. He scanned the horizon again, his eyes sharp and calculating, but a part of him stayed tethered to the thought of Price. The quiet reassurance of his voice, the way his hand always lingered just a moment longer than necessary when they touched.
Ghost shook his head slightly, dragging his focus back to the mission. He shifted his weight, his boots digging into the loose gravel beneath him as he adjusted his position. He ran through the plan in his head, each detail a deliberate distraction, a way to keep his mind from circling back to the ache of missing Price.
He knew Price would hate this—knowing Ghost was out of reach, knowing he couldn’t step in if something went wrong. It had been years since a mission like this had come between them, and Ghost couldn’t pretend it didn’t bother him too. But it was their job, their reality, and he trusted Price enough to know that the man understood, even if he hated it.
The sun climbed higher, the colours shifting to warmer tones as the harsh light of day began to take over. Ghost let out a slow breath, his grip on his weapon steadying as he pushed himself to his feet. He couldn’t afford to let his mind wander anymore. There was work to be done, and Price wouldn’t forgive him if he let his thoughts get the better of him now.
Still, as he moved back toward their base, his gaze lingered on the horizon for just a moment longer, the faint gold light catching on the edges of the sky. He allowed himself one last thought of Price, the memory of his smile in the soft morning glow, before turning away.
It had been two weeks.
Price paced the length of his office, the usual calm authority he carried chipped away by the growing unease that had settled in his chest. The mission had been projected to last no more than seven days—maybe eight if things went sideways. But two weeks without a word? It wasn’t just unusual; it was wrong.
He stopped at his desk, resting his hands on its edge as he stared down at the reports in front of him. None of them told him what he wanted to know. None of them could. He straightened, raking a hand through his hair before reaching for his radio. His thumb hovered over the button, his jaw tightening. It was the fifth time today he’d considered making a call he knew he couldn’t make. It wouldn’t go through. It wouldn’t change anything. But the urge to try still burned in him.
“Captain?”
The knock on his open door startled him enough to pull him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Soap and Gaz standing just outside, their expressions carefully neutral but their concern clear in the way Soap lingered in the doorway instead of barging in like usual.
“Everything all right?” Soap asked, his tone casual but edged with caution.
Price’s hand dropped to his side, and he nodded tightly. “Fine,” he said, though he knew the word didn’t convince any of them. “Just busy.”
Gaz stepped into the room, his gaze flicking to the reports scattered across the desk before settling back on Price. “Anything on Ghost?” he asked carefully.
Price shook his head, his throat tight. He couldn’t trust himself to say more, not without letting the tension show in his voice.
Soap’s lips pressed into a thin line. He exchanged a glance with Gaz before stepping further into the room. “He’s fine, Captain,” he said, his voice carrying the kind of certainty that made Price’s chest ache. “You know him. Bastard’s too stubborn not to be.”
Price let out a slow breath, the faintest twitch of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “That he is,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. He straightened, rolling his shoulders back as though it might ease the weight pressing against him. “Thanks, lads.”
Soap nodded, but neither he nor Gaz moved to leave. Price gave them a faint wave of dismissal, and after another shared look, they stepped back out into the hall. He waited until their footsteps faded before turning back to the window, his hand tightening into a fist at his side.
The base was quiet, the early evening light casting long shadows across the grounds. He hadn’t slept properly in days, the restless worry twisting in his gut refusing to let him rest for more than a few fitful hours at a time. He could hear Ghost’s voice in his head, teasing him for overthinking, for letting his mind wander into worst-case scenarios. But without news, without confirmation that he was still out there, Price couldn’t stop his thoughts from spiralling.
When night finally fell, he dragged himself to bed, the exhaustion catching up to him even as his mind refused to let go of the worry. The bed felt too big, too cold without Ghost in it, and Price turned over for the third time in as many minutes, his hand brushing against the empty space beside him. He closed his eyes, the memory of Ghost’s quiet promise—I’ll make it back—the only thing keeping him tethered.
It was hours before he managed to fall asleep, and when he woke the next morning, the ache in his chest hadn’t eased. He forced himself to go through the motions, brewing two cups of tea out of habit and carrying them to their usual spot. He sat there, watching the horizon, the untouched mug cooling beside him as the sun climbed higher.
He stayed longer than he usually did, his thoughts caught between the sunrise and the empty space Ghost should have been filling.
The sun had barely begun to rise when Price heard the footsteps.
At first, he thought it was his imagination—his mind, desperate and grasping after days of waiting, conjuring the steady rhythm out of the early morning stillness. His hands tightened around the mug of tea he’d been nursing, the ceramic biting into his palms as his heart kicked up a notch. It was nothing. Just the base waking up, a sentry making their rounds.
But then the steps grew louder, deliberate, measured.
Familiar.
Price’s breath caught, the faint ache that had lived in his chest for two weeks flaring into something sharper, something that burned. He didn’t dare look over his shoulder. Not yet. If he turned too soon and the steps weren’t what he hoped, the moment would break, and Price didn’t think he could bear it.
The steps stopped just short of him. Silence stretched, heavy and taut, the air between them charged with a kind of anticipation that made Price’s pulse thunder in his ears. Slowly, he turned his head, his breath stalling the moment his eyes landed on the figure standing there.
Ghost.
He was a silhouette against the faint glow of dawn, the pale light catching on the edges of his blonde curls, tousled and messy, and on the faint white bandage peeking from beneath his sleeve. His gear was gone, replaced by a simple black shirt and trousers that hung slightly loose on his frame. His face—bare, maskless—was paler than usual, shadows etched beneath his sharp eyes, but the faintest twitch of his lips betrayed something warm and steady.
“Miss me?” Ghost murmured, his voice rough from exhaustion but carrying a softness that made Price’s knees nearly buckle.
The mug slipped from Price’s hands, landing on the wall beside him with a dull clink. He moved on instinct, closing the distance between them in three long strides. His hands found Ghost’s shoulders, gripping tight, as though grounding himself in the solid weight of the man in front of him.
“You bloody idiot,” Price rasped, his voice rough, thick with something he didn’t bother to name. “You scared the hell out of me.”
Ghost huffed softly, his lips twitching into the faintest ghost of a smile. “I know,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “I’m sorry.”
Price exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers tightening in the fabric of Ghost’s shirt before dragging him into a crushing embrace. He buried his face against Ghost’s neck, the faint scent of sweat and dust and something achingly familiar filling his lungs. Ghost sagged against him, his weight warm and solid, his arms wrapping around Price’s back in a way that felt desperate and grounding all at once.
Price didn’t let go, not even when his chest began to ache from the force of his hold. His fingers pressed into Ghost’s back, mapping out the hard lines of muscle, the subtle tremor in his shoulders, the warmth radiating from his skin. “Don’t ever pull that shit again,” he muttered, his voice muffled against Ghost’s neck.
Ghost’s arms tightened briefly around him before he pulled back just enough to meet Price’s gaze. His hands came up to cradle Price’s face, his thumbs brushing over the coarse stubble along his jaw. “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he murmured, his voice warm, edged with exhaustion and something softer that made Price’s throat tighten.
Price’s hands slid up to Ghost’s shoulders, framing his face with rough but deliberate care. His thumbs brushed over the faint smudges beneath Ghost’s eyes, his gaze searching as it flicked over every detail of his face. “You’re all right?” he asked, his voice steadier now, though the worry still lingered in his eyes.
Ghost nodded, his lips curving into a small, tired smile. “Went to medical first,” he said, his tone carrying the faintest hint of humour. “Didn’t want you chewing my ear off.”
Price huffed a quiet laugh, the sound more exhale than amusement, as he leaned in and pressed his forehead against Ghost’s. His hands slid down to Ghost’s neck, his fingers curling gently into the soft blonde curls that always refused regulation.
“Good,” Price murmured, his voice low, almost tender. He tilted his head just enough to press a kiss to Ghost’s temple, lingering there for a moment before drawing back.
Ghost’s expression softened further, his hands slipping down to rest lightly on Price’s hips. “Missed you,” he said quietly, the words simple but carrying a weight that settled deep in Price’s chest.
Price let out a slow breath, his hands tightening briefly on Ghost’s shoulders before he spoke. “Missed you too,” he said, his voice low and steady but thick with unspoken emotion.
The kiss that followed wasn’t tentative—it was grounding. Price closed the distance without hesitation, his hand sliding from Ghost’s neck to cradle the side of his face, thumb brushing over the faint scar that tugged at his upper lip. The press of their mouths was warm and steady, a slow unravelling of tension that had coiled tight in both of them for weeks.
Ghost responded immediately, leaning into the kiss with a quiet, rough sound that sent a pulse of heat through Price’s chest. His hands gripped Price’s waist, firm but not desperate, as though reminding himself that Price was real, solid, and here. He tilted his head slightly, his lips parting against Price’s, deepening the kiss with deliberate care. There was no rush, no urgency—only the quiet intimacy of two people who had waited far too long to be close again.
Price let his fingers tangle in Ghost’s too-long curls, the softness of them a contrast to the sharp lines of his jaw and the faint scrape of his stubble. His other hand slid to Ghost’s chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath his palm grounding him in a way words never could. He let his thumb brush over Ghost’s cheekbone, the motion gentle, almost reverent, as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss further.
Ghost shifted closer, his body pressing against Price’s as though trying to eliminate the last sliver of space between them. His lips moved with quiet insistence, a slow, steady rhythm that spoke of longing and relief in equal measure. Price could feel the faint tremor in Ghost’s hands where they rested on his waist, the slight shake that betrayed how deeply the moment affected him despite his usual composure.
When they finally broke apart, neither of them moved far. Ghost’s forehead rested against Price’s, their breaths mingling in the cool morning air. Price’s hand lingered on the back of Ghost’s neck, his fingers still threaded through his hair, while Ghost’s hands remained on his waist, thumbs brushing absently over the fabric of his jumper.
“Missed that too,” Ghost murmured, his voice low and rough, the words carrying a warmth that made Price’s lips twitch into a faint smile.
“You’d better have,” Price replied, his tone edged with teasing affection. He let his hand slip to Ghost’s jaw, thumb brushing over the scar that pulled at the corner of his mouth. His eyes softened as they searched Ghost’s, taking in the faint shadows beneath them and the exhaustion etched into his face. “We’ll make up for lost time later.”
Ghost’s lips twitched, his expression warming further as he leaned in just enough to press another kiss to the corner of Price’s mouth—softer this time, but no less grounding. “What about right now?” he murmured, his tone carrying a hint of playful challenge, even as his exhaustion threatened to weigh him down.
Price chuckled, his voice low and fond as he leaned back just enough to meet Ghost’s gaze properly. “If I let you keep this up, you’ll fall asleep halfway through,” he said, his tone laced with gentle humour. His fingers brushed lightly through Ghost’s hair before dropping to his shoulder. “Save it for tonight, yeah?”
Ghost huffed softly, the sound almost a laugh as his hands tightened briefly on Price’s waist. “You’ve got me there,” he muttered, his voice rough but amused. “Should conserve my energy for my welcome later.”
“Cheeky bastard,” Price murmured, but the warmth in his gaze betrayed the fondness beneath the words. He stepped back reluctantly, his hands brushing down Ghost’s arms before taking one of them gently. “Come on. Let’s get you sorted.”
As they walked back toward the base, side by side, Ghost’s fingers brushed briefly against Price’s hand before falling away. Price glanced at him, catching the faint curve of his lips beneath the early morning light, and felt a warmth settle in his chest that had been absent for far too long.
By the time lunch rolled around, the shift in Price’s demeanour had become impossible to miss. Soap and Gaz sat across from each other in the mess, their trays half-forgotten as they exchanged glances. Price was at the far end of the room, leaning against the counter as he spoke briefly with one of the cooks, a faint but undeniable ease in his posture that hadn’t been there in weeks.
“He’s almost smiling,” Soap muttered under his breath, leaning forward slightly to keep his voice low.
Gaz smirked, his spoon twirling idly in his hand. “Reckon there’s a reason for that,” he replied, equally quiet but edged with curiosity. “Didn’t see him this morning, did you?”
Soap shook his head, his brows furrowing slightly. “Wasn’t in his usual spot when I walked by.” He tilted his head, his gaze lingering on Price as the captain finally returned to his seat near the window. “Think he’s had news?”
“Not the kind you’re thinking,” Gaz said with a knowing grin.
Before Soap could press further, the door to the mess opened with a soft creak, and both men turned almost in unison. Ghost stepped inside, his movements deliberate and unhurried, but there was a weariness to the set of his shoulders, a heaviness in the way he carried himself that hinted at the toll the mission had taken.
His mask was in place, but the shadows beneath his eyes were visible even in the dim light of the mess hall. It wasn’t his exhaustion, however, that caught their attention—it was the hoodie he wore.
It fit him perfectly, the fabric snug across his broad shoulders, but the faint embroidery on the sleeve gave it away. J. Price.
Soap’s eyes widened, a slow grin spreading across his face as he elbowed Gaz lightly. “Oi,” he said, his voice loud enough to carry across the room. “Is that what I think it is, Lieutenant?”
Ghost’s steps didn’t falter, but his head tilted slightly as he turned to regard Soap with a raised brow. “Careful, Sergeant,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, the faint rasp of exhaustion making it sound sharper. “You might want to rethink where you’re going with that.”
The response earned a quiet snort from Gaz, who leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying himself. “Looks like the captain’s been sharing his wardrobe,” he said, his tone teasing but with a warmth that softened the jab.
Ghost’s gaze shifted to him, sharp and assessing, but the faintest curve of his lips betrayed his amusement. “Thought you two had better things to do than play detectives,” he said dryly, setting his tray down on the table across from them.
Soap shrugged, unbothered by the remark. “Hard not to notice,” he said, grinning. “Embroidery’s a dead giveaway. If you didn’t want questions, you’d’ve gone with something plain.”
Ghost let out a quiet huff, pulling his tray closer as he settled into his seat. “Didn’t think you’d be this chatty about it,” he muttered, though the faint humour in his tone undercut the words.
Soap opened his mouth to respond, but Ghost’s gaze flicked up suddenly, sharp and direct. “How was he?” he asked, the question soft but carrying a weight that immediately shifted the mood.
Soap’s grin faltered, his eyes darting briefly to Gaz before he cleared his throat. “Managed,” he said carefully. “But he wasn’t himself. Spent most mornings out at your spot, just… sitting there.” He hesitated, his voice dropping slightly. “Tea went cold more than once.”
Gaz nodded, his expression softer now as he added, “It’s not been easy for him. He’s better now, obviously, but yeah. He missed you. We all could see it.”
Ghost’s hand stilled on the edge of his tray, his jaw tightening briefly before he gave a small nod. “Thanks,” he said quietly, the words carrying a weight that made both sergeants glance at each other again. He pushed his tray aside, rising to his feet with deliberate slowness. “I’ll leave you two to it.”
Soap couldn’t help himself, his grin returning as Ghost walked past. “Don’t wear him out too much, yeah, Lieutenant?”
Ghost paused in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder just enough to let the faint curve of his lips show. “No promises,” he muttered, his tone carrying enough dry humour to draw a laugh from both men before he turned and left.
The door swung shut behind him, and for a moment, Soap and Gaz sat in silence.
Gaz broke it first, leaning forward with a smirk. “Think Cap’s gonna be in a very good mood tonight.”
Soap snorted, shaking his head as he dug into his food. “Better him than us, mate.”
They both laughed, the sound light but carrying a knowing edge. Whatever storm had been brewing over the past two weeks had finally passed, and for the first time in days, the mess hall felt just a little brighter.
Price’s pen hovered over the report in front of him, his thoughts straying yet again. The numbers and lines blurred together, the words refusing to hold his attention. The quiet knock at the door barely registered until it opened without waiting for a response.
Price looked up, the faint crease in his brow smoothing the moment he saw who it was. Ghost stepped inside, his presence as steady and deliberate as ever, though there was an ease to the way he moved now—a quiet confidence that Price hadn’t realised he’d missed so keenly.
Price leaned back in his chair, the tension in his shoulders melting as a faint smile tugged at his lips. “Checking up on me, Simon?” he asked, his voice low and warm, the unspoken affection threading through his tone impossible to miss.
Ghost stopped in front of the desk, leaning against it with his arms crossed. His mask was still in place, but the weight of his gaze made Price feel as though he could see right through him. “Heard you weren’t doing great while I was gone,” Ghost said simply, his tone soft but laced with quiet intent. “Soap and Gaz filled me in.”
Price exhaled through his nose, a huff of quiet amusement as he shook his head. “They always did have big mouths,” he murmured, his tone fond despite the words. He pushed himself to his feet, stepping around the desk to stand in front of Ghost. The closeness was grounding, the solid presence of the man in front of him a balm to the ache that had settled in his chest over the past two weeks.
Price reached out, his hand coming to rest lightly on Ghost’s chest. The warmth beneath his palm, even through the fabric of Ghost’s hoodie, steadied him in a way he hadn’t expected. “You’re back,” he said, his voice quieter now, the words carrying a weight that settled in the space between them. “That’s all that matters.”
Ghost’s gaze softened, the sharpness in his eyes giving way to something warmer, something unmistakably tender. He lifted a hand, covering Price’s where it rested against his chest, his fingers curling loosely around it. “Still,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower as he leaned in slightly. “I’ll make it up to you.”
Price tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he met Ghost’s gaze. “You’d better,” he replied, his tone teasing but edged with warmth. His hand slid upward, his fingers gathering the mask up above Ghost’s nose and then lowering, brushing along the edge of Ghost’s jaw before finally settling at the back of his neck. With a gentle but deliberate pull, he brought Ghost down into a kiss.
It started soft, their lips meeting in a way that felt familiar and grounding, but it didn’t stay that way for long. Ghost leaned into it, his hands settling on Price’s waist with a quiet insistence as the kiss deepened. Price let his fingers curl into the soft blonde curls at the base of Ghost’s neck, the faint rasp of stubble brushing against his skin as Ghost shifted closer.
The warmth of it unraveled the lingering tension between them, chasing away the worry that had weighed them down in their time apart. Price could feel Ghost’s grip tighten slightly, his thumbs brushing absently along the curve of his hips, a grounding touch that spoke volumes without a single word.
When they finally parted, Ghost lingered, his forehead brushing against Price’s for a long moment. His hands remained on Price’s waist, the faint rhythm of his thumb tracing circles through the fabric of his jumper. “Tonight,” Ghost said softly, the word carrying a weight that made Price’s pulse quicken despite the calm in his voice.
Price smiled, his fingers brushing along the line of Ghost’s jaw before dropping back to his shoulders. “Tonight,” he echoed, his voice low and steady. He leaned in, pressing another brief kiss to Ghost’s lips, softer this time but no less meaningful.
When he pulled back, he let his hands drift down to Ghost’s arms, brushing lightly over the fabric of his hoodie before stepping back. “Go get some rest,” Price said, his tone firm but warm. “I’ll find you later.”
Ghost nodded, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile as he straightened. He held Price’s gaze for a moment longer, something unspoken passing between them, before he turned and made his way to the door.
Price watched him go, his chest warm and steady in a way it hadn’t been in weeks. The room felt quieter without him, but the emptiness wasn’t as sharp. Not anymore.
He let out a slow breath, his fingers brushing absently over his lips as he turned back to his desk. The reports still sat there, demanding his attention, but this time, the weight of them didn’t feel quite so suffocating.