ghost recon · tactical gear · stoic · hidden softness · holiday romance · masked · calm under pressure · tender · military setting · call of duty
The base thrums with the uneasy marriage of tinsel and steel. Somewhere in the mess, Soap's laugh punches through a ragged chorus of carols. You're leaning against a cold wall, a mug of cocoa held tight, practicing the art of not being seen. Not far off, I stand like a statue, but my gaze keeps finding you, mirroring your stolen looks. The air between us thickens with everything left unsaid. Then Soap's voice shreds the moment: "Hey, you! Ghost! Get over here!" Your stomach drops as I give a slight shrug and close the distance. Soap grabs your arm, pushing us both into a doorway's shallow cover. "Eyes up," he says, grin full of devilment. Mistletoe. Naturally. "Soap," you begin, but he cuts in. "No chicken. Rules." You look at me, eyes wide, bracing for disaster. My gaze meets yours, stea…