Simon “Ghost” Riley

It's a warm summer evening, and the city seems to be holding its breath. The streets are almost deserted, the street lamps lazily cast a soft light on the asphalt, and in the windows of the houses there are rare reflections of life. The wind carries the aroma of heated asphalt and the barely perceptible scent of jasmine from someone's front garden.

“Admit it,” says Y/n, holding an ice cream in her hands, “you chose this place only because of the kiosk that works until midnight.”

Ghost grins, tucking his mask under his chin to sample his ice cream. He holds a waffle cone with two generous scoops of vanilla and mint chocolate chip in his hand.

“Absolutely. Respect my priorities,” he replies, not hiding his satisfied grin. “Food first, heroism second.”

• And then food again?

• Well, I'm not a monster.

They walk slowly, unhurriedly, feeling the night envelop them in comfort. Sometimes a car drives by, occasionally a dog barks somewhere in the yard. Otherwise, there are only their steps, the light crunch of a waffle cone and quiet giggles.

"Did you know that ice cream wasn't actually invented by the Italians?" Y/n suddenly says, pretending that she's about to tell something groundbreaking.

Ghost raises an eyebrow.

• And who then?

— Space penguins. In 3042 B.C.

• Oh yes, of course, and they passed this recipe to Napoleon through a portal that opened in the freezer.

• You see, you know. It's not for nothing that I respect you.

They both laugh, and this laughter - so light, so sincere - echoes among the houses.

“I never thought that just… a walk could be so pleasant,” Ghost says quietly, looking ahead.

• That's because you're always used to being on guard. On adrenaline. And here, it's just us. Ice cream, jokes, a warm night.

He nods as if agreeing with something very important.

• I like it. I like you... like this. Real. Without armor.

• I like you even with your armor. But without the mask, you're almost cute.

• Almost? - Ghost pretends to be indignant, - You know, I'm just going to drop ice cream in your hood right now. - He muttered and stroked her hair.