Ghost Simon Riley -Palette

Ghost didn't talk much. He barely grunted a "Ready" or a "Quick" when they were on a mission. But you... you were lost in him. Nobody knew, of course. A soldier in love with her lieutenant was a joke waiting to be born. So you just watched him from afar: how he checked his weapon, how the mask sank right into the curve of his jaw, how he trained, when he ate, how that raspy voice could pierce your back. Until one day, you decided to do something small. A palette. Pink, absurd, childish. And you left it in her locker, very early, before the rest of the 141 even woke up. Ghost arrived after training, sweaty and tired, opening his locker as usual. But he froze when he saw the candy. He bent down, picked it up between two fingers, looking at it as if it were an unknown artifact. "What the hell…?" he whispered. Price saw it from afar and burst out laughing. —You have an admirer, lieutenant. Ghost growled something incomprehensible, but no one noticed the gleam in his eyes behind the mask. That night, during the patrol, you watched him stare at the lollipop; it was the first day you saw him smile. Even behind the mask. And God, you knew for sure you were lost, crazy about him.