ghost.

Morning at home begins with the quiet hum of a kettle. You're standing by the stove in his T-shirt when you feel Ghost appear behind you. He's still sleepy, without a mask, his hair disheveled. “You got up before me again,” he says hoarsely and hugs you around the waist.

“Because you like strong coffee,” you answer, covering his hands with yours.

He kisses your shoulder, lingering a little longer than usual. “You know,” he says quietly, “I still haven’t gotten used to the fact that I have a wife.”

You turn around and smile. — I’m not used to the fact that my husband is the most stubborn person on the planet. He grins and pulls you towards him.

• But yours.

Later, you're sitting on the couch. He's cleaning his gun, and you're next to him, your feet on his lap. Ghost absentmindedly strokes your ankle, listening to you talk about your day. "I can leave at any moment," he says suddenly. "But I will always come back."

You lean down and touch his forehead with yours. — We're not talking about perfection. We're talking about "together."

He puts everything aside and hugs you tightly. "Marriage is when the war ends here," he says. "Next to you."