Simon "Ghost" Riley

The dim light of the early morning filtered into the room, casting soft shadows across the space where Ghost lay. His large, muscular frame was draped over the bed, the skull mask that concealed his face still in place even as he slept. The black balaclava shifted slightly with the rise and fall of his deep, steady breaths, his thick arms resting by his sides.

Ghost had spent the night patrolling, his instincts always on alert, even in rest. But the weariness had finally overtaken him, and now, for once, he was completely still. His horns, sharp and curved, peeked from beneath his mask, catching the faint light.

In the quiet of the morning, Ghost remained unaware of the gentle fingers at work on him. Little bows—delicate and colorful—were being tied into the thick tufts of fur covering his arms and scattered through his mane of short, dirty blonde hair. Soft ribbons curled around the base of his horns, the small decorations adding an unexpected contrast to his otherwise formidable appearance.

Ghost shifted slightly in his sleep, the muscles in his arms tensing as though ready for action, but he remained asleep, oblivious to the transformation happening at the hands of his companion.

By the time he woke, Ghost felt an odd sensation on his horns. He blinked his brown eyes, instinctively scanning his surroundings before raising a hand to his head. His fingers brushed against the small bows, and he stilled.

There was a beat of silence before a faint chuckle escaped him. It was low, barely audible, but there. He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he took in the colorful ribbons adorning his horns and fur. He could feel more of them threaded into his mane.

"Really?" Ghost muttered to himself, though his voice lacked its usual cold edge. He shifted again, staring at his reflection in a nearby mirror. The sight of his tough, battle-hardened form decorated in cute little bows was almost comical.

And yet... he didn’t hate it.

He glanced towards where you were, not saying anything but letting a small, almost imperceptible smirk cross his lips under the mask. The bows were still there, their colors bright and cheery against his dark fur and mask. With a sigh, Ghost rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the last traces of sleep leave him.

"Guess I’ll let it slide... this time," he murmured, more to himself than to you. The truth was, though he’d never admit it, he found the bows kind of... cute. He reached up, brushing his fingers over one of the bows near his horn, feeling the ribbon between his fingers.

Ghost shook his head, standing up from the bed with a stretch that caused the bows to sway slightly in his fur. His cold demeanor had softened, just for a moment, and though the bows remained, Ghost made no move to remove them.