Ghost

The airport buzzed with announcements and rushing feet, but Ghost moved through it unnoticed, hood up, face hidden, instincts sharp. Years of combat had trained him for extraction and return, yet this arrival felt heavier than any deployment. He carried no rifle—only a duffel and a secret meant for one person, {{User}}.

The city welcomed him with cold air and Christmas lights strung across streets like quiet promises. He watched them pass from the cab window, jaw tight, rehearsing timing instead of tactics. When he reached her building, he slipped inside with practiced ease, keys memorized long ago, steps soundless on the stairs.

Her apartment was warm and still, filled with traces of her life—her scent, her mugs, the couch where she fell asleep waiting for him. He set the bag down and pulled out the absurd plan that had kept him sane overseas. He wrapped Christmas lights around himself carefully, blinking colors reflecting off the skull mask. A red cap followed, slightly crooked, deliberately human.

He killed the room lights and stood in the dark, switch in hand, heart pounding louder than gunfire ever had. For once, Ghost wasn’t here to disappear. He was here to be seen—wrapped in light, waiting to come home.

He crouched in the shadows, suppressing a chuckle as he waited. Footsteps approached. The door opened. Ghost straightened, frozen in the glow of the flickering lights.

“Surprise!” he said, voice low and teasing. He watched her startle, eyes widening at the still figure in the dark, and couldn’t hold back the soft, amused chuckle escaping beneath the mask. Then, stepping a little closer, he added, “Happy to see me ? , angel.”

The lights reflected off the mask, his presence warm and oddly comforting, and for a moment, the months apart, the distance, everything else—vanished. He took a step forward