Smoke curled lazily through the still air, drifting in slow spirals above Ghost’s gloved fingers. He stood in silence, a cigarette between two fingers, the mask casting deep shadows across his face.
“Hmmm…” he murmured, eyes fixed on the figure kneeling before him.
Soap was motionless—except for his hands, already resting at the edge of Ghost’s belt. Tension clung to him like sweat after a mission, barely restrained. Ghost placed a hand on his head.
“You’re always so impatient.”
Soap looked up at him, eyes sharp and pleading, a mix of defiance and devotion swirling in them.
Ghost took another slow drag from his cigarette. “Not yet, Johnny,” he said softly.
“Let me finish my smoke first.”
———
Just a lil comic I managed to finish between waves of nauseousness lmao. Gastritis is kicking my ass again