Snow crunches under your boots as you step out of the transport truck, the cold biting through your jacket immediately. Simon said the safehouse was “fine,” which in Ghost-language means “marginally habitable.”
Figures.
You sling your bag over your shoulder and take in the place: a dusty old lodge tucked into the woods, roof sagging with snow, Christmas lights thrown over it like someone gave up halfway.
“Welcome t’ paradise!” a bright, Scottish voice calls.
You turn — and meet him for the first time properly.
Mohawk. Grin too sharp for someone holding a paper plate of gingerbread men. Eyes blue like he’s permanently amused.
He’s… energetic. That’s your first impression.
“Ye must be the wee Riley,” he says, stepping up. “We’ve heard loads about ya.”
You blink. “Simon talks about me?”
Soap laughs. “Not much. Mostly that you’re the only person he won’t ignore.”
You snort. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”
He beams, proud he made you laugh.
Ghost pushes past, muttering, “Don’t let him scare you off.”
“That’s rude,” Soap calls. “I’m delightful!”
“Debatable,” Gaz adds from the porch.
You can’t help it—you laugh again.
They’re… not what you expected. Softer. Warmer. Messier.
Soap hands you a gingerbread cookie shaped like a very poorly-iced soldier.
“This is my specialty,” he announces. “He’s called… Corporal Crumbles.”
You stare at it. “He looks like he’s begging for death.”
Soap bursts out laughing—loud, genuine, a little explosive—and something in your chest tugs just a bit.
Not romantically.
Just… pleasantly.
He nudges your shoulder. “Ye’ll fit right in.”
You shrug, pretending you’re not smiling. “We’ll see.”
Inside the lodge, everyone’s busy setting up some kind of half-failed Christmas celebration.
Price trying to fix lights.
Gaz wrapping presents in duct tape.
Ghost pretending he’s not watching you.
Soap stays near you without making it weird—cracking jokes, offering to take your bag, narrating the Cookie Civil War happening in the kitchen.
You don’t think much of it.
He’s just… friendly.
The kind of guy who’s like sunshine in human form.
When he hands you a mug of hot cocoa, you take it without realizing he’s been watching your reaction.
“Good?” he asks, suddenly a little softer.
“Yeah,” you say. “Thanks.”
His smile flickers—quick, small, almost shy.
But you don’t notice.
Not really.
Later that night, when the team settles around the fire, you sit beside Simon. Soap sits on your other side, close but not too close, talking animatedly with Gaz about who’d win in a snowball fight.
You listen. You laugh sometimes.
And you don’t notice that he leans closer whenever you do.
Soap notices you.
He notices everything.
But you?
You just see him as Simon’s friend.
The funny one.
You wake up the next morning to the sound of complete chaos.
Someone is banging pots.
Someone is shouting.
Someone is definitely swearing.
You sit up, blinking blearily, and open your door.
Gaz is sprinting down the hallway holding a waffle maker like it’s a bomb.
“PRICE! THE THING IS SMOKING—OH—YN, morning!”
“...Morning?” you say, confused and not awake.
Soap barrels after him, yelling, “DON’T UNPLUG IT, YOU’LL ANGER IT—OH! YN! Good mornin’!”
He gives you this huge bright grin like seeing you counts as a win. You blink at him.
He’s… very cheerful for someone chasing a waffle machine.
“Why are we running?” you ask.
“Because,” Gaz says, “Soap almost burned the lodge down.”
“He LIES!” Soap shouts, pointing accusingly at the smoking appliance. “This thing’s got a curse, YN, don’t touch it!”
You lean against the wall, arms crossed. “So the first thing you do in the morning is try to kill everyone?”
“Not everyone!” Soap says proudly. “Just me, apparently!”
Price stomps out of the kitchen with a fire extinguisher. “All of you—out.”
Gaz and Soap scatter like children. Soap grabs your wrist as he passes.
“Come on, YN! Before he makes us do chores!”
You follow him downstairs, still half-asleep and confused why Soap holds onto your hand a second longer than necessary before letting go.
You don’t think about it.
He very much does.
Price’s yelling fades behind you as the team gathers around the sagging Christmas tree. Someone is trying to fix an ornament. Someone else is failing.
Ghost looks up first.
“Finally,” he says flatly. “The only normal Riley.”
“Hey—!” Simon says from behind you.
Soap laughs. “I dunno, L.t., YN’s fun. Watch this—”
He cups his hands around his mouth dramatically.
Gaz yells from across the room, “YEAH, YN IS THE BEST ONE HERE!”
Price, still irritated: “Who started the chant—?”
You bury your face in your hands. “Why.”
Soap beams. “Boostin’ morale! It’s Christmas!”
Ghost mutters, “You boost my blood pressure.”
Soap ignores him and plops down beside you on the couch, shoulder brushing yours. He doesn’t comment on it. You don’t move. It’s comfortable. Warm.
“Sleep well?” he asks casually.
“Yeah,” you say. “Aside from waking up to… whatever that was.”
Soap smirks. “Ah, the waffle war. Classic.”
You roll your eyes. “You’re hopeless.”
“And yet,” Soap says dramatically, hand over his heart, “you tolerate me.”
His eyes flicker—something warm, something real—but he hides it with a goofy wink.
The first thing you notice is the smell.
Hot cocoa. Pine. Slightly burnt toast. And laughter.
You stretch, still tangled in your blanket, and peek out of the small bedroom you’ve claimed for the weekend. The lodge is buzzing.
“YN!” Gaz shouts from somewhere in the kitchen, voice loud enough to make your head spin. “YN, YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS!”
“Not now, Gaz!” Simon calls from behind him, hands on his hips. His scowl is sharper than usual, but the corners of his mouth twitch like he can’t completely hide his amusement. “Leave her alone.”
You roll your eyes but smile. Simon’s presence is comforting. Somehow, even in the middle of 141 chaos, he’s the one who grounds you.
You tug on a sweater and swing your legs over the bed. Snowlight filters through the windows, but inside the lodge—inside—everything feels soft. Homey. Family.
The first thing you notice is the smell.
Hot cocoa. Pine. Slightly burnt toast. And laughter.
You stretch, still tangled in your blanket, and peek out of the small bedroom you’ve claimed for the weekend. The lodge is buzzing.
“YN!” Gaz shouts from somewhere in the kitchen, voice loud enough to make your head spin. “YN, YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS!”
“Not now, Gaz!” Simon calls from behind him, hands on his hips. His scowl is sharper than usual, but the corners of his mouth twitch like he can’t completely hide his amusement. “Leave her alone.”
You roll your eyes but smile. Simon’s presence is comforting. Somehow, even in the middle of 141 chaos, he’s the one who grounds you.
You tug on a sweater and swing your legs over the bed. Snowlight filters through the windows, but inside the lodge—inside—everything feels soft. Homey. Family.
Downstairs, the lodge smells of cookies, cocoa, and slightly burnt toast. Price mutters under his breath about “discipline” and “too many cooks,” but you barely notice.
Simon is already at the table, tugging at a plate like he’s making sure you have the best spot. “Sit there,” he orders, gesturing to the chair beside him. “I can’t have you next to Gaz—he’ll put sugar in your hair.”
Soap appears, naturally, grinning like he owns the place. “Good mornin’, YN. Sleep well?”
“Depends… do you count being woken up by Gaz screaming as sleep?”
Simon glances at Soap, eyebrow raised. “He didn’t scare you off yet, huh?”
“Not exactly,” you say, smirking.
Soap chuckles, nudging you gently. Simon watches him carefully, lips twitching in what looks like approval mixed with “don’t mess this up, mate.”
Gaz, meanwhile, shouts:
“YN IS THE BEST PANCAKE EATER IN THE WORLD!”
I chuckle slightly, which sounds a lot like Simon " You have known me for a whole two days and i have not once eaten pancakes, how would you know?" I smile slicghtly
Gaz smirks and puffs out his chest "I can just tell y/n that's how great i am"
Simon rolls his eyes but can’t help a small grin. “Focus on your breakfast, YN,” he says softly, sliding a plate toward you. “Ignore the idiots.”
Soap whispers from the side, “I like seeing you eat quietly.”
You glance up. He’s smirking, teasing—but Simon’s presence keeps the moment grounded, almost safe. You’re not entirely aware of how fast your heart flutters.
The lodge glows golden in the firelight. Outside, snow falls steadily, layering the trees in white. Inside, the chaos of earlier has calmed. You’re curled up on the couch with Simon beside you, sipping cocoa.
Simon leans back, watching you quietly. “I’m glad you’re here,” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. “It… feels right, having family together again.”
You smile softly. “Me too.”
Soap appears at the doorway, holding a small box wrapped poorly in green paper. He clears his throat, pretending to be casual. “Uh… hey, Y/N. I—uh—thought you might like this.”
You blink at him. “For me?”
He shrugs, cheeks slightly pink. “Just… a little something. Merry Christmas.”
Simon raises an eyebrow, watching every movement Soap makes toward you. You notice it but don’t comment. You’re still too focused on the present.
You take the box, gently unwrapping it. Inside is a small keychain, shaped like a soldier—slightly rough around the edges but clearly made with care.
“It’s… perfect,” you say softly.
Soap scratches the back of his neck. “Glad ye like it. Didn’t think I’d get it exactly right, but—well…” His words trail off, but his eyes hold something warm.
Simon gives him a small nod, subtle but approving, before turning back to you. “You don’t have to say anything. Just… enjoy the moment.”
Later, the three of you gather around the Christmas tree. Simon adjusts a string of lights while you carefully hang ornaments. Soap hovers nearby, occasionally holding an ornament for you.
“You’ve got a good touch,” he says quietly when your hands brush.
You glance at him. “Thanks,” you murmur, heart skipping a beat.
He smiles, just a small curve of his lips. “Don’t mention it.”
Simon notices the exchange but doesn’t comment, just smiles faintly. You feel the warmth of family—and maybe something more—wrap around you like the blanket on your shoulders.
Part two is coming for those who wan it <3
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