#a little ridiculous but hey so is wearing a skull mask /lh

[cod-thoughts]

Day 6 of 31 days of COD

Word count: 1.4k

Relationships: 141 as family

Tags: Face reveal ooo, crack treated seriously, the team fluster ghost

With a small sigh, he reached up and, in one fluid motion, pulled his mask off. No one noticed at first, too engrossed in their own idle thoughts. But then Soap, mid-sentence, glanced over—and froze. His eyes widened, mouth hanging open in a way that made him look downright ridiculous. “Bloody hell…” OR Ghost takes off his mask and the team go a little overboard with the compliments. Continue under the cut or on AO3!

The break-room felt smaller today, though that might have been because it was one of those rare moments where the entire team—Price, Soap, Gaz, and Ghost—were actually in the same place at the same time. The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, blending with the quiet clinking of mugs and soft banter.

Price sat at the head of the table, sipping from his usual tea. Soap was lounging in a chair with his legs kicked up on the table, eyes scanning a magazine as he absentmindedly prodded Gaz about some half-remembered mission mishap. Gaz shot back with his usual sharp wit, earning a bark of laughter from Price. Ghost, as usual, sat at the edge of the group, masked and silent, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His eyes flickered between his teammates, watching them with the faintest hint of amusement behind his stoic demeanour.

It was routine, really. The team was used to this version of Ghost—the silent sentinel who never removed his mask, never fully relaxed, and rarely, if ever, spoke unless there was something mission-critical to say.

“God, I could use a week off,” Soap groaned, stretching his arms over his head. “A proper vacation—somewhere warm. Maybe a beach, yeah?”

Gaz snorted. “You on a beach? Your pasty skin would burn in five minutes flat.”

“Oi!” Soap grinned. “I tan… eventually.”

Price raised an eyebrow. “When was the last time you saw the sun for more than ten minutes without getting shot at?”

The banter continued, with Soap defending his skin tone as the others chipped in with their own jabs. Ghost, leaning back, let out a low, nearly imperceptible chuckle, so quiet only those paying attention would have caught it.

For a moment, the conversation lulled, everyone settling into a comfortable silence. It was then, seemingly out of nowhere, that Ghost did something completely unexpected.

With a small sigh, he reached up and, in one fluid motion, pulled his mask off.

No one noticed at first, too engrossed in their own idle thoughts. But then Soap, mid-sentence, glanced over—and froze. His eyes widened, mouth hanging open in a way that made him look downright ridiculous.

“Bloody hell…”

Gaz blinked, his head turning sharply towards Soap before following his line of sight. His reaction was nearly identical—jaw slack, eyes wide, staring at Ghost as if they’d just seen a ghost themselves.

Price was the last to notice, casually looking up from his cup of tea. But even his usually calm demeanor cracked. He blinked once, twice, clearly trying to process what he was seeing.

Ghost shifted in his seat, awkwardly clearing his throat. His face, the part of him that none of them had ever seen, was now fully exposed. And, to his dismay, all three of them were staring like he’d grown a second head.

“...What?” Ghost grumbled, voice quieter without the mask’s muffling effect.

Soap was the first to recover, though not by much. “You—” He gestured vaguely at Ghost’s face, seemingly at a loss for words. “Mate, you’re—”

“What?” Ghost repeated, a touch of defensiveness creeping into his tone. He looked down, as if suddenly self-conscious about his scars, the jagged lines that marred his skin. They were old, faded in some places but still stark reminders of a life lived in warzones. He’d always assumed they’d be what people noticed first if they ever saw his face.

Price coughed, breaking the tense silence. “We didn’t realise you were…” He glanced at Soap and Gaz, who were both still gaping, and then back at Ghost. “So damn good looking.”

Ghost blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What?”

Gaz finally found his voice. “Mate, are you kidding me? You’re—” He made a vague motion with his hand, as if trying to summon the right word. “You’re bloody gorgeous.”

Ghost’s brows furrowed, and he shifted uncomfortably. “The hell are you on about?”

Soap finally managed to close his mouth, but a grin quickly replaced his initial shock. “He’s right, LT. You’re a bloody model under there!”

Price let out a low chuckle, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’ll be damned.”

Ghost, visibly thrown off by the unexpected praise, glanced away, a rare uncertainty settling into his posture. He could feel his face heat up, a strange, unwelcome flush creeping up his neck.

“Stop takin’ the piss,” Ghost muttered, reaching for his mask. “I’m scarred to hell and back. I know what I look like.”

Soap, quick as ever, leaned forward and snatched the mask off the table before Ghost could grab it. “Oh no, you’re not putting that back on.”

“Johnny—”

“I mean it, LT. We’ve seen it now, and we’re not lettin’ you hide that handsome face again,” Soap teased, grinning like the cat that caught the canary.

Ghost’s ears burned, his embarrassment deepening. He could feel the heat crawling up his face, and judging by the way the others were staring, it was clear they’d noticed too.

“Jesus Christ,” Ghost mumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face in a futile attempt to hide his growing discomfort.

Gaz, always the sharp observer, chimed in with a laugh. “Did you see that? The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled? Damn, Ghost, you’ve been holding out on us.”

Ghost groaned, burying his face in his hands. “You lot are unbelievable.”

Price chuckled softly, his tone more relaxed now that the initial shock had worn off. “Well, Simon, I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting this. You’re going to have to get used to the compliments.”

Ghost peeked through his fingers, eyes narrowing slightly. “Compliments?” he muttered, voice muffled by his hands. “You’re all takin’ the piss.”

Soap’s grin only widened. “Oh, we’re not. It’s just… wow. You’ve been hiding a face like that all this time?”

Ghost finally dropped his hands, shooting Soap an unimpressed look. “Drop it, Johnny.”

But Soap was clearly having the time of his life. “Nope. Not droppin’ it. Not when I’ve just discovered that you, our own Ghost, have been hiding a face prettier than half the models in Vogue.”

Price rolled his eyes at Soap’s dramatics but didn’t intervene. It was too good to see Ghost, usually so controlled and unflappable, thrown off his game for once.

Ghost, thoroughly embarrassed now, glanced between them, trying to figure out if they were serious or just having him on. But the soft smiles, the lingering surprise in their eyes, told him they weren’t joking—at least not entirely.

“You really think this is funny,” Ghost muttered, though his tone had softened slightly.

“Oh, it’s hilarious,” Soap admitted, “but also true. I mean, look at you. How have you been hidin’ that all this time?”

Ghost’s face burned. He wasn’t used to this—being the centre of attention, being… admired. He’d spent so long behind the mask, letting it shield him from the world, that he’d almost forgotten what it was like to be seen. Really seen.

Gaz grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Bet you didn’t think you’d get this reaction, huh?”

Ghost shook his head, still feeling out of place, exposed in a way he hadn’t expected. “Figured you’d just be staring at the scars,” he admitted quietly.

Price’s voice was gentle, cutting through the teasing with a calm sincerity. “We’re not bothered by those, Simon. You’re still you—scars or not.”

The warmth in his captain’s words, in the way the team looked at him, sent another flush up Ghost’s neck. He opened his mouth to argue, to downplay it, but Soap beat him to it.

“And now that we’ve seen that smile,” Soap said with a cheeky grin, “you can’t go hiding it again.”

Ghost grumbled under his breath, but the teasing continued, light and relentless. They were all enjoying it far too much, talking about his smile, his eyes, the way his expression changed now that they could see his face. They gushed about him as if he wasn’t right there, sitting at the table, clearly flustered and trying his best to keep his composure.

“Christ, you lot are insufferable,” Ghost muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Gaz laughed. “Get used to it, Ghost. You’re stuck with us.”

And as much as he grumbled, as much as he wanted to bury his face in his hands and pretend this whole thing wasn’t happening, there was a part of Ghost that felt… lighter. Like maybe, just maybe, he didn’t need the mask as much as he thought he did.