Male reader
p2 of this
🔪🦐: You stop at a 24-hour store for a some clothes, food, and basic supplies for the kid. After shopping you headed back to Ghost’s flat, settling in for the night. The next morning you share a quiet breakfast together. Yay.
——————————————————————————
The early morning streets were still mostly empty, you drove while Ghost sat in the back with the kid still asleep against his chest, one big hand resting lightly on their back.
Ghost hadn’t said much since leaving the community building, just the occasional grunt and side eye he would give you when the car hit a bump.
First stop was a 24-hour superstore on the edge of the industrial district. The parking lot had a couple of tired delivery vans and one guy smoking by the carts.
Ghost shifted the kid carefully before getting out, keeping them tucked close so the cold air wouldn’t wake them.
The automatic doors slid open with a soft whoosh, and the bright fluorescent lights hit you both like a slap. The place smelled like floor cleaner and fresh bread from the bakery section that was already firing up.
You grabbed a cart while Ghost followed a few steps behind. He carefully switched the skull mask for a black balaclava he kept in his pocket in the car. Wearing that mask outside would've gotten multiple stares, which Ghost didn't like.
The kid stirred once when a shelf of bright cereal boxes caught the light, but Ghost just adjusted his hold and kept moving, muttering something under his breath about “bloody fluorescent hell.”
Clothes first. You headed down the kids’ aisle, picking out simple stuff: soft cotton pants in dark gray, 3 plain t-shirts that wouldn’t show dirt fast, a small warm hoodie with a hood big enough to hide under if they wanted.
Sizes were a guess, seven or eight years old, maybe, but you held things up against the sleeping kid’s frame while Ghost watched with that flat stare.
You added socks, underwear, and a pair of cheap shoes that looked like they wouldn’t fall apart in a week. Ghost reached past you without a word and dropped a thick fleece blanket into the cart.
Next came the basics. Toothbrush, toothpaste that didn’t taste like chemicals, a small hairbrush. Soap that smelled like nothing much.
Then the food section. You stood in front of the baby aisle longer than you meant to, staring at jars of pureed stuff and boxes of toddler meals.
The kid was probably old enough for real food, but after seeing that empty room and those bruises, you weren’t taking chances.
You grabbed a few small containers of applesauce, some yogurt pouches, and plain rice cereal. Ghost loomed behind you, one arm still cradling the child.
“Try one,” he said, voice low and rough like gravel.
You raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“The baby food.” He nodded at a jar of mashed carrots or something equally orange.
You shamelessly unscrewed the lid right there in the aisle, dipped a finger in, and tasted it. The texture was slimy and the flavor hit like wet cardboard mixed with old vegetables.
You immediately gagged, but still swallowed it anyways, wiping your mouth with the back of your glove. “That’s actually fucking diabolical.”
Ghost’s shoulders shook once in a silent laugh. “You look like you just got shot in the mouth, Caliber. Thought you had better taste than that.”
You slapped his arm, the sound was a dull thud against his jacket. “Shut up. You try it next time, see how funny it is.”
He didn’t, but the way his eyes crinkled at the corners behind the mask said he was storing that moment away to bring up later.
You tossed the jar in the cart, you didn't really want to buy it but you've already unscrewed it and dipped your fingers inside.
After that yay grabbed actual food instead, bread, milk, juice, eggs, fruit, meat, a couple of those microwave meals that looked decent. The cart was filling up fast.
By the time you reached checkout, the kid had started to wake up a little, blinking slow against Ghost’s shoulder. Their eyes landed on the bright lights first, then on you pushing the cart.
Ghost paid in cash from the mission envelope, thick stack of bills that made the cashier’s eyebrows go up before she looked away fast. Smart woman.
Back in the car, the bags rustled in the trunk next to the empty space where the woman had been. The kid stayed in Ghost’s lap for the drive to his flat, a nondescript building in a quiet part of the city that looked like every other concrete block from the outside.
Soon enough you guys arrived, stepping inside the flat Ghost set the kid down on the couch carefully. The child looked even smaller against the dark leather, knees drawn up again out of habit.
You started unpacking bags in the kitchen while Ghost disappeared into the bedroom and came back without the mask, just the balaclava pulled down. His face was the usual blank slate, but his eyes kept drifting back to the couch.
You heated up some milk and mixed in the cereal, stirring until it wasn’t lumpy. The kid ate slowly when you offered the spoon, small bites, watching both of you the whole time.
Ghost leaned against the counter, arms crossed, saying nothing. But when the kid finished and pushed the bowl away, he moved to grab a damp cloth from the sink, wiping their face gently.
“Soft spot already, Simon?” you asked, keeping your voice low so it wouldn’t carry.
He shot you a look that could’ve stripped paint. “Piss off, Caliber. Just making sure they don’t look like they crawled out of a war zone.”
You scoffed. “Too late for that. We found them in one.”
He didn’t answer, but when the kid leaned sideways on the couch a few minutes later, clearly fighting sleep again, Ghost picked them up without being asked and carried them to the spare room.
The bed there was plain, military-neat, but he pulled the new blanket over them, tucking it around their shoulders with more patience than you’d ever seen him use on anything that wasn’t a rifle scope.
You stood in the doorway watching. The room smelled like fresh laundry now mixed with the faint plastic scent of new clothes still in the bags. Ghost straightened up, stared at the small shape under the blanket for a long second, then rubbed the back of his neck.
“Kid’s too light,” he muttered. “Should’ve grabbed more food.”
You leaned against the frame. “We can fix that tomorrow. Or today. Whatever the hell time it is.”
He grunted and walked past you into the hall. In the living room he dropped onto the couch, boots still on, and stared at the ceiling.
You sat across from him, the silence comfortable the way it always was after a job.
You kicked your feet up on the coffee table. “We should get some sleep.
Ghost closed his eyes, arms crossed over his chest, his face looking like carved stone in the low light from the single lamp.
After a long minute he finally spoke, voice low and rough. “You take the bed with the kid.”
You paused mid-reach for the lamp switch. “What?”
He cracked one eye open, the pale blue visible even in the dimness. “I’ll take the couch.”
You stared at him for a second, then shook your head. “No. I can take the couch. You’re bigger than me anyway. Your legs won’t even fit on this thing without hanging off the end.”
Ghost grunted. “I’ve slept on worse. Mud, rocks, the back of a bloody technical in the middle of nowhere. This is luxury compared to that.”
“Yeah, and you complain about your back every time after those jobs,” you said.
“Remember that op in the mountains? You bitched for three days straight about your spine feeling like it got run over by a tank.”
He let out a short breath that might have been a laugh if he ever admitted to those. “That was different. This couch is fine. Go on. Bed’s bigger.”
You raised an eyebrow, pushing yourself up from the couch. “No, you're taking the bed, this is your flat anyways.”
He uncrossed his arms and nodded toward the hallway. “Stop arguing and go. I’ll keep an ear out. If the kid stirs, you’re already there.”
You crossed the room in a few steps and grabbed his wrist before he could settle back in. His skin was warm, the pulse steady under your fingers. “Come on, Simon. We’ve shared worse. That safehouse in Prague with the single cot? We made it work. This bed’s actual size. Move your ass.”
He resisted for half a second, he always did when someone tried to tell him what to do, but he let you pull him up. The couch creaked in relief as his weight left it. “This is stupid,” he said under his breath, but he followed you down the hall anyway, boots quiet on the floorboards.
In the spare room the kid was curled up under the fleece blanket, one small hand fisted near their cheek, the bruises standing out darker against the pale skin in the weak light from the window.
The bed was wide enough for three people, military sheets pulled tight at the corners the way Ghost always left them.
You kicked your boots off first, then climbed in on the far side, leaving space in the middle for the kid. Ghost hesitated in the doorway, staring at the scene.
Then he sighed, long and tired, then slowly walked in and slid in on the other side of the kid, careful not to jostle the mattress too much.
The kid didn’t wake, just made a small sound and shifted closer to your side, their breathing staying even. Ghost lay on his back, one arm tucked under his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
The room felt smaller with both of you in it, the air warmer. “You’re taking the middle next time,” you murmured after a minute, voice barely above a whisper so you wouldn’t disturb the quiet.
“Like hell,” he replied, just as soft. His free hand moved without thinking, resting lightly on the edge of the blanket near the kid’s shoulder. “Kid snores louder than you do.”
You huffed a quiet laugh into the pillow. “I don’t snore.”
“You do. Sounds like a clogged rifle suppressor.”
“Bullshit. You’re the one who sounds like a freight train when you finally pass out.”
He didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched. The kid’s small hand uncurled a little and brushed against Ghost’s sleeve.
The three of you lay there in the dark, the city’s distant hum filtering through the thick glass. Ghost’s breathing slowed eventually, deep and even, but you knew he wasn’t fully asleep yet.
You closed your eyes, the weight of the long night settling in your bones. The bed was warm, the kid a small solid presence between you two, and for the first time since kicking in that mansion door, the flat didn’t feel quite so empty.
Ghost might grumble about it tomorrow, call the whole thing a pain in the arse, but right now he wasn’t moving away. That said more than any words he’d ever waste on the subject.
The flat was quiet when you woke up. Sunlight cut through the blinds in thin stripes across the bed, warm where it landed on the sheets.
The spot where Ghost had been was cold now, the blanket pulled back neat like he’d never been there. The kid was gone too, just an empty dip in the middle of the mattress.
You slowly sat up, rubbing the back of your neck where it had kinked from sleeping in an awkward position. Your shoulders popped when you stretched your arms overhead, joints cracking like old hinges.
For a minute you just stayed on the edge of the bed, you heard low murmur of voices coming from the kitchen and the clink of a spoon against something plastic.
You pushed yourself up, socks sliding a little on the wood as you headed down the short hallway. The smell of coffee hit you first, strong and bitter the way Ghost always made it, mixed with something sweet drifting from the open kitchen area.
The kid on the edge of the kitchen counter, legs dangling, still in the same clothes from last night but with the new gray hoodie pulled over their head.
Ghost stood in front of them, his black balaclava on, one hip leaning against the counter. In his hand was one of those small yogurt pouches you’d grabbed at the store, the bright packaging crinkled where he’d squeezed it.
He held the pouch, letting the kid take small sucks from the spout, their hands wrapped around his gloved fingers for balance. The kid’s face was less tense than last night, cheeks moving as they ate, a tiny smear of pink yogurt at the corner of their mouth.
The scene looked silly. Six-foot-something Ghost, built like he cleared rooms for breakfast, carefully tilting a toddler pouch so a bruised kid wouldn’t make a mess.
You leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, watching for a second before you spoke. “Didn’t know you did room service, Simon.”
Ghost didn’t turn his head right away. He finished squeezing the last bit of yogurt out, wiped the kid’s mouth with the edge of a paper towel, then set the empty pouch on the counter. “Kid woke up hungry. Figured that carrot slop you tried last night would’ve killed them, so I went with this instead.”
The kid glanced over at you, eyes still a little wide but not scared anymore. They swallowed the last mouthful and gave a small nod, agreeing with Ghost.
You walked over, the floor creaking under your weight, and poured yourself a mug of coffee from the pot. It was black and hot enough to burn your tongue, the steam curling up like smoke from a fresh muzzle flash. “How long have you two been up?”
“Hour, maybe,” Ghost said. He lifted the kid down from the counter with both hands, setting them on the floor carefully so their feet touched first.
The kid stayed close to his leg, one hand fisting the side of his shirt, not ready to let go yet.
You took a sip of coffee, the bitterness cutting through the morning fog in your head. On the counter sat the abandoned jar of baby food, lid off, a spoon stuck in it like evidence.
The yogurt pouch lay next to it, empty and crumpled. Ghost caught you looking and grunted. “Don't start. Kid ate half of it without spitting it back in my face.”
You set the mug down with a soft clink and walked closer, ruffling the kid’s hair lightly through the hoodie. It was tangled but softer after whatever Ghost had done with the new brush. “Yeah, well, I warned you that stuff was shit. Tastes like boiled socks.”
The kid made a small sound, almost a giggle but cut short, like they weren’t sure laughing was allowed. Ghost’s eyes flicked down to them, the corner of his mouth twitching under the balaclava for half a second before he schooled it back to nothing.
He turned to the fridge, pulling out the milk and a couple of eggs like the motion was second nature now. “Sit down and eat something proper,” he told you over his shoulder, already cracking an egg into a pan that hissed the second it hit the hot surface.
The smell of frying eggs filled the kitchen fast, rich and savory, cutting through the sweet yogurt. Oil popped and spat, small bursts of sound that made the kid flinch once before they relaxed again against Ghost’s leg.
You dropped into one of the two chairs at the small table, the wood groaning under you. Ghost slid a plate across a minute later, two eggs, a slice of toast with butter melting into the cracks, and a banana sliced on the side.
The kid climbed up onto the other chair with a little boost from Ghost, their legs swinging because they didn’t quite reach the floor. Ghost set a small bowl of the cereal in front of them.
The three of you ate in mostly silence, the clink of forks and the occasional slurp from the kid’s spoon the only sounds.
Ghost stood at the counter instead of sitting, eating his own portion straight from the pan with a fork. His free hand stayed near the kid though, just incase if they leaned too far.
Halfway through, the kid pushed the bowl away a little and pointed at Ghost’s toast. Ghost tore off a small corner without a word and handed it over.
You finished your coffee, the mug leaving a ring on the table. “We need to sort out more food that doesn’t come in pouches. Kid’s gonna need clothes that fit better too I think.”
Ghost nodded, scraping the last of the eggs from the pan. “Later. First, we make sure no one from last night comes looking, loose ends have a way of biting.”
The kid looked between the two of you, spoon paused halfway to their mouth. Ghost noticed and made his voice a but softer. “Nothing for you to worry about."
The spoon in the kids hand started moving again, slow and careful, the cereal disappearing in small bites. You pushed your chair back with a scrape against the tile floor and carried the plates over to the sink.
The faucet groaned when you turned it on, water rushing out cold at first then warming up, steam rising in lazy curls that smelled like nothing but plain hot water mixed with the leftover grease from the eggs.
Ghost stayed by the counter, one hand resting near the kid’s bowl without touching it, his eyes tracking every small movement they made.
You stacked the dishes in the sink, the ceramic clinking together like loose rounds in a magazine. Soap suds built up quick under the stream, white bubbles popping softly as you scrubbed the pan first, the metal still warm from the stove.
Bits of egg stuck stubborn to the bottom, scraping off with the sponge in wet little scratches. The smell of breakfast faded under the clean scent of dish soap.
Ghost finally moved, lifting the kid down from the chair again with both hands under their arms. Their feet hit the floor with a soft pat.
Then stepped over to the sink beside you. Without a word he grabbed a towel from the hook on the wall and started drying the plates you set on the rack.
The kid wandered closer, drawn by the sound of running water, and stopped at Ghost’s leg, one small hand grabbing the fabric of his pants near the knee.
They watched the suds swirl down the drain, the water gurgling loud then fading to a trickle when you turned the tap off. Ghost glanced down once, his free hand brushing the top of the kid’s head through the hoodie.
You handed him the last mug, the coffee ring still faint inside it. “You’re getting good at this domestic shit, Simon.”
He took the mug and dried it with a grunt, the towel whispering over the surface. “Don’t push it, Caliber.”
He set the dry mug on the shelf above the counter with a soft clink, then folded the towel and hung it back on the hook.
You wiped your hands on your shirt and looked around the flat. Bags from the store still sat half-unpacked in the corner, new clothes poking out in crumpled piles.
Ghost crouched down to the kid’s level, balaclava still hiding most of his face but his eyes visible. “We’ve got a few things to sort. No running off.”
The kid nodded once, slow, their fingers twisting in the hem of the new hoodie. Ghost straightened up and caught your eye over the kid’s head.
You grabbed the empty shopping bags and started folding them, the plastic crinkling loud in the quiet. “I’ll make a list for the next run. Whatever else the kid needs. We can hit the store again.”
Ghost nodded, already moving toward the living room with the kid trailing after him like a small shadow. “Yeah. And keep the rifle close. Just in case.”
The morning stretched on slow after that. You wiped down the counter one more time, the cloth leaving streaks that dried fast in the sunlight coming through the window.