Another one of this ghostgaz. this is kind of a flash back. so it's set still early in Gaz and Ghost's relationship (part 3)
It was after that long op in Prague, the one with the warehouse sting that turned into a two-day stakeout and a foot chase through half the city. Everyone was fried, aching bone and hoarse voices. Soap had collapsed face-down on a cot. Price had claimed the floor with his jacket as a pillow.
Kyle had wandered into the kitchen because he couldn’t sleep. The quiet hum of the fridge was soothing, and the cold tile helped settle the heat in his legs. He was half-scavenging through the rations when he heard boots behind him.
Simon still masked and tense.
Kyle stepped aside automatically. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t.”
He watched Simon open a cupboard and pull down a can. Some old MRE tucked into a reused tin. Kyle blinked. “You’re seriously gonna eat that?”
Simon gave a shrug. “It’s food.”
Kyle frowned. “We’ve got eggs. Jam. I think there’s a bag of rice somewhere.”
But Simon was already opening the tin. Sat down in the corner of the room, legs drawn up, back to the wall and away from the door.
That was when Kyle noticed something else: he was eating without lifting the mask fully. Just pulling it up over his mouth in short bursts, quick bites, nearly mechanical. And he didn’t make a sound.
Kyle watched for a second. Then looked down at the piece of toast he’d made himself. Slathered in raspberry jam. He glanced at the extra slice he hadn’t touched.
He didn’t think. He just… crossed the room and held it out.
Simon looked at it. Then at him.
“You don’t have to,” Kyle said. “I just—figured you might want something else. Something warm.”
Simon didn’t take it.
Kyle started to lower it, a little embarrassed, but then Simon reached up and slowly took the toast from his fingers. Very carefully.
He didn’t eat it right away.
Kyle backed off, pretended to focus on the cupboards again.
A few minutes later, when he glanced back, the toast was gone.
Simon stood up to leave. But just before he walked out, he paused. And said, quietly, like it hurt to say it, “Thanks.”
Kyle had turned and met his eyes under the shadowed skull.
He smiled. “Anytime, mate.”
It didn’t seem like much at the time. Just toast. Just a late night.
But later, when Simon took orange slices from his hand without flinching, when he sat close and peeled one just for him, Kyle would remember. And know exactly when the shift had started.
