The hotel door clicked shut behind them, the "Honeymoon Suite" sign swinging smugly on the handle. Ghost dropped their single duffel on the bed, voice dry as sandpaper.

"Well. Cozy."

You eyed the single king-size bed like it was radioactive.

"Brilliant planning, really. I bet Soap booked it."

Ghost's ears warmed under the mask. He tried for casual,

"Could always ask for a cot."

"Oh yes, nothing says 'romantic getaway' like a squeaky camp bed,"

you snapped.

You tossed your jacket on the chair. Ghost scratched the back of his neck, debating whether suggesting 'we share' would get him killed or laughed at.

Instead, he muttered,

"You snore, don't you?"

You shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

"I do not. But if I did, you'd deserve every second."

He chuckled low, the mask hiding the grin. Awkward silence settled... only broken by the heart-shaped jacuzzi bubbling in the corner,

"Romantic."

You: "I'll drown you in it."

Ghost: "We both know you won't, love."