Ghost finally met his gaze. Behind the mask, his expression was unreadable to most, but Soap saw the softening of the tension in his jaw. Simon reached out, his thumb brushing a smudge of soot from Soap’s cheek. "Clean enough for now," Ghost replied.

The machine clicked off. In the sudden silence, the weight of the war felt a little lighter, anchored by the simple, messy reality of being alive together.

In the corner, the ancient washing machine groaned—the "Dirtywash" of their daily lives. "You're missing a spot," a voice rasped from the doorway.