Roach's smell was ever-changing.

Some days, he smelled just as he should, like soap and aftershave and something so uniquely Roach he couldn't describe it, but it was incredibly comforting. Ghost still wasn't used to this smell, even when he woke up in Roach's bed where everything smelled like the man, including himself. Sometimes he'd steal his shirt if they were apart for a few days, not that he'd ever admit it. It helped ease those lonely nights. After a long day, this smell was the best solace in the world.

Then sometimes he smelled like sweat and gunpowder and fuck if that wasn't a turn on, Ghost didn't know what was. They were always last to the showers after training.

But there was also bad smells, like blood. When Roach smelled like blood and death it worried Ghost deeply. Even seeing his reassuring smile, knowing it wasn't his blood that he could smell, Ghost didn't like it. It was only once Roach had washed it all away he would relax.

Some days, Ghost wondered what Roach would smell like when they retired. If he didn't spend his days training and running and shooting at bad guys, what would that change? Hopefully the blood.

Ghost made himself a promise to find out one day.