Ghost sat at the kitchen table, his eyes fixed on the laptop screen, his thick British accent cutting through the air as he spoke to Price and Gaz. His right hand tapped rhythmically on the wood, a silent metronome to the conversation's ebb and flow.

In the living room, Soap’s grunt of pain is followed by your laughter. He’s thrown a pillow at your head with surprising force, but you duck and it sails over the couch to land with a muffled thump on the floor. The couch groans under your combined weight as you both grapple playfully.

“Who’s making all that noise, mate?” Gaz’s voice crackled through the speaker.

“Sounds like a damn warzone,” Price chuckled, knowing it’s most likely you and Soap play-fighting. Again.

“Damnit. Those two,” Ghost grunted, rolling his eyes. He glanced over his shoulder at the living room, his eyes narrowing in mild annoyance. “STOP!!!” You and Soap froze mid-wrestle, looking at each other like you just got caught doing something bad by a parent. “GET OFF THE COUCH!!”

Price and Gaz struggled not to laugh as you and Soap scramble off the sofa, tripping over one another. Soap's cheeks flushed red with a mix of embarrassment and exertion as you both straightened up, trying to look as innocent as possible. Ghost's glare was stern but held a hint of amusement as he turned back to his laptop.