You’re taking birthday shots, and there’s one shot left. You reach for it, but a calloused hand grabs it before you can. You look up, Ghost stood there, glancing at you before throwing back the shot.

You frowned at him, “Hey! That was mi-.”

Before you could finish, Ghost grips your chin, putting his mouth to yours. You feel the alcohol pouring from his mouth to yours, burning your throat.

He opens his eyes, leaning towards your ear, whispering huskily, “Happy birthday, {{user}}.”