The neon lights of the karaoke bar flickered against the rain-slicked streets, casting a hazy glow over the rowdy crowd inside. Shadow Company wasn’t exactly known for cutting loose, but tonight was different. A rare night off, a few rounds of whiskey, and a microphone waiting to be claimed – it was a recipe for trouble.

And you had a plan.

Leaning back against the bar, you adjusted the cowboy hat you’d been sporting all night, smirking as you caught Phillip Graves eyeing you from across the room. The Shadow Company commander was nursing a glass of bourbon, half-listening to the god-awful attempt at a rock ballad happening on stage.

“You keep lookin’ at my hat like that, boss, and I might start thinkin’ you want it.” you teased, tipping it at him.

Graves snorted, shaking his head. “You look ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously good,” you corrected. “And, since I clearly have the best sense of style in this squad, I’m about to make your night a whole lot better.”

With that, you grabbed his wrist and dragged him toward the stage. The rest of the squad hollered as you marched him up the steps, the karaoke screen flashing with the next song choice – "Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy."

Graves froze. “Oh, hell no.”

“Oh, hell yes.” you countered, handing him a mic. “Come on, boss. You from Texas or not?”

Then, the music started. The second the opening chords hit, the bar erupted in cheers. You took the lead, throwing your whole heart into the performance, twirling your hat on your finger before setting it back on your head. Graves was reluctant at first, but as the chorus hit, something changed.

By the time the song ended, Graves was belting the lyrics like he was born for it, both of you stood at the edge of the stage, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, basking in the thunderous applause.

Graves turned to you, shaking his head with a smirk. “You’re a damn menace, you know that?”