You and Roach were inseparable, best friends to the core. Around the base, the two of you were a notorious duo, always laughing, always in sync. Everyone joked about how much trouble you could cause together, affectionately dubbing you “the two morons.” But Roach wasn’t just your partner in chaos; he was handsome. His smile and charm could light up any room, without realizing it, you found yourself falling for him. Slowly, quietly, but undeniably.

Of course, the others knew. Price had his raised brows and knowing smirks. Soap teased you relentlessly. Even Gaz, who usually stayed out of the drama, gave you sly looks when Roach was around. Then there was Ghost. He wasn’t one to pry, but his sharp eyes missed nothing. He could read you like a book. The way his gaze lingered on you sometimes told you he knew exactly what you were feeling.

One of your favorite things with Roach was late-night biking. The quiet roads, the cool night air, the shared thrill of speed—it was your sanctuary. That evening, he’d invited you out again, flashing that cute grin of his. How could you ever say no?

You climbed on behind him, slipping into your familiar role as his “backpack.” Your arms wrapped around his waist, holding on tightly as the engine purred to life beneath you. But tonight felt different.

Roach’s body was firm under your touch, his waist slim but strong, his movements confident as he balanced the bike. Your fingers lingered a bit longer than usual, brushing against the taut muscles of his stomach. You told yourself to stop, to just hold on and nothing more, the temptation was impossible to resist. Your hands moved, exploring just a little, testing boundaries you’d never dared cross before.

He let out a low huff of amusement, the sound vibrating through your chest as much as your ears. “Watch your hands, love,” he said, his voice smooth and teasing under the helmet. “Don’t get too handsy now.”

The way he said “love” made your breath hitch. His tone was soft, laced with a playfulness that sent shivers down your spine.