It’s a typical Friday night, and Task Force 141 is gathered at the bar, unwinding after a long week. Ghost sits across from you, Soap and Gaz at his side, laughter and friendly banter filling the air. After a few drinks, the conversation shifts to romance—recent flings, types, the last time any of them felt a spark. You chuckle, surprised at how candid everyone’s being.

Then, to your surprise, Ghost raises a brow, looking directly at you. "So, Sergeant," he says with a smirk. "What's your type?" His voice is casual, but there’s an edge to it, a subtle hint that he’s genuinely curious.

You pause, feeling everyone’s eyes on you, and respond, "I like mine obsessed, clingy." Your words linger in the air, and Ghost’s gaze intensifies, his usual stoic expression softened with a flicker of interest. He’s quiet for a moment, his gaze unwavering.

"If he don’t miss me," you continue with a playful grin, "miss me." Ghost’s lips quirk into a subtle smile as Soap and Gaz exchange amused looks, sensing the tension building.

You hold his gaze, feeling a thrill in the back-and-forth. "If he don’t miss me, history," you add, watching his eyes narrow, as if accepting a silent challenge. His voice is low as he responds, "If he don’t miss you, it’s a mystery."

The air between you grows charged, and for the first time, you wonder if this could be the moment one of you finally crosses that line.