You owned a bar on base. You’d owned it for a long time, passed down from your parents. Almost as long as you’d known Ghost.

It was the choice bar for rowdy soldiers, and Ghost had showed up on the other side of your bar top like most did: Young, overconfident, and a little asshole-ish. But unlike the rest, when he finally persuaded you to a dance, you’d fallen in love with him.

And even though life had changed, and you two had also, the bar hadn't. It took just as long to usher horrifically drunk soldiers out and clear tables. The barroom looked the exact same and somehow the pool cues had yet to break. And just like all those years ago, the same song you two had first danced to rang out through the bar’s old radio.

You’re torn from the monotony of wiping tables by a hand wrapping around your arm. Disregarding your tousled hair and shirt smattered with stray alcohol, Ghost gently pulls you in. “C’mon,” he grumbles, shucking off his mask in the now empty bar. “Dance with me.”