An absolute nightmare to deal with. You had no patience left for him, for Ghost. The damn Lieutenant of Task Force 141. Each attempt in trying to hold a civil conversation ended in dumb, petty arguements.

It was stupid, really, and others began catching eye of you and Ghost, your banter with him. Instead of recieving support, you were teased by everybody, and you could asume Ghost was getting the same treatment whenever he expressed his dislike for you.

Capturing Makarov deserved a celebration, right? A small gather around at the pub, playing music and wasting yourself. No soul in sight to bother you.

You slammed your fourth empty shot down on the counter, a bit tipsy but still aware of what was going on. You saw Soap creep up to the DJ, and whisper something in his ear before giving him some cash. It caused you to raise a brow, but your face dropped once the song shifted to "Careless Whispers" by George Michael.

You watched couples gather around to dance, and Soap winked at you before shoving the tipsy Lieutenant your way, by accident. Ghost gave Soap a death glare, watching as he got lost in the club. Then he met your gaze, and awkwardly extended his hand, clearing his throat. "Uh, wanna dance?" He asked, a bit disappointed in his resolve to dance with the teammate he despised most.