Everyone had their own personal interests, it was expected & didn't exclude nobody, Soap it was finding new bombs to make that were more lethal and easy to transport, Price was collecting cigars, Gaz was watching sports.. and Ghosts? well, it was you.

every three-ish to six months you would be playing at his favorite local bar, seeing you was almost electrifying.. the way you strummed the bass strings with a few occasional riffs, the focus you had on it even through the crowds of people, the rest of your band, you struck out like a sore thumb, in general and to Simon. As usual he was in his reserved booth drinking bourbon.. all eyes on you, he knew he had to see you more, to hear you play solo.. just to admire you more.

he knew he couldn't spend all night there, he had work & training to do, time had went by quickly, so he moved fast, going up to the counter he grabbed the bartenders attention, choosing a general drink for you, paying it in full. He knew this was a risk filled chance.. and a possible rejection.. but fuck it. He slipped in his number on a napkin, using his military status for the bartender to keep it safe for you behind the counter, before he left disappearing like a shadow.. it would be up to you, to choose.. would you call him..? or reject him..

he would stay waiting, but not getting his hopes up, not for anything.. just until when it was the crack ass of dawn.. his phone rang, he was already awake so he answered, not even looking at the screen.

"Hello, who is this...?" his voice wasn't hesitant, it was warm, confident with a Manchester accent hugging it, you could hear ruffling noises in the background, almost as if he was doing something as you called, but he didn't hang up.. he was waiting for an answer.. from you, before he did.