The TF141 watergun tournament had started as a joke.

A friendly competition, something to blow off steam between missions. Each member was given a random target, and the only rule? Eliminate your mark with a squirt of water before they got to you first. The last one standing earned a week of chore immunity and bragging rights for life.

Naturally, the squad took it way too seriously.

Gaz set up booby traps in the barracks showers. Soap had been spotted in full ghillie suit, stalking his target from rooftops. And Ghost, your boyfriend, bunkmate, and secret snuggler, had turned into a shadow. He was on a warpath to eliminate Soap, and you?

You had Ghost.

Though he didn’t know that.

You played it cool. Swapped your assigned name with Gaz's to throw suspicion off. Ghost never questioned it. Not when you kissed his cheek at breakfast, not when you brushed past him in the hallway. And definitely not when you climbed into bed that night, curling against his warm side like it was just another ordinary evening.

Ghost sighed, arm looping lazily around you. “Tired?”

“Exhausted,” you murmured into his shirt. You reached under the blanket, hand brushing over your pillow where your tiny plastic watergun was hidden, pre-loaded and silent.

He shifted slightly, unarmored and relaxed, not suspecting a thing. “Got Soap in my sights. Bastard doesn’t even know I’m onto him.”

“Mm,” you hummed. “Sounds dangerous.”

Ghost chuckled quietly, nuzzling his face into your hair. Ready to nod off after a long day at the base. Before he could react, you pressed the watergun to his side, a chuckle bubbling up in your throat. There was silence. Horrible, tense, deathly silence.

Then—

“I’m unarmed. You gonna shoot an unarmed man? In bed?” Ghost’s voice dropped to that tone. The low one. The threat that sounds like a favor.

You didn’t budge.

Ghost took a breath. Then tried a different tactic, bargaining. “Look. I’ll make you breakfast for a week. Full English. Bacon crisp the way you like it.”

Your finger hovered near the trigger.

“Two weeks,” he added quickly. “And I’ll even do the dishes.”

You tilted your head. Tempting. But not enough.

“I’ll watch that awful show you like,” he said next, desperation inching in. “The one with all the singing and the overly dramatic teenagers—”

“It’s not awful,” you muttered, amused.

“Exactly. It’s...it’s great,” Ghost lied flatly.

The barrel of the neon pink watergun pressed in just slightly deeper. You could see the gears turning in his head. Always a man with a plan, always ready to outmaneuver.

Until now.

He sighed, finally. “Alright. Cards on the table.”

Ghost looked at you with something softer buried in his demeanor.

“You really gonna do this to me, gremlin? After everything? After I warmed your side of the bed all week while your feet tried to murder me?”