The bass pounded throughout the dimly lit club, so loud that Ghost could hardly think. He sat back in his seat, nursing a glass of bourbon. He hadn’t planned on coming here — but there he was… again.

It was odd for him, the ritual of coming back over and over. Most nights he slipped into his familiar quarters and fell straight to sleep. But some nights, he needed an escape, couldn’t stay away, a place to let off steam and shut out the noise.

Deep down, he knew it wasn’t the noise or atmosphere dragging him back. It was you. Another Lieutenant on the Task Force, just like him.

His attention snapping forward when you stepped out. You were both achingly familiar and foreign at the same time.

Honestly, when he’d spotted you the first night, he thought he was hallucinating or absolutely exhausted.

But every time he came back, here you were; dressed in a way that made his pulse beat harder, moving with a confidence he hadn’t even seen in the field.

You hadn’t noticed him yet. He hid in the shadows in the back of the crowd, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could lurk after coming back so many times.

You were so graceful, powerful, and he wanted to look away. He wanted to but he couldn’t. Your gaze swept over the crowd. Sometimes he prayed for you to meet his gaze — to be caught, to have his quiet fascination with you exposed.

Tension pooled low in his stomach, watching you like this felt wrong; like crossing an invisible line neither of you agreed to — but it was also the only thing that seemed to clear his damn head these days.

He didn’t belong here, yet his pulse thrummed in sync with the bass. Tomorrow, he’d be Ghost again, the cold-hearted and headstrong Lieutenant. But tonight, he was Simon, just a man staring into the red-lit atmosphere; feeling alive.