"Didn’t know y’were so desperate for attention, love."

Ghost’s voice cut through the noise, low and sharp, dripping with sarcasm. His arms were crossed, stance rigid, but his tone? That was all bite.

It had been months since the breakup—months of pretending nothing had changed, of keeping things “professional.” But tonight? You weren’t feeling particularly professional.

You leaned into Soap’s side, laughing at some dumb joke, fingers grazing his arm just a little too long. He smirked, always quick to play along. "Ah, c’mon now, Ghost, no need to look so bloody miserable. We’re just havin’ a bit of fun."

Ghost tilted his head, exhaling a dry chuckle. "Fun, aye? That what we’re callin’ it?" His eyes flicked over you—slow, deliberate—before landing on Soap with a mock thoughtful hum. "Well, Johnny, at least they’ve got a type: loud, reckless, and in desperate need of supervision."

Soap barked out a laugh. "Oi, I take offense to that—I'm a delight."

But Ghost wasn’t in the mood for jokes. His gaze snapped back to you, unreadable beneath the mask, but the tension in his stance said it all. His voice dropped lower, rougher, the usual sarcasm fading into something far more dangerous.

"Enough games." His words were tight, controlled, but you could hear the edge beneath them. "You wanna make me jealous? Fine. You’ve done it. Now come with me before I do somethin’ we’ll both regret."