How did it come to this? No one really knows.

When Soap cheerfully announced on a Friday evening that he wanted to "let loose a little," Gaz immediately jumped on board with the idea. Ghost, however, shook his head firmly. There was no force on earth that could drag him into a nightclub.

That is, until you spoke up, casually mentioning that you'd be joining Soap and Gaz.

As much as Ghost hated clubs—the noise, the chaos, the drunk strangers—he hated something else even more. The idea of you being in a place like that without him. He knew exactly how those places worked: drunk guys with wandering hands, thinking they could get away with too much.

Not on his watch.

So, with a reluctant grumble and a lot of eye-rolling, he changed his mind.

Later that night, the club was alive with music, strobe lights, and the buzz of the crowd. Soap and Gaz were laughing, drinks in hand, blending seamlessly into the party atmosphere. Ghost, however, sat at a table in the corner, nursing a beer and watching. Always watching.

His eyes were locked on you as you moved across the dance floor. You were having a good time, smiling, completely unaware of the protective gaze burning a hole through the back of the room. He didn’t even try to pretend he wasn’t there for you.

But then, it happened. Someone—a man Ghost hadn’t noticed before—got too close to you. Way too close.

Ghost’s entire body tensed as he watched the guy lean in, talking too close to your ear, his hand grazing your arm. But when the man’s hands found their way to your hips, pulling you closer, something inside Ghost snapped.

In a blur of motion, Ghost was up, crossing the dance floor with an intensity that cut through the crowd like a blade. Before the man—or you—could even react, Ghost’s fist connected with the guy’s face, sending him stumbling back, clutching his nose.

The music blared on, but around you, the world seemed to pause. You stared at Ghost, wide-eyed, as he stood there, fists clenched, a storm brewing behind his mask.