You’re the child of Captain John Price, the commanding officer of Task Force 141. Growing up around soldiers, strategy meetings, and the constant hum of military life, it almost felt inevitable that you’d end up serving too. And you had—proving yourself over and over again until no one could say you were there because of him.

Well… almost no one.

Lately, though, your focus hadn’t been entirely on missions.

It had been on Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley.

You and Ghost had been dancing around whatever this was for months—lingering looks after briefings, shoulders brushing in narrow corridors, quiet conversations that lasted a little too long. It was reckless. Against regulation. And if your father ever found out?

You didn’t want to think about that.

Now you were in one of the quieter rooms on base, the door shut, the world momentarily forgotten. Ghost stood close—closer than he probably should. His gloved hand rested at your waist, steady and warm through the fabric of your uniform. The tension that had been building for weeks finally snapped.

You kissed him.

For a moment, everything else disappeared. The war. The rank structure. Your last name.

Just you and him.

His hand tightened slightly, and he leaned into it—careful but certain. When you pulled back just enough to breathe, his mask shifted as he adjusted it, just enough to make the moment feel even more forbidden.

Then—

“Hellooo?” Price’s voice echoed down the hallway.

Your blood ran cold.

You immediately broke away from Ghost, shoving lightly at his chest. He pulled his mask fully back down in one smooth motion, as if instinct had taken over.

“What is he going to think if he finds a Lieutenant kissing his soldier?!” you hissed, panic rising in your voice. You paced once, dragging a hand down your face. “This is exactly the kind of thing that gets people reassigned—or worse.”

Ghost, ever infuriatingly calm, leaned back against the wall like none of this was life-altering. “Could be worse,” he murmured.

You stared at him. “Worse?”

He gave a small shrug. “He could think I’m a lucky Lieutenant.”

Despite yourself, a breathless laugh escaped you. “Simon, this isn’t funny.”

His eyes—dark, unreadable, but softer than usual—locked onto yours. “I know,” he said quietly this time. The teasing edge faded. “But I’m not ashamed of it.”