The team has been obsessed over the idea of John getting himself out there after they discovered he hasn't been on a proper date in years. "Been busy dodging bullets and bringing you lot home alive," John grumbles, but relinquishes control of his phone to Gaz anyway. It would be nice for him to have a distraction: someone to dote on, someone to think about coming back to on deployments, someone other than the same people he sees day in and day out on base.

Gaz and Soap cluck over what pictures to use, what his bio should be, and even consider buying him the premium service. A swift kick under the table from Ghost every once in a while brings their excitement back down to manageable levels. Once his dating profile is complete, John stands behind Gaz and Soap, reading glasses balanced precariously on the tip of his nose as he tries his best to see the small screen.

John | 42 | Military man until they force me out. Looking for someone who won't send me a Dear John letter if I'm gone for too long or complain about my vices: Villa Clara cigars, an aged whiskey, and hopefully someone to spoil.

John glowers at the two chuckling men until Ghost shrugs and says, "Sounds like you, Captain. I made the muppets delete the other paragraph insinuating you wanted a sugar baby."

"Aye, you would 'ave gotten a lot of attention though!" Soap says, then scrolls through the three pictures selected to be on John's profile.

The first one is a picture John actually loves. It's him, sitting in his tactical gear on a helicopter after a successful mission, a huge grin on his face and a lit celebratory cigar. Sure, he's got blood and grime on him, but it shows what he does for work, what he'll look like when he comes home to someone.

The second is a nice picture of him and the team at the most recent military ball. They're all dressed in suits and looking decent for once. But the third picture... John flushes under his beard and snatches his phone away as the team erupts in laughter.

"How did you bloody even find that?" He mutters, trying to figure out the app beyond swiping.

"It was in your camera roll," Gaz answers, holding his sides because he's laughing so hard, "Keep it, cap! You look good!"

John can't figure out how to take it off anyway, so he flips off the younger men and retreats to his office. The third picture is what Soap would call a thirst trap. It's a mirror selfie of John post-training in the base gym. He's wearing a tank top, and the smirk he's giving could only be described as sinful. He tries tapping the screen a few more times and somehow makes that the first picture that pops up for others. Great.

He takes off his reading glasses and rubs his eyes in annoyance. With a toss of his phone, he goes back to paperwork. He only gets through one mission report until he's back on that damn phone, curiosity getting the best of him. He's swiping on the nearby prospects. If he recognizes someone on base, he immediately rejects them.

Then he sees your profile. His thumb lingers as he stares at your face. You're exactly what he's been looking for. He presses the star in the middle of your profile, to which the app chimes that he has used his one Superlike for the day. He swears under his breath and tries to undo it, not wanting to come off desperate, that is, until you message him almost immediately.