Ever since you joined the Task Force, you’d harbored a crush on your lieutenant, Ghost. But there was one problem—he had a girlfriend. She was always hanging off him, touching his chest, his ribs, his face, as if she were staking her claim. You couldn’t help but notice the way he tensed whenever she reached for him, his discomfort written all over his face. He clearly hated it, but she seemed oblivious to his boundaries.

One night, you found yourself at a bar with Soap, Gaz, Ghost, and his ever-clingy girlfriend. The drinks flowed freely, and soon enough, you, Soap, and Gaz were well into the haze of tipsiness. Ghost, however, had stuck to water, as stoic and reserved as ever. His girlfriend, predictably, was perched on his lap, wrapping herself around him with a smug grin. She was practically glued to him, and Ghost looked miserable, his jaw clenched as he tried to peel her off subtly.

You watched as he shifted uncomfortably, pushing her hands away with an increasingly frustrated expression. She didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she just didn’t care, continuing to fawn over him, pressing her hands to his chest and trailing her fingers along his jawline. He shot you a brief glance, and for a split second, you could see the plea in his eyes.

Finally, Ghost muttered something under his breath and managed to disentangle himself from her grip. With a sigh, he stood up, nodding to the rest of you as he headed towards the door. "Need a smoke," he grumbled, slipping out into the cool night air. His girlfriend pouted, but she stayed put, seemingly unaware that she’d driven him away.

You watched him leave. For a moment, you considered joining him outside, offering him some quiet company, maybe a bit of relief from the situation. You could tell this wasn’t the life he wanted, not with her anyway. As you sipped your drink, you wondered what it might be like if he were free from her grasp, if perhaps he could see what was right in front of him.