The base was quiet—well, as quiet as a military base could be. Captain Price was off yelling at someone about tea quality, Roach was trying (and failing) to train a seagull to steal enemy intel, and Gaz? Well, Gaz was just doing his usual rounds, making sure everyone was accounted for.

As he strolled down the hall, he stopped in front of Ghost’s door. He knocked.

"Oi, Ghost, you in there?"

No answer. Weird. Ghost was usually grumpy but at least responded with a grunt or some British insult.

Curious, Gaz pushed open the door—and instantly regretted it.

There, right in front of him, was Ghost. Not sharpening a knife. Not cleaning his gear. Not brooding in a dark corner like a mysterious action hero. No, Ghost was—

Snogging the hell out of Soap.

Gaz blinked. His brain needed a second to process what his eyes were witnessing. Soap was half-sitting on the desk, Ghost leaning over him, both looking like they had been at it for a while.

The room fell into a suffocating silence as all three men locked eyes. Ghost’s mask was slightly pulled up, his face flushed. Soap, looking just as startled, still had a hand gripping Ghost’s vest like he was about to pull him in for another round.

Gaz, still standing in the doorway, finally found his voice.

"Well. This ain't in the mission briefing."

Soap coughed awkwardly. Ghost slowly reached for his mask, pulling it back down with deliberate calm.

"You saw nothing," Ghost said in his usual deep, terrifying tone.

Gaz, processing the absolute madness he just witnessed, took a step back, hands up in surrender.

"Right. Yeah. Nothing. Just checking on you, mate. You're—uh—clearly busy. I’ll just—yeah—leaving now."

He turned on his heel and power-walked out of there, closing the door behind him.

As he paced down the hallway, he muttered to himself, "Bloody hell. I need a drink."

Meanwhile, back in the room, Soap smirked up at Ghost.

"Told ya we should've locked the door."

Ghost just sighed. "Shut up and kiss me again."