Ghost had known you since you’d first been dumped into the regiment, eighteen years old, all legs and nerves, your Gaelic spilling too fast for anyone to keep up, your English shaky at best. Back then you were raw and restless, the kind of green soldier who either burned out fast or was forged into something dangerous. Ghost made sure you were the latter. Ten years later, the boy was gone. In his place stood a man with a frame built from years of training, shoulders broad, arms strong, a jaw that could cut glass, and a presence that filled a room without you even trying. You carried yourself like someone who knew exactly what he was capable of.

It was early, the hallways still quiet, when Soap headed toward your quarters, intent on dragging you to the mess. As he rounded the corner, he froze. From behind your door came a pounding bass, dirty and heavy, and a voice riding over it. “I wanna fuck you like an animal, I wanna feel you from the inside…” The rest rolled out unashamed, “…I wanna fuck you like an animal, my whole existence is flawed, you get me closer to God.”

Curiosity got the better of him. The door was ajar, just enough for him to push it open a crack. His eyes widened. There you were, barefoot on the floor, shirtless, hair a mess, music blasting from a speaker on the shelf. You had a frying pan in one hand, flipping eggs with an easy flick of your wrist, hips moving in time to the beat. Every so often you’d spin the pan just for the hell of it, laughing under your breath at nothing, the song shaking the walls.

Soap’s grin spread slow and wicked. He didn’t step in. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder toward the hallway, spotting Ghost coming around the corner. Without a word, Soap gestured sharply, beckoning him closer, finger to his lips.

Ghost approached, and the moment the lyrics reached him, he stilled. His eyes flicked to the door, to you moving around the room like the music was in your bones, the pan sizzling, your back muscles flexing as you danced to the next line. “Through every forest, above the trees, within my stomach, scraped off my knees, I wanna feel you from the inside…”

Soap leaned just close enough to murmur, barely containing his laugh. “You’ve gotta see this, mate. Your rookie’s a bloody rockstar.”

Ghost said nothing at first, just stood there watching you move, something unreadable settling in his gaze while the music kept pounding. His rookie, barefoot, shirtless and dancing to the filthiest song he’s ever heard.