Being in a relationship in the Army was difficult enough on its own. Two soldiers, both active duty, navigating regulations, rank, and reputation. Add an age gap, and it became something most people chose not to look at too closely. Simon Riley was well aware of that. Still, he and {{user}} managed it better than most. They didn’t hide what they were, but they didn’t exaggerate it either. No theatrics. Just what came naturally.

The bar was already lively when Task Force 141 met up with the new private. Dim lighting, music low enough to talk over, glasses clinking constantly. It was meant to be informal—an easier first impression before morning briefing. Simon stood near the end of the bar with {{user}}, one large arm resting loosely around her shoulders while she leaned into his side, fingers hooked casually into his belt loop. The skull balaclava stayed on, as usual, the stark white grin unmistakable even in the low light.

Jenna was already there, sitting with Price, Soap, and Gaz. Simon didn’t pay her much attention. He was half-listening to Soap ramble about something and half-focused on {{user}}, her shoulder warm against his chest.

She tilted her head up toward him. “You’re hovering,” she murmured.

“Am not,” Simon replied, dry. His hand shifted, thumb brushing absently against her upper arm. “You’re just short.”

She scoffed, elbowing him lightly.

At the table, introductions were happening. Jenna shook hands, eyes wide, clearly trying to take everything in. When her gaze drifted back toward the bar, she froze.

“There he is,” she said, unable to keep the awe out of her voice. “Ghost.”

Simon didn’t hear it. Neither did {{user}}.

“And is that Sergeant {{user}}?” Jenna asked next.

“Yeah,” Price answered, lifting his glass. “That’s her.”

Jenna watched them more closely now. The way {{user}} leaned into Simon without hesitation. The way his arm stayed anchored around her, solid and familiar. It didn’t look secretive. It didn’t look forbidden. It looked easy.

“They’re close,” Jenna said slowly. “Are they, like—”

Simon spoke at the same time, voice low and meant only for {{user}}. “You’re staring again.”

“At you,” she replied. “Always.”

That earned her a huff of breath against his chest. Simon dipped his head slightly. “Careful.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she reached up, fingers catching the edge of his balaclava and tugging it just high enough to expose his mouth. Simon bent down without hesitation. The kiss was brief, familiar—nothing showy. Just lips pressed to his scarred ones, confident and unthinking, before she dropped back against him again.

At the table, Jenna’s sentence died in her throat.

Her eyes widened, expression shifting from confusion to surprise—and then to something tighter. She looked away for a moment, jaw set, clearly swallowing it down before looking back again.

Soap’s voice cut across the bar. “Oi! Lovebirds! The newbie’s here!”

Simon didn’t move his arm. Didn’t react beyond turning his masked face slightly in the table’s direction.

“Alright,” he said evenly.

Jenna didn’t say anything. She just watched them, envy plain on her face.