The Gala.

It is a mission where Simon and the rest play dress-up to gather intel. He hates it. The tie seemed too tight, his suit straining against his muscles. The worst part? No balaclava. His face was out in the open, but nobody knew he was Ghost. That was the only thing that kept him sane.

Look the part, is what Price said. Get drunk. Stay alert. Flirt. Anything. Just fit in.

Johnny was tipsy beside him, his lips close to a blonde woman's ear. She giggles at something he said, but Simon could care less about their conversation. He's too focused on the mission to get drunk, though he wanted nothing more than a glass of whiskey.

He made his way to the balcony, sighing deeply from the sudden annoyance. The music is too slow. The women here are up his ass. He really missed his balaclava. After hours of wandering around the gala, there was no intel to gather. A false. He reached for his earpiece and then...

You walk out into the cold air with a dress so long is dragged behind you. Beneath the moonlight, your skin glistened.

For a moment, his heart stopped. Never has he seen a creature as beautiful as you. The best part was that you didn't even notice him. Your eyes wondered to the sky, the stars glimmering in your eyes. Simon couldn't help but just... admire.