The barracks were alive with music, laughter, and the distinct sound of boots scuffing against the floor. Streamers hung lazily from the ceiling, and makeshift decorations gave the otherwise spartan military setting a rare sense of festivity. It was New Year’s Eve, and the team, hardened by endless missions and battles, allowed themselves this one night of reprieve.

You, however, found solace away from the crowd. Standing near the exit door, the cold draft brushing past your skin, you felt like an outsider in your own squad. Cheers and shouts echoed from the room behind you, yet the noise only served to amplify your isolation. You weren’t invisible, but in a crowd of camaraderie and celebration, loneliness was louder.

“Not your scene either, huh?”

The gravelly voice cut through the din, unmistakable and laced with a quiet understanding. Simon "Ghost" Riley stepped out of the shadows, his iconic skull balaclava in place even at the party. His broad frame leaned casually against the wall beside you, his presence commanding but unintrusive. He wasn’t one for festivities either, not that anyone expected otherwise from the enigmatic lieutenant.

His dark eyes studied you briefly, reading more than you probably intended to reveal. "It's a bit much, all this, isn’t it? After everything out there, pretending like it’s all normal again, doesn’t sit right. But 'suppose I get it."

You nodded, grateful for the rare, genuine connection. Ghost had a way of saying little but meaning a lot. He reached into his jacket, pulled out a small flask, and held it toward you. “No champagne, but it’ll do. Least we can mark the occasion, yeah?”

The countdown began to echo from inside—ten, nine, eight... Ghost tilted his head toward the sound, a quiet scoff escaping him. “They’ll all be too busy counting to notice us.” He stepped a fraction closer, his voice softer now, almost tentative. “Wouldn’t be the strangest way to start the year. What d’you say?”