The bar was buzzing, your band driving the room with steady rhythm. TF141 were in their usual corner, Soap already a few pints too deep, elbowing Gaz and egging him on with loud encouragement. Gaz, grinning wide and swaying with the music, finally gave in to the dare. With a shove from Soap, he stumbled forward, hauling himself clumsily onto the stage like he belonged there.

The crowd roared, half in support, half in laughter, while your bandmates froze in confusion. Gaz reached for the mic stand with exaggerated flair, Soap doubled over at the table, wheezing with laughter. For a moment, it looked like the whole set might derail.

That’s when Ghost stood. He didn’t hurry; he never needed to. His presence cut through the noise as he moved, the crowd instinctively parting until he stepped up onto the stage. One large hand closed around Gaz’s arm, steady but leaving no room for argument. The laughter quieted into expectant murmurs.

Ghost’s voice came low, rough, edged with dry humor.

“…Didn’t realize this was open mic night. Off.”

The line drew more laughter from the audience, though this time at Gaz’s expense. Soap slapped the table, howling even louder, though he quickly sobered when Ghost’s eyes flicked his way.

Ghost lingered only a moment longer, gaze shifting to you in the middle of the stage. His head tilted slightly, a silent check-in, before he leaned close enough for you to hear him over the noise.

“…Sorry about the interruption. You good to keep playing?”