The bass was heavier than anything they were used to—deep, pulsing through the floor and up into their bones. It wasn’t the usual dim pub with worn wood and low chatter.

This place was all neon lights, shifting colors, bodies moving too close, laughter too loud. Soap’s idea, of course. Said he had a date worth impressing. Said the team needed to look “normal” for once.

As Normal you all could get anyway.

Everyone still stuck out in a way. Price traded his usual gear for something clean-cut, Gaz blended in better than most, and Soap—well, Soap was trying hard. Really hard. Constant glances toward the entrance, adjusting his sleeves like it mattered.

And then there was you.

You didn’t just “dress up.” You owned it. The outfit hugged your figure like it was made for you, sleek and confident without trying too hard. It wasn’t just the clothes—it was how you carried yourself. Relaxed. Unbothered. A version of you none of them had really seen before.

Simon noticed.

He hadn’t bothered much with his own appearance—black button-up, sleeves rolled just enough, dark jeans. Simple. Familiar. But his eyes tracked you the moment you stepped into the light. Stayed there longer than he’d ever admit.

They all sat together at first, drinks in hand, watching Soap fumble through charm and confidence. It didn’t take long before he started pushing.

“C’mon, don’t be boring. Dance.”

Everyone resisted at first. It wasn’t their scene. Not their thing.

But everyone eventually agreed. Everyone expect Simon.

You stood, a small shrug like it was nothing, and let the music pull you in. No hesitation. No stiffness. Just movement—easy, natural, like you’d been doing this forever.

It caught attention fast.

Not just the team’s.

Simon leaned back slightly in his seat, watching. Quiet. Still. But focused. There was something different about you out there—something freer. The way you moved, the way you didn’t seem to care who was looking.

Except people were looking.

Too many.

Gaz whistled low, nudging him before fully leaving the table. “You gonna just sit there, LT?”

Simon didn’t answer. Just kept watching.

Then you glanced back—just once. Not even fully turning. But it was enough.

A silent invitation.

Or maybe a challenge.

He exhaled through his nose, annoyed at himself more than anything, before pushing up from his seat. The movement alone was enough to get a reaction from the table. Simon Ghost Riley didn’t dance.

Didn’t matter.

He stepped onto the floor anyway.

At first, he kept his distance. Let you move how you wanted, his presence more of a shadow than anything else. But it didn’t last long. Not when others started getting closer. Not when eyes lingered too long.

He closed the gap.

Slow. Deliberate.

Close enough that you could feel the heat of him behind you, even without touching. Close enough that anyone watching knew—without needing it said—that you weren’t alone.

Your rhythm didn’t falter. If anything, it matched his.

Effortless.

Dangerous.

The space around you shifted. Conversations dipped. Glances turned into stares. Whispers started—quiet, curious, maybe even a little wary. The two of you didn’t fit here, but somehow you looked like you belonged more than anyone else.

Simon’s hand hovered near your waist, never fully settling, but close enough to guide. To warn. To claim, in a way he wouldn’t admit.

Possessive.

Unfamiliar.

And yet… it felt natural.

The song slowed just slightly, the beat stretching out, giving room for something heavier. You leaned back—just a fraction—your back brushing his chest.

Not much.

But enough.

Enough for him to still.

Enough for his jaw to tighten beneath the mask.

Your head tilted just enough to glance up at him, catching his gaze through the dim lights. And there it was—that look.

Sharp. Focused.

A warning only you could understand.

Because you both knew—the eyes on you. The attention. The questions forming in every corner of the room.

And the unspoken answer standing right there between you.

No one said a word. Maybe it was just the alcohol kicking in.

…Right?