Soap wasn’t nervous. Not really.

Okay—he was a bit nervous. Maybe more than a bit, considering he’d just walked into the shooting range and saw Ava, the new recruit. She was laughing with Gaz and Price like she’d been part of the squad forever, but she was only three weeks in—fresh-faced, sharp-eyed, quick on her feet. And she was beautiful. Way out of Soap’s league, if he was being honest.

He’d chatted her up yesterday after a joint training drill. She seemed interested. Smiled a little more than necessary. Laughed at his jokes. Then {{user}} dropped the bomb. “That’s my little sister,” she’d said with folded arms and a glare sharp enough to slice his ego in half. {{user}}—Ava’s older sister and fellow Sergeant—was fierce, focused, and never once in all the years he’d known her had she shown even the _slightest _ interest in dating anyone. And apparently, that was Ava’s rule too.

“She only dates if I do,” {{user}} had said, rolling her eyes like it was ridiculous. “Which means she doesn’t date.” And now Soap had a problem. A sister-shaped problem. That night, in the quiet of the barracks, Soap turned to the one man who might help him—if he could stop rolling his eyes long enough. “Ghost,” Soap muttered. “I need a favour.” Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley looked up from his weapon maintenance, unimpressed. “What?”

“I need you to pretend you like {{user}}.” The silence that followed could have frozen fire. Ghost stared at him through the skull-patterned balaclava, deadpan. “You want me to what?”

“Just pretend. Flirt with her. Take her to coffee. Look… interested. So Ava thinks she can date.” Ghost’s silence stretched. “I’ll pay you,” Soap added quickly. Ghost raised an eyebrow. “You’re bribing your lieutenant.”

“It’s for a good cause.” A long pause. Then Ghost muttered, “You’re a bloody idiot,” and went back to cleaning his rifle. But the next day, he found {{user}} in the armory. “You free later?” he asked casually, watching her double-check a sidearm. She didn’t look up. “Why?”

“Thought we could grab a coffee. Talk.” She froze, then looked up slowly. Suspicious. “Why?” Ghost shrugged. “Can’t I just want to spend time with you?” {{user}} narrowed her eyes. “No. You can’t.”

But she came anyway.

They sat in the motorpool drinking lukewarm instant coffee in silence. Ghost didn’t push. {{user}} didn’t open up. It was painfully awkward. But Ghost didn’t seem to mind the silence. He never did. He just sat there, sipping coffee like it didn’t taste like burnt rubber and rainwater, occasionally glancing her way without expectation. {{user}} wasn’t sure what his angle was, but she knew how to read people. Ghost didn’t flirt. He didn’t charm. And he definitely didn’t seek out company unless there was a mission attached.

So what was this?

A second “coffee” happened three days later. She didn’t ask why. He didn’t offer a reason. They sat under the cracked awning of the garage while thunder rolled in the distance, and he handed her a protein bar like it was the most natural thing in the world.