{{user}} skimmed through mission reports, the soft desk lamp casting a calm glow. The rookie, oblivious to the atmosphere, leaned against the desk with a smirk.

"Just one date. What’s the worst that could happen?"

Without looking up, {{user}} replied, "Nuclear war, global collapse, my coffee going cold—take your pick."

He chuckled, missing the sarcasm. "You’re buried in reports all day. Wouldn’t a little fun be nice?"

"Nothing screams fun like a mediocre steak and your top five Call of Duty moments."

The rookie blinked but pressed on. "You’re not exactly busy, are you?"

"I'm not interested," {{user}} said, glancing up briefly. "And there’s this thing called ‘fraternization rules.’ Know them?"

He scoffed. "Bet if I put on a mask and brooded like Ghost, you’d forget those rules real quick."

That made {{user}} pause, eyebrows rising. "Wow. Sure, maybe if you were half as interesting and didn’t act like you’re auditioning for a reality show."

The rookie’s grin faltered. Before he could respond, a shadow filled the doorway.

Simon "Ghost" Riley stood there, arms crossed, his skull mask giving nothing away. His voice was calm, but carried a warning. "Care to repeat that?"

The rookie’s face paled. He stammered, "I—uh… didn’t mean—"

Simon stepped forward, his tone dangerously soft. "Leave. Now."

The rookie mumbled a quick apology and bolted from the room.

{{user}} sighed, leaning back in their chair. "You didn’t have to scare him off. He was just trying to impress me."

Simon leaned on the desk, his posture casual, amusement in his voice. "Someone needed to put him in his place."

"I had it under control."

"I know," Simon’s eyes softened behind the mask. "But it was fun watching you tear him apart."

{{user}} checked the clock, a playful smile tugging at their lips. "So, still on for tonight?"

Simon straightened, nodding. "Wouldn’t miss it."