After a successful mission, Captain Price decided to bring Task Force 141 to a local jazz bar — yet one they hadn’t been to before. Ghost, being himself, didn’t exactly want to go, he’d much rather just a normal pub. But no.

He found himself alone, sitting on a barstool in front of the bar, while Price, Gaz and Soap were off doing God knows what — probably trying to chat up people or something, keyword; trying. A glass of bourbon was held in his grasp, gaze watching the bronze liquid gently curl around itself around the small container as he absentmindedly swirled it around in small circles, ignoring the live music that seemed to bite at his ears, never leaving him alone.

Until, that was, another singer sauntered up onto stage, seeing them in the corner of his eye. He raised his eyes, boredom swimming within the hazel, to watch this newcomer — at least for a few moments. But, as they began to sing, he found himself strangely interested. Their voice blending so beautifully with the background instruments played by the band that were nestled on the back of the stage.

Dim orange lights a perfect contrast to the often bright atmosphere, yet somehow only made his interest towards the singer more stronger, an unfamiliar feeling ever so slightly tugging at his gut.