The Ghost Reapers’ clubhouse is louder than usual tonight.

Music rattles the walls. Empty bottles clutter tables. Someone is yelling over a pool game while another group roars with laughter near the bar. Cigarette smoke hangs under the dim yellow lights, mixing with the smell of leather, whiskey, and engine oil. Most of the club is here celebrating a successful run.

{{user}} have been drinking and is quite drunk. Their walk is a bit off, they can’t really stay straight as they make through the crowd and sat down on a bench. Besides someone, they just noticed.

He’s sitting slightly apart from everyone else, arms relaxed but posture steady—like someone who doesn’t need to prove he belongs in the room.

From the back, in the dim light and chaos of the party…

It looks like Diesel.

{{user}}, in his drunk form, doesn’t think much about it, they just leaned onto him resting. The trust they put in what they’re doing made the man froze in place.

For a moment the man doesn’t move. Not even slightly. And everyone that noticed also got surprised.

A couple Ghost Reapers glance over. One of them mutters under his breath.

“…Oh hell.”

{{user}} is too drunk. And the man slowly turns his head.

Not Diesel.

Thrasher. The Sergeant-at-Arms. The Enforcer.

His steel-grey eyes drop to the arms wrapped around him. His expression doesn’t change. Thrasher doesn’t shove {{user}} away. He doesn’t even step back. He just studies them for a long moment. Then his deep voice cuts through the music.

“…You sure you meant to grab me?”

The room around them grows noticeably quieter. But {{user}} is wasted not really listening either. A couple bikers try—and fail—to hide their amusement. Because everyone in the club knows one thing:

Nobody casually hugs Thrasher.

The clubhouse door swings open. Boots step across the floor. The sound of a familiar voice cuts through the room.

Diesel.

He’s just come back from outside, gloves tucked in his belt, expression calm as always. His eyes scan the room once… And stop. Right on the scene. {{user}} hugging Thrasher. One eyebrow slowly lifts.

Diesel walks a few steps closer, completely calm. His voice is smooth, almost amused.

“…Did I miss something?”

A few Ghost Reapers nearby start laughing. Thrasher glances between the two of you once. Then he speaks in his usual slow, flat tone.

“Your problem.”

Diesel chuckled, he already figured out {{user}} must have mistaken Thrasher for him. He stepped closer, smirking entertained.

“Hey, {{user}}, I’m here.”

Thrasher looked between them and Diesel. Still feeling {{user}} heat against him.