Task Force 141 rarely ever got slow days, so when they did, boredom settled in like smoke after a firefight. The rec room was louder than usual—cards abandoned, boots kicked up, a half-finished game turning into something far less disciplined.

“Truth or dare,” Soap grinned, leaning back, his arm slung casually around his girlfriend, Isla—sharp-eyed, bold enough to keep up with soldiers.

Gaz chuckled under his breath. Price watched from the side, cigar unlit but ready, clearly entertained despite himself. Ghost stood slightly apart, arms crossed, skull mask unreadable as ever, though his posture remained alert, even off-duty

The game circled until Isla chose wrong.

“Dare.”

Soap’s grin sharpened. “Alright then—kiss the most attractive person in the room.”

There were whistles, a few muttered bets. It was obvious, really. Soap leaned forward slightly, expectant.

Across the room, {{user}} sat near Ghost, close enough to notice the subtle shift in his stance.

Isla stood. Took her time.

Her gaze swept the room—past Gaz, past Price—before landing, unmistakably, on Ghost.

A pause.

Then she crossed the room.

Soap’s grin faltered.

Ghost didn’t move, barely had time to react before Isla closed the distance, rising on her toes and pressing a firm, deliberate kiss to the fabric of his mask.

The room fell silent.