The mission had gone well.

For once, nobody had been shot, stabbed, blown up, or dragged back to base half-conscious. Makarov’s men had lost valuable intel, Price had called the operation a bloody success, and by the time Task Force 141 made it back, someone had decided that was reason enough to crack open the alcohol.

The common room was louder than usual.

Soap had planted himself in the middle of the group, retelling a moment from the mission with enough dramatic hand gestures to make it seem like he’d single-handedly won the entire thing. Gaz kept interrupting to correct him. Price sat nearby with a drink in hand, occasionally throwing in some dry remark that sent everyone laughing again.

You were there too.

You’d been on the mission with them. Fought beside them, covered their backs, and nearly gotten your head taken off pulling Soap out of a bad position.

Yet somehow, you couldn’t get a word in.

“I thought the best part was when—”

“Mate, you should’ve seen the bastard’s face!” Soap cut across you, leaning forward.

Everyone laughed.

You smiled too, letting your unfinished sentence disappear beneath it.

A few minutes later, you tried again.

“Actually, from where I was standing—”

“Price, tell him I’m right.”

The conversation shifted again.

Nobody was doing it deliberately. That almost made it worse.

They liked you. You knew they did. But every time you opened your mouth, someone louder spoke over you. Every time you leaned forward to join in, the conversation seemed to move around you instead.

Eventually, you stopped trying.

Your drink became much more interesting.

You sank back into the couch, thumb tracing absent circles around the rim of your glass while the others carried on. Your smile faded little by little, unnoticed beneath the noise.

Unnoticed by everyone except Ghost.

Simon had barely participated all evening.

He’d claimed the chair furthest from the chaos, mask rolled just high enough to drink, watching everyone with that quiet, unnerving attention of his. He’d seen Soap interrupt you the first time.

Then Gaz.

Then Soap again.

He’d seen the way you’d laughed it off at first.

He’d also seen when you stopped laughing.

Simon’s gaze remained on you for another moment before he stood.

Nobody noticed him cross the room. Nobody questioned it when he lowered himself onto the couch beside you, close enough that his knee nearly brushed yours.

You glanced over, surprised.

Ghost didn’t usually seek people out.

Especially not in rooms like this.

For a second, he said nothing. His attention flicked toward the others before returning to you.

“You were saying something.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Earlier.” His voice was low beneath the noise. “About the mission.”

“Oh.” You looked back at your drink. “Doesn’t matter.”

Simon’s brow pulled slightly beneath the balaclava.

“Didn’t say that.”

You gave a small shrug, attempting another smile. “Everyone’s having fun. It’s fine.”

He studied you.

Then he shifted closer.

Not enough to draw attention. Just enough that his broad shoulder blocked some of the room from view, creating a small space that suddenly felt separate from everyone else.

His eyes stayed on yours.

“Keep talking.”

You hesitated.

Simon tilted his head slightly, voice dropping even quieter.

“I hear you.”