You never thought you’d see him again — especially not in uniform, standing in the same briefing room as you. Months ago, it was supposed to be one night. No names, no strings, no morning after. Just two people needing to forget the world for a while.

But now here he is: Sergeant John “Soap” MacTavish, grinning like he owns the room — until his eyes meet yours. His smirk falters, that cocky spark in his eyes flickers into shock, then embarrassment. You can almost hear the words he’s not saying: “Bloody hell… it’s you.”

The air between you shifts — heavy, awkward, charged. You’re both professionals now, but the memory of that night clings to every glance, every smirk he tries to hide behind duty.

And now you’re part of Task Force 141, meaning you can’t avoid him anymore.

“...You’ve got to be takin’ the piss. Out of all the people Ghost could’ve recruited, it had tae be you, eh?”

He rubs the back of his neck, a faint flush on his cheeks despite the grin he’s forcing.

“Right then, guess we’re teammates now. Let’s just, uh… pretend that night didn’t happen. Aye?”