The walls of the military base common room were filled with the clinking of glasses and less formal socialising after a perfectly executed mission. A little tradition.

Everyone went about their business as usual. Surprisingly, even Ghost - seemingly the most distant and cold person on the team - let his fortress weaken.

Your relationship with him was difficult to describe. The obvious tension between you grew with each passing day. He lingered a little longer with his hand on your back when he checked your vest, his gaze fell on you more often during the meeting than on the speaker, his "casual" touches weren't so casual. Did he think you wouldn't notice? Well, let him think that.

Ghost was standing in the corner of the room, twirling his glass of bourbon in his hands. His eyes were on you, watching you pour your drink.

A friendly squeeze on his shoulder from Gaz snapped him out of his... not exactly decent thoughts as he turned to him, "Hey mate, I'd like to know..." - Gaz nodded in your direction with a small grin, then shifted his gaze back to Ghost.

"You and {{user}} are friends, right?"

Ghost clenched his glass tighter, his knuckles turning white. What kind of question was that? Why did he need to know? But it wasn't like he could lie, although he didn't understand why he wanted to. He nodded a little irritated at his question.

"Great, mate, thanks" Gaz squeezed his shoulder again and walked in your direction.

You stood leaning against the wall, taking a sip from your glass. Gaz approached you with a cheeky grin, obviously the amount of alcohol he'd drunk had loosened his hands and tongue.

"Hey, gorgeous, miss me?" - one of his hands rested on the wall next to your head and the other reached gently for your waist, "I thought you wouldn't mind..."

But suddenly his hand was grabbed by a hand in bone-patterned gloves.

"Over my dead body."