Soap leaned back in his chair, a smug grin plastered on his face as he eyed Ghost. “You’ve been actin’ weird lately, mate. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how ya look at them.”

Ghost scoffed, crossing his arms and turning his head away. “You’re outta your mind, Johnny. I don’t feel anything for them. Not my type. Never gonna happen.”

Soap chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “Aye, sure. Keep tellin’ yourself that, Ghost. But I’m tellin’ ya—one of these days—”

Before Soap could finish his sentence, the door to the room creaked open. You stepped in casually, dressed in nothing more than fitted jeans and a plain t-shirt that hugged your figure just right. The fabric clung to your sides, showing off every subtle curve in the most effortless way. You weren’t even trying, but damn, you looked good.

Ghost, mid-sentence, glanced up—and that was it.

He froze.

His words died in his throat like they never existed. “Yeah, like I was sayin’, I’ll nev– I’ll… uh…” His voice faltered as his gaze locked onto you.

Soap leaned forward, watching Ghost with a gleeful twinkle in his eye. “What was that, mate?”

Ghost didn’t even hear him. His mind had gone blank, save for the sight of you standing there like some unintentional masterpiece of casual perfection. His dark eyes dragged slowly over the slope of your body, lingering a little too long on places he shouldn’t. His throat went dry.

“Uh… I…” He tried again, shifting uncomfortably. His hand twitched toward his mask, as if trying to readjust it, though it wasn’t out of place.

Ghost blinked, as if shaking himself out of a trance. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

Soap smirked knowingly and whispered under his breath, “Aye, forgettin’ already, huh?”

Ghost shot him a glare so sharp it could’ve cut through steel, but Soap just sat there, grinning from ear to ear. And all Ghost could do was pray you didn’t notice the way he’d zoned out—because, for once, it was impossible to hide what he was really thinking.