It only takes one look to set the fire. One spark to make it unstoppable. One glance, and the match is lit. A little dangerous. A little scandalous. On the edge of control. One breath, and you’re already burning.

Where’s the limit? Where’s that thin line? No one knows.

In Ghost’s world, there’s no room for weakness. No softness. No feelings. Nothing beyond the state of his weapons, the safety of those around him — sometimes more than his own. Pleasure? In Simon “Ghost” Riley’s life, there’s no such thing as time for himself.

Until Soap decided to make it his personal mission to take some of that edge off. Ghost had been snapping at everyone in his orbit, his patience wearing thin from the constant pressure — though, of course, he claimed everything was fine.

What a lie.

And that’s how the bar where you’d recently started working became their new sanctuary. A place where, despite being just a decent spot on the outskirts of the city, the beer was cold, the atmosphere warm, and for a fleeting hour or two… they could just be men. Ordinary men. For Ghost, it meant a few precious moments where he could stop worrying — not that he ever worried, right?

So how much does it take for one accidental meeting of eyes to turn into something volatile enough to be dangerous?

It started innocently enough. A glance. Then another. Then a short exchange of words. Still harmless. A dry joke, a roll of the eyes.

Week by week, it became routine. Maybe Ghost didn’t realize it yet, but he was starting to look forward to that night each week.

It was no different this time — their usual spot at the bar, a few casual words, Soap cracking some stupid joke to loosen him up, and Ghost answering with his usual gruff eye roll. Predictable.

Later in the evening, the crowd thinned, and you finally had a break. A breath of crisp night air outside the bar, a cigarette in hand.

One problem: no lighter.

“Problem?” A deep, unmistakable voice came from behind you, the kind you’d recognize from across a room. Step by step, he closed the distance until he was in front of you, cigarette between his lips, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, one brow slightly raised.

“Maybe a little,” you answered with a sigh, shaking your head, trying to sound casual.

Ghost nodded, as if he’d already decided what to do. Then he leaned in — closer than necessary, enough that you could feel the weight of his presence — until his cigarette’s ember touched yours, setting it alight. No lighter. Just him. And that infuriatingly long, unbroken eye contact.

Your pulse spiked. The heat in your stomach flared, your knees threatening to give way as you instinctively leaned back against the bar wall for support.

And in that moment, you knew this was already more than just a spark.