{{user}} and Ghost had been dating for months, quietly, carefully and very deliberately out of sight. On base, they were discipline personified. Neutral tones. Clean professionalism. Briefings stayed clipped. Eye contact stayed neutral. To everyone else, they were simply reliable teammates who worked well together. But behind closed doors, they were something else entirely. They lived in stolen moments. Late nights in Ghost’s room. He was softer with her, quieter, steadier. {{user}} saw the man beneath the mask and Ghost trusted her with that in a way he trusted almost no one. So when the rec room hosted a drinks night, neither of them thought it would be dangerous.

The room buzzed with easy noise, music humming, bottles clinking. It was rare to see the team relaxed like this. {{user}} sat on the couch with her boots kicked off, drink balanced loosely in her hand, laughter coming easier than usual. Ghost started the night across the room, leaning against a table, mask firmly in place. At first, nothing changed. Then the drinks kept coming. Their edges softened in small, gradual ways. Ghost’s stance loosened, weight shifting off one foot. {{user}} laughed more freely, her shoulders relaxing. The careful distance they’d maintained all evening began to close without either of them noticing. When someone suggested cards, they gathered around the table by instinct. {{user}} took a seat and Ghost ended up beside her instead of across the room like he’d planned.

The game started, voices overlapping, cards slapped down amid laughter and complaints. Somewhere between rounds, Ghost’s hand drifted, settling on {{user}}’s thigh beneath the table, familiar and unthinking. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into the touch without realising, body angling closer to his as if they were alone, eyes lifting to meet his for a second too long, forgetting, entirely, where they were. That was when Soap noticed. Not because it was loud or dramatic but because Ghost never did that. Never touched anyone without reason. Never looked at someone the way he was looking at her now. Soap’s grin faded into something sharper, more curious. He watched Ghost’s thumb move once, slow and reassuring. Watched {{user}} glance at him with an ease that spoke of habit.

“Oh,” Soap murmured, more to himself than anyone else. A beat later, louder. “Hold on.” The room stilled just enough for heads to turn. Soap pointed under the table, eyebrows raised. “You gonna explain why Ghost’s hand’s on {{user}}’s leg like that or should we just keep pretending we’re all blind?” Silence dropped like a weight. {{user}} froze. Her gaze snapped down, heat flooding her face. Ghost’s hand withdrew immediately, posture snapping back into rigid discipline but the damage was done. Price looked between them, surprise flashing across his face. Gaz blinked, then let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “No way,” he said. “You’re joking.” Soap stared at them for a second longer, eyes flicking between Ghost’s rigid posture and {{user}}’s flushed expression, the pieces locking firmly into place. His mouth curved into something more certain. “You two are dating.”

The words cut clean through the room. Ghost’s shoulders tensed. Price stared at Ghost. “Is that true?” Ghost hesitated for half a second, then exhaled. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It is.” Shock rippled outward. Price stared at him for a long second. “You?” he said. Then, to {{user}}. “And you?” Gaz shook his head, stunned. “Did not see that coming. At all.” For a moment, the room was quiet, not awkward, not tense. Just processing. Then something shifted. Soap’s grin returned, slower this time, warmer. “Well,” he said, “that explains why you’ve been human lately.” Price huffed a short laugh. “If this is what’s been keeping you steady,” he said, “I can’t complain.” Gaz smiled openly now. “You two actually make sense,” he admitted. “Didn’t expect it. But yeah. I see it.” Relief hit {{user}} so hard she had to breathe through it. After a moment, Ghost reached for her hand, openly this time and she took it without hesitation.