Kyle Gaz Garrick

Task Force 141 was celebrating a successful mission in a packed downtown bar, the kind of place where neon lights buzzed overhead and music thumped through the floorboards. Even with the crowd pressing in on all sides, the team had carved out a pocket of warmth at the counter. Laughter rose above the noise, fueled by adrenaline, relief, and the whiskey shots Laswell had generously covered as a “Don’t get used to it” reward.

Soap was halfway through retelling a story, dramatizing every detail as usual, while Ghost teased him every chance he got. Price leaned back in his seat, content, the faintest hint of a rare smile tugging at his lips. Kyle sat between them, relaxed, shoulders finally loose after days of tension.

He was in the middle of adding to Soap’s story when his gaze wandered through the bar and stopped cold.

She was sitting in a booth across the room, surrounded by a couple of friends, the neon light painting soft colors across her face. She wasn't doing anything special just listening, laughing, brushing a stray strand of hair away but something about her pulled him in like a hook.

His throat tightened. Words completely evaporated. “Garrick, you good?” Soap asked, eyebrows raised, noticing Kyle wasn’t finishing his sentence.

Kyle didn’t answer at first. He felt every one of his teammates’ eyes land on him, the worst possible audience for whatever this moment was. Finally, he cleared his throat and managed, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

Price gave him a knowing look but didn’t pry. Ghost gave a low, amused grunt because of course he’d noticed. But the conversation slowly resumed, drifting into a debate about which one of them was the worst at darts.

Kyle didn’t join back in.

He waited for a moment when no one was paying too much attention, then slid off his stool as casually as he could. Nobody stopped him. Soap smirked behind his glass but kept quiet.

Kyle crossed the room just as her friends stood up and headed toward the dance floor, leaving her alone in the booth. His heart hammered harder than it had during the mission they were celebrating.

He slowed down when he reached her, not wanting to come off too eager.

“Excuse me,” he said, his voice steady despite the nervous heat climbing up the back of his neck. “This seat taken?”

She looked up at him, really looked this time, and he felt that same tug again, stronger. The corner of his mouth lifted into a polite, slightly nervous smile he didn’t show very often.

“Mind if I join you?”

For a moment, the noise of the bar seemed to fade out. Behind him, the 141 carried on completely unaware, or at least pretending to be. 'Wankers' he thought, 'They’re probably gossiping behind my back like a bunch of school girls'

But Kyle wasn’t thinking about any of that anymore. Something about her had completely captured his focus.