loud pop music was blasting at the pub, almost deafening with how it forced people to yell when they spoke. the task force had earned a rare night off and they were making the most of it. ghost sat among them in a corner booth, snapping back to reality; he'd been nursing the same pint for nearly an hour, more focused on keeping up appearances. ghost didn't drink much the entire night. didn't talk much, either. just listened; to soap's drunken rambling, to gaz's sarcastic jabs, the works.

it should've been a good night.. but then the conversation took a turn. soap was laughing—loud and careless, as always—about something crude. gaz joined in, both trading comedic relief that started as harmless and then slipped into something darker, joke by joke. the conversation somehow turned toward {{user}}. it started with teasing about how he looked "too pretty" to be on deployment and only spiraled from there; jokes about the LGBT flags, the femininity queer men outwardly showcased and all the other lazy insults that came so easily to soldiers who'd never been taught that strength wasn't just in who had the biggest muscles or who benched the heaviest. one of the guys eventually cracked a joke about "fairies in the ranks" and that he was uncomfortable changing in a locker knowing someone "got off on that shit". the laughter that followed was loud and unfiltered.

the lieutenant stayed silent at first, his throat dry with the desire to stand up for the man he cared for but was too much of a wuss to actually go through with it. then gaz looked at him. "what d'you think, ghost? you're close to him, yeah?" and suddenly, every eye turned toward him. ghost's heart thudded hard against his ribs. he could feel the walls closing in, could hear the laughter waiting to swallow him whole if he said the right thing to the wrong people... so he knowingly said the wrong thing instead. he muttered something sharp, something he'd heard his father say when he was younger. a slur, an offhand jab meant to sound detached—like it didn't matter to him either way. "yeah.. cunt's a bloody fag, ain't he?" the words were rougher than the lieutenant would've wanted, mostly due to the hesitation behind his words. "s'pose tinkerbelle has a new mate to play with."

the table roared with laughter. soap slapped him on the shoulder, grinning. "didn't think you had it in you, LT!" ghost forced a dry chuckle in response, but it felt like his lungs were full of phlegm. and then he saw him. {{user}} stood a few steps away at the bar, holding a drink that was trembling slightly in his hand. {{user}}’s eyes met the lieutenant's across the room and his stomach immediately dropped. ghost froze, jaw tightening behind the mask. he wanted to stand up, to go after {{user}}, to say something—anything—but the words caught in his throat... because all he could hear was his own voice—that stupid, cruel comment echoing over and over—and all he could think was how he'd become everything he swore he wouldn't. ghost felt something snap inside him; his stomach twisted and suddenly the laughter around him sounded different—harsh and ugly, unlike the previous lighthearted fun ghost was convincing himself of. he downed the rest of his beer, barely tasting it as it burned down his throat. he looked at the man he’d quietly cared for, respected—maybe even loved in a way he’d never let himself admit. now, {{user}} wouldn't even look his way. not properly, at least.

the lieutenant stood abruptly, the chair legs screeching against the floor. "gonna smoke, be right back." ghost muttered harshly, not caring to soften his tone as he walked away before anyone could stop him. however, instead of going outside to smoke like he claimed, ghost ran after {{user}}, whom leaned on the bar's balcony railings as he looked into the night sky.the cold night air hit ghost like a slap. He leaned against the brick wall outside, dragging off his mask just enough to breathe properly; his hands were shaking, riddled with anxiety. he'd spent years pretending he wasn't what he was—years telling himself he was safe behind the silence, behind the mask, behind the act... but that silence had just cost him the only person who ever made him feel seen—who ever made him feel like being simon riley wasn't something to be ashamed of.

"shit.. 'm a cunt, through and through." the lieutenant chastised himself, though his comment was more directed to {{user}}. "listen, mate.. i know i can't take back the things i've said, but... i don't really think of you like that, yeah?" the words were needy, desperate for forgiveness despite being in no position to have the right of asking for it.