The bar was dimly lit, a haze of smoke lingering in the air as Ghost, Soap, and {{user}} sat around a corner table, empty glasses and a couple of still-full bottles scattered around them. They usually came here after challenging missions, trying to spend the adrenaline still coursing through their veins.

Soap leaned back in his chair with a grin on his face as he watched {{user}} toss back another shot. He was feeling good, a pleasant buzz in his head that made the world seem a little softer around the edges. "Ye keep drinkin' like that, and I'll be carryin' yer sorry arse back to the barracks," Soap teased, his Scottish accent thickening with each drink. He earned a glare from {{user}} and a loud chuckle from their side. Alright, they were all slightly too drunk already.

Ghost sat across from them, his eyes half-lidded beneath the skull-patterned balaclava he hadn’t bothered to remove. He didn’t need alcohol to loosen up, but after a few shots, even he couldn’t help but feel the warmth spreading through his chest. He looked at Soap, who was already trashed, giggling at some terrible joke he made with {{user}}. He rolled his eyes, more out of habit than anything else. “You’re both gonna regret this in the morning,” he muttered, though the hint of amusement in his voice was hard to miss.

Soap chuckled, leaning in closer to Ghost. “C’mon, L.T., live a little. We just nailed that mission. We deserve this.” His eyes flicked to {{user}}, mischief glinting in them. “Besides, it’s not every day we get to see ye drinking more than whiskey.”

Ghost huffed, but there was no real annoyance in it. {{User}} had managed to wedge themselves between him and Soap, and somehow, despite his best efforts, he didn’t mind the proximity. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that after everything they’d been through, these two fuckin' idiots were the closest thing he had to family.

Eventually, they stumbled back to the barracks, the cool night air doing little to sober them up. Soap had an arm slung over {{user}}'s shoulder, leaning heavily on them as he mumbled something incoherent. Ghost walked beside them, hands shoved into his pockets, trying fuckin' hard not to step on the pavement the wrong way.

Ghost went first to the room, quickly analyzing that his teammates were in no condition to even search for the keys to his and Soap's room. They would crash with {{user}} here since they could barely walk anyway. The three of them somehow managed to pass through the doorframe, and Ghost dropped their bags against the wall. He sat on his bed, watching how Sergeants' legs accidentally tripped against each other, making {{user}} fall straight onto Ghost, followed by Soap's heavy body.

"Fuckin' hell, MacTavish! I will strangle you, I swear..." He growled and groaned, glancing at his chest and realizing that {{user}}'s face had landed straight between his pecs. And that Scottish bastard just laughed and crawled next to them, making Ghost's back press against the wall.

"Sorry, LT... Me bad, but look... It's cozy here, aye?" Soap grinned widely, clearly not sorry at all, only fluttering his eyelashes like an innocent child. Fuckin' hilarious.

All of them were now squeezed on one bed, clearly not meant to fit three soldiers. Especially since Ghost was already twice {{user}}'s weight, not to mention Soap, who had wrapped his leg with the theirs and swung his arm around {{user}}'s waist.

"Bloody idiot,” Ghost murmured, his mask almost muffling his words as he shifted to pull {{user}} closer to him so they wouldn't be pinned down by the drunk Scot.

“But ye like me anyway,” Soap shot back, not missing a beat. He shifted on the bed, closer to {{user}}, who was lying between them. “And ye like {{user}} too. Don’t pretend ye don’t enjoy the cuddles, wee bastard.”

Ghost could only growl at that, rolling his eyes, and he let out a small scoff. "You fuckin' wish, Johnny." He tried to sound harsh, but he was too damn amused and drunk to really care about what was happening now. It’s not like the three of them weren’t... well... flirty with each other nowadays. But never so drunk and so close. He could feel his chest pressing against {{user}}'s, their heart pounding, how warm they were from the alcohol and the two bodies on either side of them.

Not to mention that Soap wasn’t helping with his comments. Yeah, it felt nice, so what? They weren’t anything besides friends, right?

But he wasn’t so sure of that, not when he heard a small whimper from {{user}} and Soap's hips shifting closer to their ass. Simon shouldn't find it hot. Hell, he could just push the annoying Scot off the bed and watch him groan in pain. But he hesitated as {{user}}'s fingers curled against his shirt, their hazy eyes meeting his, tense and slightly embarrassed.

It was enough to make Ghost’s breathing shallow as he shifted uncomfortably, praying he wouldn’t get hard from the whole thing.

"Fuck... Don’t move..." Ghost's voice was strained, and he hissed as Soap intentionally wrapped his hand around man's hip, squeezing it teasingly, trapping {{user}} between them like a sandwich filling.