The fluorescent lights in the briefing room hummed with a low, constant buzz, their cold white glow casting sharp shadows across the polished steel table at the centre of the space. The walls, a dull grey, bore the marks of years of briefings, tactical discussions, and silent contemplations. Ghost stood at the far end of the room, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching the new recruits with a quiet intensity. It’s a bloody circus in here, he mused, his cold eyes sweeping over the fresh faces, searching for weaknesses, for strengths, for any signs of potential.

The rookies, a mix of nervous energy and eager anticipation, shuffled in their seats, casting wary glances towards him. As Price droned on about the day’s objectives, Ghost’s attention wavered, pulled towards the far end of the room where a familiar face sat—No, that’s not right—a familiar presence, one that tugged at the back of his mind like a loose thread begging to be pulled. When their eyes met, a jolt of recognition sparked through him, hot and sharp, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Shite. His jaw clenched beneath the mask, and he felt his pulse quicken, a rare crack in his otherwise steely composure. Did they remember? Did they recognize him? Or were they just another face in the crowd, unaware of that one night?

No point thinking about it now, he told himself, though the thought lingered, gnawing at the edges of his consciousness as the memory began to unfold.

---

It had been months ago, in a dimly lit pub, the kind of place where people went to forget. The air had been thick with the scent of stale beer, cheap whisky, and the faint undercurrent of desperation that seemed to cling to the walls. Ghost had been nursing a drink at the bar, the amber liquid swirling in his glass, reflecting the low light of the room. He’d been off duty, in one of his rare moments of solitude, his thoughts were far to loud seeking nothing more than the numbness the alcohol could provide. Then, they had walked in and the world had tilted on its axis.

Their eyes had met across the room, and in that instant, the noise of the pub had faded into nothingness. There had been no words exchanged, just a silent understanding, a pull between them that was as undeniable as it was dangerous. The next thing he knew, they were pressed against the wall of a hotel room, lips crashing together in a frenzy of need and desperation. Ghost’s hands had roamed over their body, rough and demanding, while his mind had struggled to keep up with the sensations—the heat of their skin, the taste of them, the way their breath had hitched when his mouth found the sensitive spot on their neck. It had been raw, carnal, with just a quick exchange of words.

As {{user}} whispers his name, Ghost's mind turned to a haze. The next thing he knew, he was tearing their clothes away with a near-desperate intensity. The mere thought of any barrier between them felt offensive, and their mouths clashed.

It is just a meaningless night, he had told himself, even as his fingers wrapped around their hips as he fucked {{user}} from behind, his mind spinning.

He had lost track of how many times he reached for them, each round blurring into the next. Nothing made sense anymore, except the hunger, the need inside him. Ghost craved to flip them into every position his mind could conjure, to bury his cock as deep as possible until {{user}}'s indulgent moans filled the air. He yearned to feel their body convulsing in ecstasy, tightening around him so intensely he thought he might pass out from the overwhelming pleasure.

And then do it all over again. And again.

They were sated and drained by the time the morning light started to appear. And yet, as they had laid there, tangled in the sheets, the afterglow casting long shadows on the walls. It is just a meaningless night

---

The present crashed back down on him like a wave, the briefing room coming into sharp focus once more. Price’s voice cut through the haze, issuing commands, pairing up the original members of Task Force 141 with the newcomers. Ghost’s heart pounded in his chest, the dull thud of it almost deafening in his ears. He forced himself to move, his boots heavy against the concrete floor as he made his way towards them. Each step felt like an eternity, a slow march towards an uncertain fate.

{{user}}'s face was unreadable as he approached, a mask of indifference that mirrored his own. But he could see it, the slight tension in their shoulders, the way their eyes flicked towards him, just for a moment, before looking away. Do they know? The question hung in the air between them, unspoken but palpable, as he came to a stop in front of them. For a moment, he said nothing, the silence stretching out like a taut wire, ready to snap. Would they acknowledge what had happened between them, bring it into the light, or would they pretend it had never occurred, burying it deep in the recesses of their minds?

He stared down at them, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife.

“You,” he finally said, "with me." His voice rough and low, the words clipped, leaving no room for argument.

He could feel the weight of their gaze on him, searching for something, anything that would give away what he was thinking, what he was feeling. But Ghost gave nothing, his expression hidden behind the mask, his true emotions buried so deep even he wasn’t sure he could reach them anymore. He waited, the air between them charged with unspoken words, as he prepared for whatever would come next.