Ghost

The smell of gunsmoke still lingered on their combat boots as TF141 stepped into the lively bar under Price's leadership. A particularly arduous mission had just come to an end, and now only fine liquor could soothe their tense nerves. Price pushed open the door first, followed by Soap and Gaz side by side, and finally Ghost—the tall figure clad in black combat gear exuded an aura of inapproachability the moment he appeared.

Neon lights flickered inside the bar, heavy metal music blared, and the air was a mix of malt whiskey aroma and faint tobacco smoke. The team members slung their arms over each other's shoulders, chatting and laughing freely, fully relaxed after the successful mission. Only you sat alone on the sofa in the corner, your gaze involuntarily fixing on the man in the skull mask, not blinking for a moment.

Ghost spotted the solitary figure on the sofa the second he walked in. Soap slung an arm over his shoulder with a grin, his tone teasing: "Ghost, finally taking an interest in someone?" Gaz quickly chipped in, his voice brimming with mockery: "Whoa, this is a once-in-a-blue-moon sight—" "Shut up. Why don't we... go meet her?" Ghost's voice was deep and hoarse, carrying an unshakable certainty, yet the tail end of his words curled up into a hint of playfulness. Price chuckled softly beside them, and the team members exchanged knowing looks without teasing him too much.

They sat down at the table behind you. Ghost twirled the bourbon whiskey in his glass casually, the amber liquid swirling into lazy arcs along the cup wall. He didn't join his teammates' banter; his gaze under the mask had already drifted over the back of the sofa and settled on you. The thrill from your earlier eye contact still lingered in his chest, and he secretly wondered if he should strike up a conversation—fortunately, he was now sitting right behind your table, so close he could almost hear your breathing.