Chapter Text
Midnight of April. Saturday. A gentle warm breeze of the summer wafts in the air.
I work as a bartender at a little club in town somewhere in South America. I don’t know, but I like my job. It’s what kept me in a stable life nowadays, and I haven’t run into any financial problems with it. I please customers, and they give me tips; very opportunistic work if I could say so myself.
“The usual?” I asked my long-time customer and friend as he greets me with that charming smile of his before sitting down at the bar counter. I know his drink was more of a hard Scotch mix that I never make for others, so it’s pretty much very easy to remember.
He nods, setting his cap down, and ran a hand through his mohawk hair. “Aye. Ya know me so well, lad.”
I chuckled softly while preparing his drink, grabbing a few bottles of beverages from the liquor cabinet as I spoke, “It’s because you’re the only one who drinks shit like this, man.”
“Hey! It’s a specialty from Scotland. It ain’t shit,” he retorted, shooting me a playful glare.
“It’s shit. I tried it once, and it tasted like dog piss and water from the the fucking Amazon”
“Hey, now that’s just rude!” He pouts.
It’s always like this whenever Soap comes to the bar after a long day from military work; banters and laughter with him and a couple of shots of his shitty drink. We’ve been friends since he came here two months ago, and I have to admit that he’s grown on me for some time. He tells good stories, encourages other customers to buy drinks (especially his weird concoction that he keeps forcing me to make), and he also looks after me when I feel down.
He’s one good friend, I’d give him that. But I never get any other ideas than that.
Soap’s cute, but not cute enough for me to spread my legs for. That’s a gay shit that I won’t cross the line. Personality and appearance are both a big fucking check for an annoying Scotsman like him, but I don’t like him more than as a friend.
... Well, except for his ‘other’ friend.
“So, where’s Mr. Blue Eyes?” I asked with a soft smirk as I try to hide the eagerness in my voice while wiping the countertop.
“Ghost? He’ll be here soon,” he replies before taking a swig from his drink. He raised an eyebrow and broke into a mischievous grin. “Why ya lookin’ for him? Gonna fuck him with yer eyes again?”
I felt my cheeks erupt in red at his vulgarity before looking away and groaning in annoyance. “I-I’m not...” I trailed off, can’t seem to think of a good retort to that. Damn him.
“Oh, admit it, lad. Yer stares are enough to undress him well, and he hates getting cold. He gets all grumpy when that happens.” Soap chuckled.
“I-I wasn’t staring!” I tried defending myself, but I know it was no use.
“And ya know what they say? Denial is a river in Egypt, baby.” He grinned as he made the innuendo gesture on his hands, his finger pushing in and out on a little hole he made with his other hand. “He likes angry fuck, by the way.”
This is why he’s better off as my friend. We don’t take each other seriously, and he’s a fucking bully to me when it comes to my crush on his friend, Ghost.
Yeah, I like his friend. And yeah, Ghost is the type of guy that I’d spread my legs for if he allows me to. With just a single look from his piercing blue eyes, I’d call him ‘Daddy’ and beg for him in obedience. Gosh, I don’t even remember the last time I got laid.
But I’m not admitting that out loud. I learned my mistake by telling Soap, and he won’t stop being a bitch to me about it.
“Fuck you. I’m putting rat poison in your drink next time and I’d play that Ratatouille theme when you die.” I shoot Soap a glare while threatening to throw the dirty towel on his face as he held his hands up.
“Hey, quit it, (Y/N). No one’s poisoning anyone’s drink tonight.” A familiar gruff voice with a strong British accent vibrated in the air.
...
...
... Holy fucking twat, it’s Ghost! And he’s walking up here wearing something that I've never seen him wear before!
His typical skull-faced balaclava was on, but he was wearing a dark green sleeveless shirt and a pair of cargo shorts. With the way he moved and dressed like a fucking macho man, I could see every muscle on his tattooed arms flex. He has some light scarlet burn scars on the skin of his right shoulder, but it didn’t lower the fondness I felt for him at all.
He looks so scrumptious right now, and the way his ocean-blue eyes looked at me sternly makes me want to take a dive and drown in them.
“... You’re doing it again.” Soap decided to pop my thought bubbles and laughed.
“What’s he doing again?” Ghost asked him, clearly in confusion as he sits down and looked at me once more with curiosity.
“I-I’m not doing anything, Soap. Damn it...” I cursed under my breath as I busied myself again to wipe the countertop that I and Soap knows was already clean. I couldn’t look at Ghost; I’d fucking die and let the ground swallow me whole.
Soap continued to laugh it off before sipping on his drink one last time before he handed his mug to me, gesturing for one more. I could only glare at him silently before sighing and taking his mug to prepare his shitty drink again.
This night’s going to be a disaster...
Ghost eyed me for a bit before he pulled out his wallet and put some cash on the counter. “Scotch on ice, mate.”
“That same plain shit again? I swear, ya have sum boring taste buds, LT.” Soap chuckles as he took a sip.
“Shut it, Johnny. I’m just making it easy for the lad, unlike you who always wants some fucking weird shits in your drink.” Ghost snorted, and gosh how I’m proud to hear him put his friend in his place. He’s so aggressively British, I’d let him talk me down and destroy me—
“Eh, but why’d ya put for more than one glass? Tipping him the extra?”
... Huh?
I looked at the counter, and I had to blink a few times before I could register the fact in my head that there are a couple of dollars sitting right there. Even at this distance, I can already count that it can afford more than one shot of Scotch on ice. Not only another one but probably a couple more.
“I-I...” I gulped softly as I looked into Ghost’s piercing blue eyes that could stare right at my soul. “You... You’re tipping too much—”
“It ain’t. Have a drink of your own and join us.” If he ain’t smirking behind that intimidating mask of his, I’m having doubts now because of how his chuckle gruffly vibrated from his chest. “Or, it can be a tip if you wanna be boring, mate. You don’t seem to look too busy, though.”
It’s more than enough for one drink!
... However, there’s a bar policy; never drink with the customers. No matter how convincing they are or they offered to pay, never ever drink with them. Never entertain them too much because work always comes first. Failing to uphold this, you’ll find your last cut of salary and letter of expulsion in the boss’s office the next morning.
...
... I’m just kidding. There’s no bullshit like that here. This is the best workplace that I’ve ever been in.
“Yeah, and there ain’t even a single customer here other than us, lad.” Soap agreed, nodding with a soft hum.
“That’s because it’s only an hour before closing time.” I shook my head and chuckled. “But sure, I can join you guys.” I grabbed a glass for myself along with a couple of beverages and some lime. I made my favorite cocktail mix; Moscow Mule.
Who would’ve thought I’d get to have an excuse to drink with my British military soldier crush? Aren’t I so lucky?
“That’s the spirit.” Ghost lifts his mask a little, just enough to reveal his stubbled square chin and plump lips as he takes a sip from his Scotch. And, oh my god, I swear there was a damn smirk on his lips just before they touched the fucking edge of the glass.
Does he even eat ass with that mouth of his? I wonder.
“If stares could kill, someone could become a bloody murderer now.”
The impeccability of this fucking mohawk rat to just outright say such words is so darn bad, I just want to shove a whole empty bottle of Scotch up to his fucking ass. I glared at him silently while I finished making my drink, thinking carefully if I should throw a lime at his face and hope it would catch on his fucking eye.
“... So,” I spoke, trying to make a small conversation rather than having another banter with Soap. “When are you guys going on your next mission?”
“Classified detail.” Soap snickered when I gave him another deathly glare. But then he eventually answered, “In two days, I guess.”
“I see...” So, I only got two days left to get laid by some British hunk? “And you’ll come back in?”
“Depends on it, lad.” Ghost answered this time, and he didn’t bother to slide his mask back on to cover the lower half of his face. Thank goodness for that. “If we’re lucky and Soap doesn’t fuck up a single time, then we’re back in two days after as well.”
“Hey, I don’t fuck up on missions!” Soap pouts like a fucking rat, I swear it’s damn annoying.
But I like these two’s dynamics. A lieutenant and a sergeant. They look so close like two brothers with different blood and origin, and I remember Soap telling me some stories about how he hates Ghost but likes him at the same time. They respect each other at work, but Soap says he will always find time to annoy his lieutenant at some point. Typical brothers, I guess.
“—And they said Gaz would be... (Y/N)?” Ghost’s voice snapped me back to reality when his words trailed off and mentioned my name. He looked at me with a soft frown on his lips along with a concerned look in his eyes. “You okay, mate? You’re staring off.”
“O-Oh... Uh, y-yeah... I’m fine.” I smiled sheepishly before taking a sip from my drink. I didn’t bother to look at Soap because I know he had a damn smirk on his face right now.
“... If you say so.” He sighed before setting his glass down and put his shoulders on the counter, leaning forward a bit. “Enough about our work. I wanna know something more about you.”
If I still had my drink in my throat, I would’ve spat it out, probably aiming at Soap’s face. “W-What? U-Uh... What do you want to know about me?” I gave Soap a quick glare to make sure he doesn’t speak any dirty side comments.
“Hmm...” He rubbed his chin for a moment before he spoke. “... Are you hitting on Johnny here?”
...
“... Wait, what?” My eyes widened as the size of saucer plates. Did I... hear that correctly? I’m pretty sure he asked if I was hitting on—
“Hold up, why’d ya even think the lad’s hitting on me?” Soap laughed obnoxiously, almost tipping over from his seat as he found it also surprising that Ghost would jump to that conclusion. “I’m pretty sure that’s not the case, LT.”
“Then, why does he keep looking at you like you’re some piece of meat?” Ghost grinned.
I swear this is not the right time to show your pearly white teeth, Ghost! Oh my god, what has the world fallen into? I know Soap and I know that I’m already being obvious with my little gestures and looks to Ghost for quite a while now, but why the hell would he think I’m hitting on Soap all this time?!
Hasn’t he seen my heart eyes whenever I look at him? Hasn’t he seen the way I’d smile charmingly for him just to notice me? Like, what the actual fuck?! He was thinking I’m hitting on this fucking mohawk rat?!
I blushed softly nonetheless mostly because I’m finally running out of patience and sanity. “I-I... No, I’d never—”
“He’s hitting on you, LT.”
That was the last straw.
“Alright, where’s the fucking knife?!”