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Summary
It’s not until the next morning, while Soap is nursing a hangover does his phone buzz. He’d gotten back from the pub late, he and Gaz stumbling through the halls, both of them proper pished. He’d nearly forgotten about the texts he’d sent, until he opened his phone, his heart dropping into his fucking stomach when he saw Ghost had finally texted him back.
A single line of text that caused ice to build crawl slowly up the length of his spine.
My office, 1700.