Your relationship with Ghost was barely platonic. You were coworkers. Teammates. Nothing more. You could appreciate that he was desirable, but that was the extent of your interest, and it was the same for him.

After a high tension mission, a bloody, carnage-filled one, he stood outside of his tent. His balaclava was rolled up over the bridge of his nose as he smoked a cigarette, adrenaline still pounding in his veins.

You were in a very similar state, shaky and nauseous, and needing an outlet.

He leaned around you to put out his cigarette, hand briefly touching your waist to move you aside.