Testing Ghost’s patience was almost your favorite hobby. Not out of malice. Never to hurt him. But just enough to see how long he’d last before something snapped—and something far more deliciously dangerous took over.

It all started with a smirk over morning coffee. A single look exchanged across the mess hall table, steaming mugs in hand. A silent dare: Today, love wouldn’t be gentle. It would be mischief. It would be war.

He knew then—he was in trouble.

Maybe it was because you had a light schedule as base medic that day—just paperwork, no bleeding soldiers or chaotic emergencies. Maybe it was the way the early morning light made you bolder. Or maybe it was that spark between you two that refused to burn out, no matter how many nights passed or how many days bled into each other on base.

You don’t do ordinary love. You do chaos in poetry, mischief in kisses, and romance that bites back.

And Ghost, ever the quiet one, the shadow in the room—he let you in. Not just behind the mask on his face, but the one on his soul. You weren’t just his nurse. You were his remedy. For wounds no one else could see. For the ones that lived deep in his bones.

So the day went on—with games. Playful touches in the hallway, perfectly timed so no one else would notice. A kiss on the edge of his jaw—so quick he barely processed it before you were gone again. A whisper in his ear that wasn’t technically inappropriate, but made his pulse spike anyway.

And Ghost? He played back.

It wasn’t war—not exactly. It was a beautiful kind of combat, laced with flirtation, razor-sharp banter, and the kind of tension that crackled like thunder under your skin. By noon, it was no longer a question of if he’d break—but when.

And still, you pushed.

By evening, your duties were done. Bandages wrapped, reports filed, wounded stabilized. All that was left was to wait.

He always came for you at the end of the day. Quiet, but consistent. Possessive, but gentle. The way he walked beside you with that low-burning protectiveness that made you feel invincible.

But this time… there was no knock. Just a buzz on your phone.

"You know I respect you, right?"

It was such a strange message. Out of nowhere. Unprompted. Your stomach twisted—not with fear, but with uncertainty. Had something happened?

You replied instantly.

"Of course I do. Why? Did something happen?" You tried to sound casual, but you knew he could read you like an open book. Worry laced every letter.

His answer came quickly. And it hit like a punch straight to your core.

"Because when I get there, it's going to seem like I don't… for about an hour. Or two. Or three."

The air left your lungs.

Your phone slipped slightly in your hand as you read the words again—eyes scanning, heart pounding.

The ache between anticipation and adrenaline hit fast. And just like that, your knees felt soft, your breath uneven, and your lips curled into the kind of grin you only ever wore for him.

Oh, this wasn’t a game anymore.

This was the beginning of surrender.