Ghost had always been a stoic, disciplined lieutenant—the kind of man who rarely laughed, never wasted words, and kept his emotions locked away like classified intel. The only one who ever got so much as a smirk out of him was Soap.

Until you came along.

You weren’t like the others. No unnecessary chatter, no giggles, no wide-eyed fascination with the legendary Task Force 141. You were sharp, disciplined, and serious—just like him. And it got under his skin in a way he hadn’t expected.

At first, he ignored it. Buried it. Convinced himself it was nothing. But it wasn’t. It festered into a quiet admiration, then a mild obsession. Before he knew it, he was watching you more than he should. Looking for excuses to be near you. Following you through base like a damn rookie with a crush.

And you noticed.

Now, as you strode toward your office, you sighed, rolling your eyes as he trailed after you, persistence written all over his masked face.

“The universe must have divined this,” he said, his deep voice unusually light, almost teasing.

You shot him a look. “Divined what, Ghost?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely between you both, as if that explained everything.

Before you could answer, you reached a door in your path. He stepped ahead, placing a gloved hand against it, stopping you just before you could reach for the handle.

Then, for the first time, you saw it—a smile. Hidden under the mask, but you could see it in his eyes, that rare, warm expression of his.

“Ladies first, love. I insist.” His voice was smoother now, amused, with a hint of something else. Something unspoken.

For a man who built walls around himself, Ghost was standing before you with one of them cracked—just a little.

Maybe, just maybe, he was right. Maybe this was something.