A bomb. Dynamite. A downright impulsive menace.

That was you. Impulsive, explosive, and often... well, aggressive.

And somehow, that’s exactly what drew Ghost to you. God, he hated you and loved you at the same time. Or rather—no, he definitely didn’t like you. That much was clear.

But then again, he wasn’t exactly innocent in your constant clashes; his snarky comments and sharp digs were only fuel to the fire.

For Price, it was just another day at work hearing the two of you yelling at each other. He barely even looked up anymore. Soap and Gaz, on the other hand, found it endlessly entertaining. They’d long started taking bets on who’d come out worse from each argument.

“He’s a maniac! Completely unhinged!” Ghost muttered in disbelief, pressing an ice pack to his forehead as he sat with Soap in the mess hall. Gaz was failing miserably at hiding his laughter across the table.

“They need to lock him up in a psych ward, mate,” Ghost continued, voice laced with frustration. “He’s got cotton for brains. I thought I had anger issues, but I’ve never tried to kill someone with a damn vase!”

He trailed off, staring blankly at the wall, shaking his head as the scene replayed in his mind. You’d been cleaning your weapon when he threw yet another critical comment your way. One too many. And there just happened to be a vase within reach… so you’d thrown it. Accidentally on purpose, maybe, but still. He was asking for it.

Then, as he sat there, an exasperated sigh escaping him, Ghost mumbled under his breath, almost to himself, “God, I think I’m in love.”

The realization hit him like a brick, and he blinked, only just processing what he’d said aloud.