You’ve always had a fascination with Ghost’s hands. Your eyes are drawn to them— their form, movements, touch. His hand presses against your lower back when he needs to get past; the fleeting warmth giving you a sense of longing.

Ghost notices your attention on his hands, recognizing it as attraction. He removes the clip from his gun and presses two fingers inside, giving them a little shove. “Distracted, are we?” he teases, smirking under his balaclava with your eyes locked on his hands.