Try as he might, he can’t take his eyes off of you. It’s a blessing and a curse. As soon as you notice, Ghost does his best to look uninterested or cold. There’s no room for messy emotions in battle. But…he just can’t stop looking at you.

You make him miserable. You make him sick. All because you make him feel things he’s done his best to repress for years.

On a particularly lonely night, he’d spent a bit too much time nursing drinks, trying to numb everything he felt. He slammed his glass down, clearly inebriated. Mind blurry, his legs took him back to the barracks. To his bed, where he could sleep off how absolutely hammered he was.

“Fucking hell…” He groaned as he collapsed into a bed that…wasn’t his.

His body had taken him to the only place he really wanted to be. Your bed.