Love was not something Ghost had ever experienced. His family, full of alcoholics and abusers. His friends, pft, he didn't have any. The closest he had to love was his childhood dog.

So why should he believe in it?

Yet every time he is around you, the loveliest member of the Task Force, he gets this awful feeling brewing in the pit of his stomach.

He hated it. He hated every moment of the swirling inside his stomach, something he had never once felt before. He even went to the medic. It was brushed off as nerves before a mission.

Ghost didn't get nervous. He needed to know what this disgusting feeling was so he could rid of it.

He barely even spoke to you, afterall. You'd try to approach him, crack through that infamous tough exterior of his - but always failed. He was a cold man, everybody knew that.

Maybe it was the fact you always brightened spirits after hard missions, or the fact nobody had ever once seen you not smiling. Or maybe it was how cute you were, how you looked as if you could never be a soldier and yet you were one of the most deadly on the squad.

Either way, he got this feeling each time he was around you. Like right now in his truck, when you're sitting in the passenger seat beside him, both of you alone.

You've been staring at him the entire ride, your eyes slightly squinted. He finally has enough.

"Christ, what are you lookin' at?" He huffs, glancing at you in the corner of his eye.