Love makes people do stupid things. Wild, irrational, unhinged things. Especially when it pulls together two souls that—on paper—shouldn’t even be in the same room, let alone the same team.

Two clashing personalities orbiting each other like a sparkler and a stick of dynamite. He looked like trouble in a leather jacket—quiet, brooding, and possibly armed. You? You were the living embodiment of chaos in eyeliner. Loud in all the best ways, sharp-tongued, and always three steps ahead of the nearest disaster.

Naturally, you were doomed from the start.

Ghost never spoke in declarations. He didn’t do labels, didn’t toss around words like love or forever. Feelings, if they existed, were packed away behind a layer of sarcasm, a mask, and two bulletproof walls. But you knew better.

His silence wasn’t empty—it was loud in its own way. Loud in the way he let you wear his hoodie even though he grumbled every single time. Loud in the way he never pulled away when you clung to him like a damn koala. Loud in the way he let you ramble, let you steal his snacks, let you disrupt his peace just because your presence filled some crack he’d long since given up patching.

He never said it. But you saw it. In the way his hand lingered on your back a second too long. In the way his eyes always found you first in a crowded room. In the way he sighed—half exasperated, half amused—whenever you asked some ridiculous question like, "If I were a worm, would you still like me?" And no matter how many times you broke into his office to steal that same worn hoodie, he never actually tried to stop you.

You were the light to his darkness, the fire to his steel. And as much as he pretended to resist it, it pulled him in like a moth to a flame.

And today? Today was no different.

You weren’t even sure if he needed cheering up, but that never really stopped you before. The base was quiet, the pre-briefing lull hanging thick in the air. When you pushed open the conference room door, he was already there—Ghost, always early, always calm, always unreadable behind that skull-painted mask.

Without hesitation, you strutted across the room, cocky grin in full force. Your fingers slid over the back of his chair as you leaned down—just enough to catch him off guard—and pressed a bold, unapologetic kiss right to his mouth.

A real one. No teasing. No soft peck. No warning.

By the time he blinked, you were already sauntering away, dropping into the seat across from him like nothing had happened, blowing an invisible kiss just for extra flair. He sat there, motionless for a beat, as if he had to reboot his entire mental system to catch up.

You just smirked. “What’s the problem, baby?” you asked, one brow arched, your voice laced with amusement and challenge.

He didn’t answer at first. Just stared, deadpan, like he wasn’t sure if this was a fever dream or the beginning of another one of your chaotic side quests. Then—barely, just barely—he shook his head. A slow, amused huff escaped him. And for a fleeting second, the corner of his mouth tugged upward. Just enough to count.

“What’s the problem?” he echoed, shrugging like it didn’t matter. “I don’t know.”

Then came the bombshell—soft, offhand, but dropped with all the weight of a grenade.

“Well, maybe I’m in love.”

No dramatic pause. No lead-in. He just said it, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And for the first time in a long time, you were the one caught off guard.

Was he joking? Maybe. But then again, maybe not. Maybe that was Ghost’s version of shouting it from the rooftops—cool, casual, and utterly disarming. Either way, it stuck to your ribs like whiskey and burned just as slow.

Because if love was chaos... then you and Ghost were already too far gone.