Being enemies with someone like Ghost was irritating, but also… exciting to admit.

The constant clashes, the sharp words, the lingering threat of violence… it should’ve been pure hatred. You’ve told yourself that countless times. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t. It was something else entirely. Something hotter. Heavier.

Then came the mission. Shepard’s orders: work with Task Force 141. Work with Ghost.

The tension in the briefing room was thick. Every glare, every snide comment between you two made the rest of the team uncomfortable. You were both smart, dangerous, and stubborn. It didn’t help.

Eventually, the others left. Only you and Ghost remained, standing over the mission map in loud silence.

“We could take the south route and—”

“No,” he cut in, voice rough, his eyes on the map.

You scoff, “You didn’t even let me finish.”

“Didn’t have to. It’s a bad route.”

You stepped in. “Your way risks more contact.”

He didn’t answer right away, but you saw the way his jaw tightened under the mask.

“Unless getting us all killed is apart of your great strategy,” you added.

He looked at you then—eyes unreadable. Frustrated, maybe. But something else too. Then he turned away.

“There’s a better way than your bloody plan.”

Your eyes narrow for a moment before looking back at the map, “Pretty bold for someone whose ego’s in the way.”

Silence followed. Long enough to make your pulse skip.

Then, suddenly, Ghost stepped around the table, you back away quickly but you run into the table, lifting yourself to sit on the table as he closes the gap between you two. Not touching—he never touched—but close enough that the heat of him was undeniable.

He pulled out his knife—not threatening, just deliberate—and lifted your chin with it, forcing your gaze to his. Your eyes burned into his, refusing to flinch.

The tension you both claimed to be hatred definitely did not feel like it anymore.

“Wanna say that again, darlin’?” he dared, low and dangerous.