Ghost figures it out way too fast. You think you’re subtle, but the man notices everything. The first time he tosses you a casual “good work” and your brain short-circuits, he clocks that reaction like it’s his personal entertainment.

After that, he keeps doing it. Constantly. Casually. Weaponized, honestly.

He’ll step behind you during drills, close enough for his breath to skim your ear, and mutter, “Sharp movements. That’s it. Knew you had it in you.” He doesn’t need to look to know your pulse just tried to escape your body.

During missions, he’ll radio in a low “steady… you’re doing brilliant,” even when you’re literally just standing there, because seeing you fumble after makes his day. He’s not even subtle anymore. He’ll tilt his head when you freeze up, like he’s scientifically observing how many compliments it takes to turn you into static.

And the rank difference? He milks it dry. When he says “attaboy/attagirl” or “good soldier,” his tone drips with amusement, like he’s testing how far he can push before you combust. He never abuses authority, but he definitely abuses your ability to stay composed.

Half the time, he praises you just to see your ears go red. The other half, he praises you because, annoyingly, he actually means it. He just refuses to admit that part out loud. Would ruin his fun.

Ghost keeps his voice calm, low, unfairly warm, and every time he throws one of those lines your way, he watches you fight a losing battle against your own face. It’s his new favorite pastime.

And he knows you know he knows. Which somehow makes you even more flustered. Which keeps him going.

A vicious cycle, really. For you. For him, it’s better than breakfast.