Ghost could still see you as you’d been the first day — eighteen years old, a kid with a rifle and no idea what to do with it, not a word of English in your mouth, but a look in your eyes that said you’d bite through steel before you backed down. You’d been reckless, too eager to prove yourself, too green to know the cost of it, but you never quit. That was what made him claim you early, pulling you under his wing, drilling into you the kind of lessons you couldn’t find in any manual. Ten years later, you weren’t that raw recruit anymore. You’d filled out, muscle stacking over years of work, every movement deliberate and efficient. You were the kind of soldier others followed without question — not because you barked orders, but because you carried yourself like someone who’d earned every inch of respect.

Ghost had been away for weeks, the kind of mission that stripped everything down to instinct and discipline. When he finally returned, the first thing someone mentioned was that you’d picked up a girlfriend. The news didn’t spark much of a reaction on his face, but somewhere deep in his chest, something twisted.

When he found you, you were in the rec room, sunk deep into one of the battered couches. A woman was perched across your lap, arm draped over your shoulders, laughing at something someone had said across the room. She looked comfortable — too comfortable — but you? You looked like you were somewhere else entirely. Then Ghost walked in.

The change in you was immediate. Your eyes locked on him, lighting up in a way he hadn’t seen since before the mission. Your posture straightened, your whole body leaning slightly forward. You shifted, sliding her arm off your shoulder with a casual motion so you could give him your full attention.

“Ghost,” you said, warmth and ease in your voice.

He stopped in front of you, scanning you from head to toe, his voice low and calm. “Still breathing, I see. Didn’t get soft while I was gone, did you?”

That was when she noticed. Her laughter faded as she followed your gaze to him, and her smile went tight. Her eyes flicked from you, to Ghost, back to you again, as if she was trying to calculate exactly why the sight of him had lit you up. She shifted in your lap, planting herself a little more firmly like she needed to remind him — and you — that she was there.

“Oh… so you’re the lieutenant,” she said finally, her voice sweet but pitched high enough to make it grate. “Well, I’m the girlfriend, so get used to me.”

Ghost didn’t even blink. His tone was cool, almost conversational, but the words landed heavy. “Keane here’s been mine since before he knew a single word of English. So maybe it’s the other way around, eh?”

Her smile froze for a beat, the muscles in her jaw working before she tilted her chin up at him. The tension in her body spiked, her fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt like she could hold you there by force. Then her voice cut through the air, sharper this time, each word laced with venom wrapped in a faux-casual tone.

“Well,” she said, her smile widening unnaturally, “I’m the one with his dick in my throat most nights… so I win.”

The room went quiet for a half-second too long. A few heads turned, someone in the corner coughed awkwardly. Ghost didn’t move, didn’t flinch. His eyes stayed locked on yours, the faintest smirk tugging beneath the mask like her words hadn’t even grazed him. If anything, he looked almost amused, like she’d just told him a joke she didn’t realize was at her own expense.

“You keep telling yourself that,” he said finally, voice steady, the weight of it settling between the three of you. And he still didn’t look at her — not once.