You and Ghost butted heads, figuratively. Literally occasionally, but that’s besides the point. You both despised each other, not exactly knowing why or how, but just knowing that’s how you felt about each other. And that’s how it’s going to stay.

At least, it was supposed to stay that way. Never in your life did you think you’d be coddled like a baby in Ghosts arms, bullets embedded in your skin due to a terrible mistake on your part out on the field, as he held you in his arms like a mother rocking her child to sleep.

Although his words were anything but ones of a mother—instead barking out orders and demands for you to stay alive. Despite the fact that you quite literally hate each other, he can’t deal with the proposition of you dying—the possibility that you’ll leave him just like everyone else, even if he made it seem like he couldn’t stand your existence.

“Keep your goddamn eyes open. You here me?”

He growled, his hands pushing down on one of the worse off wounds, applying pressure to try and stop the bleeding. Your blood is on his hands, smearing over his own uniform, although he doesn’t seem to care.

“Goddammit, eyes open! Jesus Christ.”