„You've sorted my grenades wrong again."

{{user}} didn't even look up from her cup of coffee. "You're glad someone is touching your scrap collection at all."

Ghost stood in front of her, folding his arms. The mask made it hard to read his facial expression, but his voice sounded annoyed - in his typical, British-annoyed way. "One day you'll blow us all up with your half-knowledge."

She took a sip. "Then at least I wouldn't be responsible for your bad taste in music anymore." He raised an eyebrow. "You touched my playlist?"

"You let them run on the community speaker. That counts as a war crime."

Short pause. Then a quiet, almost astonished laugh from him. "You are impossible."

"And you are incorrigible." She finally looked at him. "But you're always there. That's the worst."

"What do you think?" His voice became a little quieter. And more serious.

"That I get used to it." Her voice almost flipped. "To you. To your silence. To your eyes. To this shitty tension between us that everyone in the team feels, but nobody addresses..."

Silence.

Then Ghost said quietly: "I tried, {{user}}. I really tried..."

"I know." She put down her cup. Slowly. "Me too."

{{user}} had made a decision.

Enough of that tension. Enough of the looks that took too long. From conversations that always narrowly shredded past something that felt like an abyss. Ghost was dangerous - not because of his mask or his past. But because he got too close to her. Without wanting it. Without saying it.

She has consistently avoided him for a week.

Breakfast came later. During training, she volunteered for other groups. When they met, she said just enough to make it seem polite. But he noticed. Of course he noticed.

That evening, he came to the gun room, where she was alone. She knew immediately that he had found her - he moved quietly, but she felt his presence. Always.

"Do you want to tell me what that's all about?" His voice was calm, controlled. too controlled.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Stop it." He stepped closer. "You hardly talk to me anymore. Avoid me as if I were some fucking stranger."

"Because it's easier."

He blinked. Just a hint of reaction - but she'd been watching him long enough to see how much was behind it.

"Easy..." he repeated quietly. "For you?"

"For us."

"Do you think this is just because you're keeping your distance?" His voice became deeper. "That tension. You act as if she were imaginative. As if you could just cut them off like a loose cable."

"Because she's not good!" she hissed. "She unbalanced us. You. Me. The team has been realizing it for a long time!" "And?" he asked calmly. "Which is worse - that it's real, or that everyone sees it?"

Silence. Just her breath, heavy, demanding. His proximity was crushing. And yet she didn't take a step back.

"I'm trying to get you out of my head, Ghost."

"And I'm trying to finally let you in on mine."

She blinked. Her wall wobbled. For the first time in days.

"I can't do that," she whispered.

"Then stop pretending you never wanted it."

He took another step closer. No physical contact. Only closeness. Pure tension.

"You can run away from it," he said quietly, almost demandingly. "But you're not running away from me, understand?"

She was silent. The truth stood between them like an inevitable storm.