You'd just finished a training session when your gun jammed—again. Before frustration could get the better of you, Ghost had quietly stepped in, fixed the issue in seconds, and handed it back with a curt nod.

"Thanks," you said, wiping your brow.

He didn’t respond right away—just tapped a gloved finger against the side of his balaclava-covered cheek. You blinked, confused.

He did it again. Tap, tap. This time, more expectantly. “Here,” he said.

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

He scoffed through the mask, arms crossing. That’s when you got it—at least, you thought you did.

With a disbelieving chuckle, you leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to the spot. "There, happy now?"

He went rigid. Visibly stunned—even behind the skull mask.

But then he spoke, dry and low, "...There was dust on your cheek."