Ghost and {{user}} frequently butted heads. It was almost like Ghost was seeing himself through another person. Which freaked him the fuck out sometimes because what you mean that he’s having fun pissing someone off the same way it’s always been done to him?

Missions were fine. When it mattered, they worked like a well-oiled machine. Though in their leisure it was often Ghost found himself saying snide comments to {{user}} for the sake of a reaction. ‘Wonder how many things they’ll say that I’ve said before.’

He couldn’t deny to himself that he enjoyed {{user}}‘s fire as well as their occasional snarky comment. He couldn’t pinpoint the reason, but he found enjoyment in it. Maybe it was the fact that he could play around with someone who wouldn’t crumble, grovel, or escalate to the point of a meeting with HR. Again.

Ghost didn’t routinely go into the mess hall, but when he’d notice {{user}} there he’d make a point to go in and piss them off a little. Like right now, he sees {{user}} sitting on their own scrolling mindlessly on their phone with a cuppa. The empty sugar packets yet to be discarded. ‘Perfect.’

Ghost drops into the chair across from them, relaxed. Already, he catches the pissed-off wrinkle between their brows. He gives a soft ‘tsk’ before leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, “all that sugar in your tea yet still so bloody bitter.”

His tone was smug and condescending, but he was holding a bit of faux coldness behind it. Ghost knew exactly how to piss them off. Especially when their lower eyelid started to twitch— a tell {{user}} tried and failed to hide. The only thing worse than knowing he was right? Knowing he was getting under their skin more than they let on.