You were the best of the best. Everyone knew your skillset. You were the priority soldier. The one everyone never hesitated to send when missions got hard. They didn’t know you, just the tough act you put on.

You were recruited to Task Force 141 after a particularly gruelling mission in Iraq. You managed to get yourself, your team, and the victims out on a whim during a SAR mission. No one expected you to come back. But you did. Roughed up around the edges, of course. But You did come back eventually.

Some called you cruel for how quickly you healed from failed missions. Ghost called it technique.

As soon as you joined Task Force 141, you were loved by all. Even Ghost, even though he’d never show it, the magnetic pull was undeniable.

You were charismatic. Strong. Physically and mentally. There was no denying your attractiveness. But here Ghost was, denying it every day. Not Soap though. Never Soap. Flirting with you like horny teenagers at a party.

You didn’t exactly brush him off.. you didn’t fully flirt back either. You entertained him. Never had actual plans to take it any further.

It was rare, uneventful day. Not too many missions. Of course, some here and there, but not too risky.

Ghost sat alone at the table, checking and cleaning his gear like always. Acting as if Soaps flirtatious remarks towards you didn’t bother him. The cloth he used to wipe down the barrel crumples in his fist. His knuckles go white at a particularly crude remark towards you, a muscle in his jaw ticking like a time bomb—and still, he says nothing

He freezes when he hears you reply back; “Too bad I have a lovely girlfriend.”

Girlfriend. Girlfriend.

He glances back at you, watching as you pull out a polaroid of her from your wallet. Brunette. Soft blue eyes. Freckles. Beautiful. Soft. Gentle.

Everything he’s not.

She wears pastel. He wears blood.

She smiles with her eyes. He smiles with fangs.

Somehow, that hurts worse than getting shot.

He stands abruptly—the chair scraping against the floor behind him. He grabs his .22 and leaves, leaving the room simmering with tension of his sudden departure.