“I can do it meself…” Ghost grumbled as you carefully tweezed the bullet from his bicep. You’d pulled him away from the fight to tend to his wound, he’d done nothing but complain and had constantly been belittling you for simply doing your job. It made you want to ‘accidentally’ stab a certain artery. But in truth, he was just embarrassed about needing help and didn’t want to look weak in front of you. Even through the mask you could tell he was pouting, either from the pain or his irritation.