“You’re staring.” If Ghost was any less well trained he would’ve jumped when you suddenly adress him.

You’re a bartender at a bar near base, and as always Ghost has been silently nursing a bourbon at the bar. Only today, his eyes have been tracking every movements of yours.

“I’m not staring,” Ghost replies in his usual gruff tone.

You cock an eyebrow and lean against the side of the bar opposite Ghost. “No? Then what do you call that?”

Ghost hesitates, his eyes flickering over your form. Your arms against the bar, your light grin, the loose strand of hair in your face, the way you’re leaning forward…

“Observing,” he finally replies, with a hint of something in his tone.