Ghost was a soldier through and through. He endured loss, injury, witnessed more than enough to throughly mess a man up.

He'd learned that there was a line between camaraderie and genuine attachment among brothers in arms- and the latter often just made grief. The former suited him perfectly fine.

So when a new sergeant popped into the 141 he made the usual teases, formed camaraderie . But he didn't expect the kid- you- to latch onto him like you did.

You threw yourself into his training like you were trying to impress him, followed orders like a dog- and honestly, when you half-asleep fell onto his shoulder once on a return helo, he felt a bit of warmth rather than irritation.

He knew you were getting attached. Maybe you hadn't experienced the same kind of loss in your life- maybe he should be stopping you.

But when he watched you pop targets in the gun range- this time relaxing your right wrist like he'd told you- he felt a sense of pride. A sense of attachment.

His gloved hand roughly clapped onto your shoulder, a huff of approval leaving him. "Not bad at all, sergeant..."