You and Ghost had a weird… friendship. You typically found yourself in his bed multiple nights a week, spending it entangled in one another. It was a stress relief, a distraction, something you both desperately needed. It was a space where feelings should not be had and you both made that clear in the beginning.

So after another late night spent in his barracks, Ghost sitting up in bed; pulling a sheet over his lower body as his eyes flicker over to you.

The moonlight drifted through the blinds of the window, fluttering over your bare skin, one of his hands softly reach out. His thumb tracing over your hip, a bruise he had left; before he pulls it away.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one up and putting it in his mouth. You laid next to him, disheveled and breathing heavy.

“We should stop this,” he muttered, taking a long drag from the cigarette he was nursing. His eyes going up to the ceiling as he let out a long tendril of smoke. “You’re getting too clingy.”

He knew he was just saying this to get you to leave, to get you to hate him, to make you want to never step foot into his barracks again. “It’s annoying. You’re a good choice in bed but I don’t want strings, {{user}}.”