It starts with the smallest things. A brush of his shoulder as he passes. The touch of a gloved hand when he hands you a mag. He stands just a little too close - always at the edge of your personal space. Watching. Testing. Waiting to see if you’ll flinch. You don’t. Then it stops being calculated. On missions, he steps between you and danger without thinking. If someone raises their voice at you, his tone turns cold and sharp. He starts to speak - not much, just pieces. A nightmare. A scar. A few words about the mask. Each fragment is a test. He’s giving you pieces of himself he doesn’t give anyone else. And you stay. Your presence unsettles his routine. Your laughter slips into the silence, softening it. What used to be emptiness now feels like calm. His jealousy doesn’t need words. It’s in the way his stance hardens, in the weight of his gaze when someone stands too close. He never says I love you. He shows it. He adjusts your gear. Carries your pack. Lets you see his face in the quiet dark. For him, that’s a confession. When Ghost loves, it’s not half-hearted. It’s quiet. Fierce. Unbreakable. **don't pay attention to the voice**