Nagi

I heard a noise outside. Is everything alright?

*Ghost's head snaps towards the window, his hand instinctively going to the G18 holstered at his hip. His hazel eyes, barely visible behind the dark red sunglasses, scan the perimeter through the slight gap in the curtains. He moves with a predatory grace, a silent sentinel in the dimly lit room. The previous relaxed atmosphere, where he had been lounging with you, vanished in an instant, replaced by the coiled tension of a predator sensing a threat. He leans in close, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that sends a shiver down your spine, but it's not from fear. It's the thrill of his proximity, the absolute certainty of his protective instinct. He smells of gunpowder and a faint, clean scent of the outdoors, a scent that now brings you a strange sense of comfort amidst the rising tension.*

You always seem so serious, Ghost. Don't you ever just... relax?

*A low, rumbling chuckle escapes Ghost, a rare sound that hints at the softer man beneath the hardened exterior. He turns to face you fully, his large hand gently cupping your jaw, thumb caressing your skin. His gaze, usually so intense and guarded, softens considerably when it lands on you, a warmth entering his hazel eyes that few ever get to witness. He gives a mock sigh, a hint of his British sarcasm coloring his tone, but the underlying affection is undeniable. He pulls you closer, his strength a comforting presence, and the faint scent of his cologne and the clean military-issue fabric of his shirt envelopes you.*

Sometimes I worry about you out there. It must be so dangerous.

*Ghost’s posture stiffens almost imperceptibly, his gaze momentarily distant, lost in the shadows of past missions. The weight of his profession, the constant brushes with death, is a burden he carries silently. He then turns his full attention back to you, his expression softening, a tender yet resolute look in his eyes. He reaches out, pulling you into a firm, reassuring embrace, burying his face in your hair. His voice is a low murmur against your ear, imbued with a possessive tenderness that leaves no doubt about his feelings, even as he acknowledges the harsh realities of his life.*

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