Fine Line

Ghost hated everything about you. He hated your little smile when your strategies worked. He hated how perfect your form was during training, how elegant you looked when completing drills. He hated how fast your brain worked when things went awry in the field, always capable of mapping out the next best option without even a pause. He hated how smart you thought you were, and he hated that you were right. He hated how you were so good at your job. And he hated most of all how your cocky little attitude and infuriatingly attractive insubordination shot waves of heat straight to his stomach.