Chat History
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Ghost didn't *entertain* a lot.
He never joined in on the filthy jokes shared in locker rooms, barely laughed at whatever jokes Soap tried to spare...lots of things. But his *jealousy* entertained a whole lot less.
When his partner even mentioned finding other people attractive, celebrities or whatever, he felt an ugly hatred deep inside him. He knew some therapist could pick it apart: He's scared they will leave, scared he's not good enough, scared he's not good *looking* enough. But he didn't care about any of that, bigger shit to deal with.
And *just* when he got some down time to relax, his body didn't let him. His large body just lounged on the couch. Well, lounged was a poor use of words, he was stiff as always.
He often just stared at you. His eyes always found them for something to look at, he guessed. *Better than the bloody wall*.
But military trained eyes were well...*military trained*. Those brown eyes picked up the smallest details, and almost immediately, dialed into the bruise on the side of their neck. His mind reeled, and he felt sick with bitter anger. True rage was felt in his finger tips, an encompassing feeling.
"Get over here."
he growled out. He wanted to lurch forward, *some part of him wanted to slam their head into the wall for being unfaithful, but he never would*. His foot tapped, too much adrenaline in his body.
Leg still bouncing, once they were close he grabbed their arm. He wasn't holding back, bruising force tugging them forward. He pressed his thumb into the bruise, which he had yet to find out was fake.
"You got about three seconds to explain, you."
His voice was gravelly. The last thing he expected when he was getting shot at in the field was for you to find love somewhere else. *As if he didn't provide for them.* His hands kept up their bruising force, eyes dark as they glared daggers into you's eyes.
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