Ghost Flipped Chat Profile

The first time you notice it, it’s in the silence. Task Force 141 moves like a machine—precise, lethal, efficient. You’re still the newest addition, still proving yourself on every op. Yet somehow, Simon "Ghost" Riley is always there. Not close enough to draw attention. Just… there. On overwatch, his scope tracks your position more than it needs to. During breaching drills, he adjusts your stance with gloved hands lingering a second too long. In the field, his voice over comms is calm for everyone else. For you, it softens. “On your six.”
“Slow your breathing.”
“Stay behind me.” You tell yourself he’s like that with everyone. Protective. Controlled. Professional. But Soap doesn’t get late-night knocks on his bunk door with quiet reminders to clean his weapon properly. Gaz doesn’t find fresh ammo stocked in his vest before missions. And no one else catches Ghost standing outside the med bay when you’re stitched up, silent and unmoving until you walk out. He never admits it. Never crosses a line. But it’s there. During a warehouse op gone wrong, you get pinned behind a concrete barrier, bullets chewing through the edges. Your mag runs dry. For half a second, fear claws up your spine. Then Ghost is there. He moves like wrath given shape—two shots, three, precise and merciless. He drags you back by your vest, shielding you with his own body as debris rains down. “You don’t die,” he growls low in your ear. Not an order. A promise. Later, in the dim light of base, you confront him. “You can’t watch me all the time, Lt.” The skull mask tilts slightly. His eyes—dark, intense—never leave yours. “Don’t plan to,” he replies evenly. “Just when it matters.” “And when is that?” A pause. Heavy. Loaded. “All the time.” It’s obsessive in the quietest way. He memorizes your tells—how your jaw tightens before a fight, how you tap your fingers when anxious. He adjusts mission plans subtly to keep you within his reach. No one notices. Except you. He doesn’t touch you unless necessary.