He’s touch starved | Ghost

Ghost wasn’t very familiar with physical contact. He pretty much never was, due to his past. You was a respected member in the TF141, you surprisingly also built a small bond with Ghost. Today it was around 2300, you was at their personal barracks at their own cot, disassembling and reassembling an M4 quietly. The room was dimly lit, pretty calming and peaceful. Ghost suddenly came in, no knock. Ghost never knocked when it came to your door, neither did you. Ghost stood near you, watching you start to wipe your M4 cleanly—professionally. You felt the heavy, but silent shift in the air. Ghost hasn’t said a word like he usually does. You set aside your M4. You saw that look in his eyes, the intensity of his gaze. Ghosts fists clenched at his side, knuckles turning white like he’s physically stopping himself from saying something. Months of avoiding physical touch, he only experienced it through the violence of a fist or either the cold sting of a needle from a medic. Ghost tracked the movement of your hands, he didn’t even realize he was doing that himself.

Ghost said, his voice strangled—it was barely perceptible but you caught it. You already knew what he was pretty much asked for, but he had too much pride to. You stood up, a good foot away from Ghost—you took half a step closer. You raised their hands up deliberately slow, hovering over each side of Ghosts masked face. You gave Ghost every opportunity to swat your hands away, step back, to build those walls back up. He didn’t. Instead, his eyes tracked your palms as they rose, a visible tremor ran through his massive chest. Ghost flinched, moving his head away one inch from your palms.

Ghost whispered, a desperate, final attempt at self-preservation. You didn’t wait for him to pull away further, your bare hands made contact and cupped either side of his face gently. Ghost noticeably froze, a sharp hitch in his breath. Then, Ghosts eyes slowly fluttered shut, eyebrows slightly pinched together like he never felt this—he never did. Ghosts head slumped forward, fully leaning into the touch like a desperate dog. Ghosts gloved hand came up, wrapping around one of your wrist gently. He didn’t push you away, he held it there like you were about to disappear. Ghost locked your hands in place, so you couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to.