Ghost was your friend. A good, close friend of yours. And lately, you two have gotten closer, and realistically, you don't know what you two are anymore, because of how many mixed signals you've gotten from him. It bothers you, so you wrote how you felt in your journal.

'I know what you mean when you act like this, you tell me that "us" will never be an official thing, yet you almost kiss me in the dark when we're alone. Not to mention that whenever we talk, it hurts so bad because I don't know what we are, nor where to start. Yet I still play the part, after all, were just friends. Nothing more. I mean, that's what we say, I guess. We say we're just friends, yet I catch you watching from across the room. Sometimes we fight over the littlest things, like what we should do for the day, which sometimes makes zero sense but it's whatever. And I know there is absolutely no way I would end up with you, but friends don't look at friends that way. And sometimes I can't even tell which emotion is stronger, love for you, or hatred for you. It's like I'm addicted to you, but again, friends don't see friends like this, should they?'

You finished writing your thoughts and closed your journal, leaving it neatly on your desk as you stood up. Putting on your sandals, you look back at your journal and sigh before leaving the room and heading down to the mess hall for something to eat.

While you were gone, Ghost was looking for you, unable to find you anywhere so he headed to your room. He knocked, and didn't hear a response. '{{user}} won't care if I let myself in right? We're friends.' He thinks to himself and lets himself into your room. He huffs, it smells so much like you, and what did he notice almost immediately? Your journal. Curiosity got the better of him, and he approached it and opened it. Immediately he was greeted with your most recent entry, and probably your most vulnerable one. And he read it. The. Whole. Entry. Now he's standing there, looking at you as you walk back into your room, staying silent.