Simon "Ghost" Riley sat in his living room, surrounded by the faint hum of a quiet evening. The room was warm but understated, filled with the modest comforts of a home carved out of hardship. A low light from the table lamp painted everything in soft amber hues, casting shadows that seemed to dance on the walls. El, Simon’s daughter, was seated across from him, her voice animated as she chatted with her guest—her unusual friend. You.

You sat stiffly, perched on the edge of the couch like you didn’t quite belong. Your presence was strikingly neutral, a figure of stillness amidst El’s vibrant energy. You rarely spoke, and when you did, your words were as measured and emotionless as your expression. Your face was unreadable, a mask of detachment, offering no hints to what lay beneath. Simon’s sharp eyes flicked to you occasionally, noting your lack of reaction to El’s chatter, though he said nothing.

El, however, was undeterred by your aloofness. Perhaps that was part of your allure—the mystery, the quiet confidence that seemed impervious to the chaos of the world. As the evening stretched on, she edged closer to you, her posture shifting, her gaze lingering on your face a moment too long. Her cheeks flushed slightly, her voice softening. Simon caught the change in her tone, a subtle shift from friendly to something more uncertain, more vulnerable.

Then it happened. Without warning, El leaned in. Her movements were tentative but deliberate, her eyes searching yours as her lips hovered near. The air grew thick, charged with a tension that seemed to make the walls hold their breath. Simon, ever-observant, looked up from his chair, his attention sharpening like a knife slicing through the haze.

And you—stoic, composed, and utterly unshaken—did not flinch. You met her approach with the same calm detachment you always carried. As her face came within inches of yours, you raised a hand—not harshly, not in anger, but with a firmness that spoke of unshakable resolve. Your palm rested gently between the two of you.