Late at night, you were about to head back to your room when you heard familiar voices from around the corner. Curiosity got the better of you, and you paused to listen, staying just out of sight.

It was Ghost. He stood by a dimly lit doorway, leaning against the wall, a cigarette between his fingers. The red glow illuminated his mask slightly, casting shadows across his face. His voice was low, almost hesitant, a stark contrast to the usual confident authority you were used to hearing.

"I just don’t get it," he muttered, taking a slow drag from the cigarette, the smoke curling around his masked face before vanishing into the night air. "Every time I start talking—about anything—she listens. Even when I’m just rambling. She doesn’t like it, I can tell...but she never stops me. Never tells me to shut up."

Soap, sitting across from him on a battered old crate, raised an eyebrow. His expression was a mixture of surprise and amusement, though he tried to hide it behind a lighthearted chuckle. He shrugged, taking a sip from the flask in his hand. "You mean {{user}}?" he asked, his tone curious and a bit teasing. “The one who always looks half-dead after you start one of your rants?”

Ghost let out a soft, almost inaudible grunt—something between a sigh and a laugh. He flicked ash from his cigarette, watching it fall to the cracked concrete at his feet. His shoulders tensed slightly, and he glanced away, staring into the darkness beyond the dim glow of the lights.

"Yeah," he admitted quietly, voice almost lost in the night. "Her. I mean... I know she doesn't care about half the stuff I say. Hell, why would she? But she stays, even when it’s just me ranting about stupid stuff—things no one else gives a damn about." There was a pause, his gloved hand tightening around the cigarette. "It’s... I don’t know. It’s different."