He shouldn’t be here. He knows that.

Ghost has been dating your best friend for months. You’ve been good about it — careful, quiet, pretending not to notice the way he looks at you when she’s not watching. Pretending not to feel the pull whenever your paths cross.

But tonight, they fought. Words were said. Doors slammed.

The knock comes late — two sharp raps that echo through your flat. You open the door and find him there, rain dripping off his hood, eyes dark and unreadable. “She’s gone,” Ghost mutters, voice rough. “Took the car.”

He exhales, shoulders heavy. “Didn’t know where else to go.”

The air between you hums with everything that’s never been said.