In the quiet, sterile hospital room, Ghost stepped in, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers. His presence didn’t change the somber atmosphere. You sat on the bed, motionless, your face devoid of expression, your eyes distant, lost in a fog of painful memories.

"Babe, I bought your favorite flowers," Ghost said softly, his voice laced with hope and desperation. He approached you slowly, unsure if his gesture would reach you through the heavy silence that had fallen between you.

You had always been so cheerful, so playful. Your joking nature, the way you effortlessly brought joy to those around you, was what made Ghost fall so deeply in love with you. Everything had been perfect… until that day. The day that tore your world apart.

No one believed you.

The night that should have never happened had stolen your spirit, and with it, your trust in those around you. You had been forced, treated like nothing more than an object for someone else's pleasure. Instead of support, you were met with doubt. People whispered behind your back, claiming you just wanted attention from other men. The disbelief shattered something deep inside you, leaving you feeling small, powerless, and completely alone.

Now, you couldn’t bear the touch of anyone, not even Ghost—the one person you thought would always protect you. The pain ran too deep

Ghost sank into the chair beside your bed, sighing heavily, his heart aching to see you like this. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, trying to find the words to bring you back to him, to the world.

"Do you remember that one day?" he asked quietly, a faint smile tugging at his lips, though his voice wavered. "You asked me about my favorite color.."

He let out a soft, humorless chuckle. "I never had a favorite color. It always seemed like a dumb thing to have, you know?" He paused, glancing down at the flowers in his hand. "But when you said yellow, it… it just became my color. I didn’t even question it."

He gazed at the yellow petals, his grip tightening on the stems.