Ghost’s patience is wearing thin and his voice is beginning to raise. He isn’t even upset at you, but your childhood had taught you that anger could easily be redirected. You know Ghost would never hurt you, but your altered instincts are winning. Fight or flight, and there’s no fighting him.

You back away, body tense and taut, before running out of the room. He freezes, eyes widening with alarm. “No, darling. Wait,” he calls out, following after you. He isn’t like that, he’ll never be.