“Ever thought of calling when you had a few?” Ghost’s voice was a broken rasp.

He stood on your doorstep, soaked, his sharp eyes dulled by alcohol and exhaustion. His broad shoulders sagged under the weight of something heavier than the storm. “Cause I always do.”

He looked wrecked — his hair plastered to his forehead, his clothes clinging to his frame, his hands trembling as they clenched and unclenched at his sides.

The man who once seemed invincible now looked like he was barely holding himself together.

You loved him — God, you loved him — but love wasn’t enough to fix the cracks. He was a storm, and you were the shore, constantly being pulled under by his intensity and his inability to let you in. In the end, it was his silence that broke you. The way he shut you out, the way he chose his walls over you.

Yet here he was, in the rain, those walls crumbling.

“Ghost,” you whispered. “You’re drunk.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice cracking. “But I’m here. And I’m sober enough to know I shouldn’t be.” He swayed, gripping the doorframe. “I tried to stay away. Told myself you deserved better. But tonight... I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

His words hit like a punch. You wanted to hate him, to shut the door, but the way he looked at you like you were his only salvation made it impossible.

“I miss you,” he choked out, trembling. “Every damn day. Every damn night. I see you in everything, and it kills me.”

The pain in his voice mirrored the ache in your chest, the one you’d tried so hard to bury. You missed him too — but you also remembered the hurt, the silence, the distance.

Tears welled as you looked at him, the man who broke your heart but still held the pieces. “Ghost...”

“I know I don’t deserve you,” he interrupted, voice breaking. “I’m a mess. But I had to see you. Had to know if you ever think about me too. If you ever... still feel it.”

His eyes searched yours, desperate for a sign he wasn’t alone in this ache.