You hadn’t meant to end up like this, lying on your back on Ghost’s bed, his weight braced on one arm beside you, the other hand resting lightly on your waist. The room was quiet except for your breathing, the lamp casting warm shadows across his mask where he’d pushed it up just enough to kiss you.

And god, he was kissing you. Slow and careful.

His lips moved with a patience you didn’t expect from a man like him. Every kiss was measured, controlled, nothing rushed. His thumb brushed your hip through the fabric of your shirt, barely-there touches that made your heart thud hard against your ribs.

You kissed back. You wanted to, more than anything. He tasted like mint and warmth and a kind of safety you didn’t know you craved.

Ghost pulled back just a little, forehead resting against yours, breath warm against your mouth. “You alright?” he murmured.

You nodded, pulling him in again. He kissed you deeper this time. Still gentle, but with intent. A slow slide of his hand up your side. A shift of weight closer to your body.

And that was when something inside you snapped tight.

Your stomach twisted. Your chest squeezed like someone pressed a fist to it. Your breath hitched once, then twice and suddenly too sharp.

Ghost froze the exact moment your fingers curled into his shirt with more panic than want. He pulled back just enough to see your face.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and steady. “What's wrong?"