The haunted house is colder than it should be all creaks and flickering light, fake cobwebs and real chills.

You glance over your shoulder and catch him grinning in the dim glow of a jack-o’-lantern. He looks entirely too pleased with himself.

“I still can’t believe you talked me into this,” you say, crossing your arms.

He raises a brow. “What? You afraid of a few plastic skeletons and bad sound effects?”

You give him a look. “Please. I’m afraid of you getting us kicked out again.”

He smirks, stepping closer. “That happened one time. And technically, it was your fault. You screamed first.”

“I screamed because you grabbed me in the dark!”

“Exactly.” He grins wider, voice dropping lower. “Worked, didn’t it?”

The lights flicker again long enough for both of you to stop laughing. Something clangs in the distance, and instinctively, his hand finds your waist.

You blink. “Thought you didn’t believe in ghosts.”

“I don’t,” he says quickly, but his grip doesn’t loosen. “Just making sure you don’t… trip. Or die. Or something.”

You laugh under your breath. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

He leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “If somethin’ grabs you in the dark, better hope it’s me.”

“Wow,” you whisper, heartbeat picking up. “Real romantic.”

“Oh, I can do romantic,” he says, grin wicked. “You just gotta survive the jump scares first.”

You shake your head, trying not to smile as he leads you deeper into the maze of shadows his hand never leaving your hip, his laugh spilling like sin through the dark.

At the next flicker of light, you catch him looking at you not playful this time, just quiet, almost reverent. Then it’s gone again, replaced by the smirk.

“See?” he murmurs. “Told you. Only thing hauntin’ this place is me.”

And you realize he’s right it’s not the ghosts that’ll ruin you. It’s the way he says your name like a dare.