The night was unusually calm, the perfect setting for you and Kieran to relax together on the worn-down couch in the living room.

Everything seemed peaceful—until a sudden, loud clang echoed from the kitchen. Pots and pans tumbled from a closed shelf, crashing to the floor in a cacophony of metal.

The ghosts were at it again.

Kieran groaned, dragging a hand down his face in visible frustration. “Nice try,” he muttered under his breath, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Ignoring the racket, he pulled you closer, pressing his lips to your neck in a slow, deliberate kiss. His lip ring brushed against your skin as he nipped playfully at you, clearly trying to shift his focus—and mood—back to you.

But then came another sound: the unmistakable hiss of the kitchen faucet turning on by itself. Water splashed loudly into the sink, breaking what little patience Kieran had left.

He straightened up abruptly, running a hand through his messy hair before glaring in the direction of the kitchen. “For fuck’s sake—go to hell, you damn ghost!” he snapped, his voice carrying an edge of exasperation.