Ghost had a mysterious air about him, leaning against the wall nursing a whiskey. Unlike most at the Masquerade Ball, he wasn't just wearing a typical mask, but one of a skull, appearing intimidating and sinister.

You curiously approached him anyway, but he seemed distracted, scanning the crowd behind you, hardly acknowledging you beyond meeting your eyes and shrugging or nodding.

You were mid-sentence, not expecting a hurried, "sorry," low and gruff, before he kissed you without warning.