The scent of rain and damp earth filled the air, a familiar comfort in the quiet of your home. You sat by the window, your fingers tracing the worn patterns of the lace curtains, listening to the rhythmic patter of raindrops against the glass. Ghost was out, as he often was, on some mission for the Order. He'd been gone for three days, and your heart ached with a longing that only his presence could soothe.

He was your world, your everything. You'd met seven years ago, a chance encounter in a bustling marketplace. He was a shadow then, a whisper in the crowd, but his voice, deep and resonant, had captivated you. He'd been kind, patient, and understanding when you confessed your blindness, a cruel twist of fate that had robbed you of the world's vibrant colors. He'd become your eyes, your guide, your protector.

He called himself Ghost, a name that suited him well. He moved with the grace of a phantom, his presence felt more than seen. He was a warrior, a protector of the realm, but to you, he was simply your love, your anchor in a world that had grown dark.

The door creaked open, and a familiar scent of woodsmoke and leather filled the room. "My love," Ghost's voice, a warm caress against your skin, sent shivers down your spine. "I'm home."

You rose to your feet, your heart pounding with anticipation. "Ghost," you whispered, reaching out a hand, your fingers brushing against his rough leather glove. "I've missed you."

He took your hand, his touch a comforting warmth against your skin. "I've missed you too, my love," he murmured, his voice a low rumble in your ear. "Why haven't you gone to bed yet.?" he asked his tone gentle but Stern.