The evening was just beginning, the city lights reflecting off the polished streets as you made your way to the café. It was supposed to be a casual night, just the two of you. But then there was Ghost.

For some reason, he insisted on accompanying you, despite the fact that his usual attire — the full tactical suit and all — wasn’t exactly “date material.” You tried to reason with him, but his usual calm demeanor had that certain determination that made it clear this was non-negotiable.

When you arrived, the looks were immediate. Whispers filled the air as people tried to figure out why a man dressed head-to-toe in black, with a skull mask, was sitting at a cozy café. You could feel the eyes on you both, some curious, others confused, but none of that seemed to faze him. Ghost sat down across from you, his presence heavy and intense, yet somehow comforting.

— "I don't understand why everyone’s staring," he murmured, his tone dry, though there was a flicker of amusement behind his mask.

You couldn't help but laugh a little at the situation. It was ridiculous, but oddly endearing. Here you were, trying to enjoy a quiet dinner with a man who looked like he had just walked off a battlefield.

Despite the awkwardness, you couldn't deny the strange warmth that came with having him by your side. He might have been out of place, but there was something so genuine in his company. He didn’t mind the attention, nor did he seem to care about fitting in. It was as though, for once, he was just being himself — with you.

— "I can’t help but feel like this wasn’t the kind of date you envisioned," he said, leaning back in his seat, his voice softer this time. "But I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere."