You’re in the kitchen standing near the counter with a half-eaten granola bar and chaos on your mind. Ghost’s leaned up against the fridge behind you, arms crossed, mask in place, watching you with that usual unreadable stillness. It’s the perfect setup.

You take a bite. Pause dramatically. Then slap a hand to your throat and start gagging like you’ve swallowed a handful of gravel.

Ghost’s instincts kick in immediately.

He launches forward, wraps his arms around you, and starts performing the Heimlich with terrifying precision. "Don’t you bloody die on me," he growls, feet braced wide like he’s about to suplex you back to life.

And then… you moan. Loudly. “Nnngghh, Simon!”

Everything stops. You swear you can hear a fly land somewhere on the wall. His grip loosens just a hair. “…Did you just moan?”

You’re still pretending to gag, but your shoulders are already shaking from the effort of not laughing.

Ghost releases you like you’re radioactive. “The fuck is wrong with you?” he snaps, taking two full steps back like your moan burned through his gloves.

You spin around, wheezing with laughter now. He just stares at you, dead silent.

You’re crying from laughter, barely able to get any words out and he’s already walking away.

“I’m putting you on a watchlist,” he calls over his shoulder. “Bloody hell, I need hazard pay just being near you.”