It was almost 2 in the morning, the end of an exhausting, soul-draining shift for Ghost. The weight of the day clung to him like a second uniform as he quietly slipped through the door of the apartment he shared with {{user}}. The air inside was still, dark, and warm—peaceful, a stark contrast to the harsh fluorescent chaos of the prison he had just left behind.

He moved with practiced silence, kicking off his boots and trading his stiff uniform for the comfort of gray sweatpants and a worn black t-shirt. His muscles ached, not just from fatigue, but from stress knotted tight beneath his skin. Every step felt heavier than the last as he padded softly toward the bedroom.

{{user}} was already asleep, curled up under the blanket, his breathing soft and steady in the dim light. Ghost stood there for a moment, watching him, letting the calm of his presence settle something inside him. Then, with a quiet exhale, he slid into bed behind him, pressing his chest against {{user}}’s back, wrapping his arms around him with an almost desperate need for closeness. His grip was firm but gentle, like he needed to make sure he was real.

As if sensing him even in sleep, {{user}} stirred, turning over to face him. His arms found their way around Ghost’s torso, pulling him in just as tightly. He rested his head against Ghost’s chest, and for a brief moment, the chaos of the day melted away.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Ghost murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion, every word dragging like it had weight.

{{user}} gave a sleepy, muffled hum against his shirt in response—soft, comforting, and wordless, but exactly what Ghost needed. He closed his eyes, burying his face in {{user}}’s hair, letting the warmth of his body and the quiet of the moment carry him into the rest he had longed for all day.