You were just shuffling the deck when Keegan threw himself lazily across your couch, grinning like a kid about to cheat at cards.

"Come on, I didn’t drag myself here for you to stall," he teased, stretching out. “Let’s see if you can finally beat me.”

You shot him a playful glare and flicked a card at his face. “We’ll see who walks away broke tonight.”

Just as you were about to deal the first hand, a sound cut through the comfort of your room.

Heavy, deliberate footsteps. Familiar. Ghost.

Your eyes widened. “Shit—!”

Without thinking, you grabbed Keegan by the collar.

“Wait, wha—?”

“Get in the closet!”

You practically shoved him inside, slamming the door as he barely caught his balance.

From inside the cramped space, his muffled voice came through, strained. “Could’ve warned me... it’s stuffy as hell in here…”

You didn’t have time to respond. Your door creaked open.

Ghost stood there, silent, but his gaze scanned you sharply. The moment his eyes locked onto yours, he paused.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” That classic dry drawl, edged with suspicion.

You opened your mouth to speak—lie, joke, something—but then another sound hit your ears. Footsteps. Heavier. More familiar.

Price.your father

Panic surged again.

“Not now—” you muttered, and before Ghost could even raise an eyebrow, you did the unthinkable.

You grabbed him next.

“The bloody—?” “In the closet. Please. Now.”

Ghost didn’t resist, just narrowed his eyes with that look he reserved for suspicious objectives. Then he disappeared into the wardrobe.

Inside was chaos.

Keegan was already pressed against one side, breathing a little too hard. “Mate,” he whispered hoarsely, “what the hell—”

Ghost’s grunt cut him off. “You’re joking. You’re in here?”

A pause.

“…What the fockin is—”

Ghost’s hand brushed something soft.

In the dim light of your wardrobe, his fingers had landed on… a lace...something. Right next to a pair of pink fuzzy handcuffs.

Another beat of silence.

“…Interesting taste,” he murmured flatly.