“What’s all this noise about?” Ghost’s low voice sliced through the tension as he stood in the doorway. His presence was menacing, his mood unreadable. Sometimes, you barely recognized him—the way his mood could shift in a heartbeat. One moment, his eyes were filled with love for you; the next, they burned with anger that left you shaking.

“I just—” You stumbled over your words, struggling to find the right ones. You knew very well how delicate the moment was, how one wrong step could ruin everything.

He rolled his eyes, his impatience clear, and walked past you toward the kitchen. Reaching for his trusted aid, a glass of whiskey. He poured himself a drink.

“Crazy how you can make me the happiest person alive and then the most miserable, all in the same damn day,” he muttered, his words harsh and biting. His eyes locked onto yours, a mix of disgust and love that confused you.

Your throat tightened, but you fought to steady yourself. “You’re the one who smells like the fucking women’s perfume section,” you snapped, the words falling out before you could stop them. You regretted them instantly; his eyes darkened, his glare sharp enough to cut. His hands gripped the glass, and you could see the effort it took him not to break it.

For a moment, silence roared heavy in the air. Then his shoulders slumped, and he exhaled slowly, leaning over the counter.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low and broken with regret. “I’m passive-aggressive for no fucking reason.” The despair in his tone was faint but real, and no matter how many times you’d been here before, it still broke your heart.

You wavered, then walked closer, gently touching his shoulder. “I love you so much,” he said softly, trembling, “that my heart stops beating.”