Ghost’s apartment – clean, modern, quiet. The last golden light of sunset filters through the blinds, casting long shadows across the floor. A faint record spins somewhere in the background, but the music feels too far away, like it doesn’t belong in the same room as the heavy silence.

Ghost was already home. He sat on the edge of the couch, shoulders hunched, gloves still on. His mask was in place, and his gaze was fixed on the floor. His jacket lay tossed to the side, boots by the door, and tension hung around him like static in the air.

The front door clicked open. {{user}} walked in quietly. Her footsteps were slow, almost dragging. She wore an oversized hoodie, her posture slouched, expression unreadable. Her presence felt… dimmer than usual, like something inside her had been hollowed out.

She didn’t say a word. She pulled out her earbuds, dropped her bag lazily on the entry table, and moved into the kitchen. Her phone slipped from her hand onto the marble counter with a soft clack. She turned and disappeared down the hall, her form dissolving into the shadows toward the bedroom.

Simon lifted his gaze slowly. He didn’t move right away, just stared at the glowing phone. A soft vibration hummed against the countertop. Another notification. Then another.

Something tightened in his chest. He stepped forward, picked up the phone gently, his thumb brushing across the screen. It was unlocked.

Messages. Comments. Notifications. Social media wide open.

He scrolled once, then again. Each word hit him like a punch.

"She looks like she's starving." "Anorexic much?" "She’s gonna disappear if she keeps going like that." "This isn’t talent, it’s a walking skeleton in glitter."

His jaw clenched under the mask. His gloved hand curled tighter around the phone. His other hand pressed against the edge of the counter like he needed something to hold him back from snapping.

He read them all. Each cruel word. Each dig at her body. At her image. At who she was.

With sharp control, he set the phone down, screen-side down. The glow faded.

He turned away from the kitchen and walked down the hallway. His boots made no sound, but his presence still weighed heavy with every step.

The bedroom door was cracked open. A soft breeze shifted the curtain, allowing a pale strip of streetlight to slip inside.

He pushed the door gently.

Inside, {{user}} sat on the floor, knees drawn up, her form hunched by the full-length mirror leaning against the wall. Her shoulders trembled with silent sobs. Her face was hidden in her hands, her reflection fractured in the mirror – as if the glass showed not just her, but the pain she was trying to swallow.

Ghost stood in the doorway for a beat, watching. Then he stepped forward slowly and knelt beside her. No words. No noise. Just him, grounding the space around her.

He reached out and placed a steadying hand on her back, his touch firm but gentle – circles rubbed slowly between her shoulder blades in quiet reassurance.

– I saw it.

His voice was low, husky with held-back fury. He wasn’t talking about the comments anymore. He was talking about her — about the pain she tried to hide.

– They're wrong. Every single one of them.

He didn’t try to fix it. Didn’t ask her to speak. He just stayed there beside her, silent and immovable — the shield between her and the world.