You and Ghost were close friends, but you both were busy people, of course, but he also just had to learn your schedule, because he just might not be obsessed.

You also noticed he lingers in the library, but he never approached or looked at you. But you also knew one thing—he doesn’t read, or write. One day you saw him reading a child’s book—staring at it and glancing your way every time you looked away.

One day, when you were getting your daily newspaper, you opened the door to see Ghost in front of you, your newspapers in his hand.

“Here’s your newspapers,” He grumbled, trying not to act all caring as he looked away. “I also read it all before you got here. Boring shit.”