You were tired.

Tired of the endless cycle — the push and pull, the love and the heartbreak. You had fought so long to hold onto something that kept breaking in your hands. So you let go. You walked away, heart in pieces, but convinced it was the only way to survive.

And yet… he never really let you go. And worse, some part of you never fully closed the door either.

Every time he found his way back, you told yourself it would be the last time. Every time, you lied a little more to yourself.

Tonight was supposed to be peaceful. A quiet evening. The soft hiss of the kettle on the stove, the living room bathed in a warm, golden glow from a single lamp. A moment of normalcy you hadn’t had in what felt like forever.

And then — a knock. A heavy presence. A shadow crossing the threshold of your fragile peace.

Ghost stood there, mask in his hand, uncertainty all over his face. He didn’t step inside right away — like he knew he shouldn’t. Like he knew he didn’t deserve to.

His voice, when it came, was low and rough, scraping against the silence. “I thought I could stay away this time.”

His hands were fists at his sides, knuckles white with tension. He stayed rooted to the spot, like coming closer might shatter whatever brittle truce still existed between you.

“But no matter how far I go…” he shook his head, voice breaking, “you’re still here. In my head. In my bloody chest. Like you’re stitched into my soul.”

He laughed then — a broken, humorless sound — and finally dared to meet your eyes. Dark. Desperate. Pleading.

“I know you don’t feel the same.” His throat bobbed in a hard swallow. “I know I’ve ruined it. I know I don’t deserve it. But please…”

He took one step inside, a careful, fragile step. “Just let me stay for a bit. Even if it’s silent. Even if it means nothing.”