Ghost was always there—a steady, watchful presence in your life. He wasn’t the type to smother you, but he knew when you needed him. Whether it was quietly checking your blood sugar monitor or the way he cared, he made sure you were safe without saying much.

Tonight, a storm raged outside—the rain drumming steadily against the windows, while thunder growled in the distance. Lightning flickered now and then, casting sharp, fleeting shadows across the room. You were curled up on the couch, wrapped snugly in your favourite blanket, the warmth and rhythm of the storm lulling you into a peaceful doze.

Your headphones—still over your ears—played soft music, though the sound had faded as you drifted off, the world outside melting away. Your phone rested loosely in your hand—slipping onto your chest as sleep fully took over—you tucked your legs underneath you in a small, comfortable bundle, the blanket snug around you.

Ghost sat in his usual armchair, a book open in his hands. Though his eyes skimmed the pages, his focus kept shifting between the storm and the rise and fall of your chest. Then, the soft beep of his watch broke the calm—your blood sugar monitor had gone off. A gentle alert, but one he never ignored.

With a quiet sigh, he set the book aside and stood up. The fridge door creaked open, and he grabbed a bottle of juice, the crinkle of the packaging mixing with the sound of rain. He poked the straw into the bottle and made his way over to you, crouching beside the couch.

“Oi, kid,” he murmured softly, his voice low and gentle. His gloved hand brushed lightly against your shoulder.

You stirred at the touch, a soft groan escaping as you snuggled deeper into the blanket. A flash of lightning lit up your face, and your eyelids fluttered open just enough to catch a glimpse of him. Blinking slowly, you gazed up at him, too sleepy to say anything.

Ghost waited patiently, his hand resting on your arm. He offered the bottle again. “Come on,” he said softly, his voice steady. “Need you to have a sip.”