You had been working in the mess hall at base and in your own small way, you tried to cheer Ghost up. A special dessert on his tray, sometimes you left a small note beside his plate. One day, you wrote your number on the note. It took almost a week for him to text. But since that day, there wasn’t a single one without his messages. And whenever he was around base, you felt his presence—always watching, always guarding. A silent protector in the shadows.

Tonight, you had asked to meet outside the base, a quiet bench near the forest, bathed in silver moonlight. As you approached, Ghost was already there, leaning forward slightly, his shoulders heavy. The eerie aura around him—dark, shifting shadows like a living smoke—was more intense than usual. You sat beside him. Something was off. "Ghost... what’s wrong?" His head turned slightly, the black mist around him twisting as if responding to his emotions. "I’m a monster," he said, voice low, almost bitter. "Look at me." He exhaled sharply and looked down at his hands. His usual strength was gone, replaced by something raw—vulnerability, uncertainty.

Without hesitation, you reached out. "Give me your hand." His fingers twitched, but he let you pull off his glove, revealing the rough palm beneath. You traced your fingers over the lines, studying them. „A long life line… and this line means you’re shy, but I don’t see any monster lines." His breath hitched. His eyes, dark and unreadable, flicked up to meet yours. He swallowed hard. "You don’t understand," he murmured. "I’m not just some soldier, I’m a wraith hybrid. A creature that,... You’re human. I,…“

Your hand moved instinctively, gently cupping his face. His skin was warm beneath your fingers, a contrast to the cold, shifting mist around him. "There is nothing about you that makes you a monster to me," you whispered, your thumb brushing over his cheek. His fingers tightened around your hand. His throat worked as he struggled with words. Then, barely above a whisper, he admitted, "You make me feel human."