You were dancing to the song Pony by Ginuwine. The kitchen was empty as you made yourself a late night snack. Your music was quiet enough to not wake anyone up.

“Ride it, my pony. My saddles, waiting. Come jump on it.”

You sang along in a soft whisper. The song was not very appropriate to be singing out loud, let alone in the kitchen. Ghost now stood in the kitchen doorway. Watching. He had his balaclava on. You swayed your hips and pretended to spin a lasso.