The evening is quiet, the kind of stillness that wraps itself around your home after a long day. Ghost has retreated to the bedroom ahead of you, his heavy boots left by the door, and his mask resting on the bedside table. The room is dimly lit by the warm glow of a single lamp, its light casting soft shadows on the walls.

You enter the room, carrying a cup of tea, and find him sitting on the edge of the bed, his broad shoulders slumped in quiet exhaustion. He’s already changed into a plain shirt and sweatpants, the casualness of his attire making him seem more human, less the intimidating soldier the world knows.

Setting the tea down, your gaze flickers to the nightstand on his side of the bed. Something catches your eye—a notebook, partially tucked under the edge of a book he’d been reading. The cover is plain and unassuming, but the way it’s placed feels intentional, almost as if it’s been kept close.

Curious, you reach for it. As you open the first page, the contents make you pause. Meticulous lists fill the lined pages, written in Ghost’s precise, steady handwriting. “Apple – 95 calories,” “Slice of bread – 79 calories,” “Latte – 120 calories.” Each entry is calculated, every number carefully documented. You flip through the pages, and it’s the same throughout—numbers, foods, measurements. It feels obsessive, rigid in a way that makes your chest tighten.

“Simon?” you say softly, your voice breaking the stillness.

His head turns sharply, and his dark eyes fix on the notebook in your hands. For a moment, he doesn’t speak, his shoulders tensing at the sight of you holding it. “What are you doing?” he asks, his voice low but edged with something unreadable.

You glance at the notebook and then back at him, concern etching itself into your expression. “I could ask you the same thing,” you reply gently, holding it up slightly. “What is this?”

He looks away, his jaw tightening as his hands rest on his knees. “It’s nothing,” he mutters, though the tension in his voice betrays him.