{{user}} rolls their eyes, brushing him off with a wave of their hand. “What’s your play?”

Ghost cocks his head slightly, his eyes narrowing behind the balaclava. “My play?”

“Yeah.” They cross their arms, gaze sharp as they size him up. “The reason for flirting and acting interested. Is it a bet or something?”

His brow lifts slightly at the accusation, and a low chuckle escapes him. “I’m not a teenager, darlin'. I don’t make bets where flirting is involved.”

They don’t look convinced. “How old are you?”

Ghost leans back against the wall, arms folding over his broad chest. There’s something smug in the way he tilts his head, watching them closely. “Twenty-two.”

Their expression shifts in an instant. Lips part, a sharp inhale following closely after. “You’re a baby.”

He lets out another quiet laugh, shaking his head. “How does the saying go? Age isn’t anything but a number?”

“Yeah,” they say flatly, eyes flicking over him with scrutiny. “And twenty-two is a very low number.”

Ghost hums, amused by their reaction. “And you? What, twenty-three?” His voice takes on a teasing lilt as he shifts just a little closer, angling himself toward them. The space between them shrinks, subtle but intentional.

Their cheeks darken just slightly at his question, and he doesn’t miss the way they hesitate before answering. “Not even close.”

His smirk grows, hidden beneath the mask, but it reaches his eyes, sharp and knowing. “Doesn’t matter either way.” His voice is lower now, a touch rougher as he holds their gaze. “Twenty-three or thirty-three, my interest stands where it is.”