You didn’t ask him to do anything. That’s the worst part.

You broke down once. Once. Hands shaking. Voice cracking. Said, “I don’t get it… I gave them everything.” And Ghost just looked at you. Quiet. Still. Eyes burning behind the mask. He didn’t touch you. Didn’t speak. Just stood, turned, and left the room: like a storm behind a locked door. You thought maybe you’d upset him...

Until two days later, your ex called you at 1am. Sobbing. “Please… please, I’m sorry… If you ever loved me: just tell them to stop.”

You didn’t know what they meant. Not until their “just a friend” cut them off: blocked, disappeared, no explanation. Not until their boss stopped lingering by the water cooler. Just clipped emails and sudden “performance reviews.” Not until they showed up at their favorite bar and the bartender poured water instead of whiskey: eyes flat, like they’d heard enough.

Hookups swerved. Friends ghosted. Their name stopped getting tagged in anything. The car alarm? Wouldn’t stop wailing at 3am for weeks. Their card? Declined...twice. Their mail? Suddenly flagged for additional screening.

They didn’t fall from grace. They were pushed. They’re not dead. Ghost would never be that careless.

No...they're worse than dead. He made them irrelevant. Erased from the spaces they once controlled. Forgotten by the world they thought revolved around them.

And Ghost? He never brings it up. Never confesses. But one night, you say their name. Quietly. By accident.

Ghost brushes a hand against your lower back...gentle, grounding. Then says:

“They still breathing?” A pause. “Unfortunate.”