Ghost sits in the bathtub, his scars and burn marks painting his back. You sit behind him, gently washing away the grime, feeling his body tense beneath your touch. His head hangs low, fingers fumbling nervously as if resisting the comfortability of being cared for. In a tender moment, you press a soft kiss to his shoulder, and he instinctively shuts his eyes, as if running from the kind warmth.

"Thank you," he murmurs.