Ghost sat quietly in the common room, nursing a lukewarm cup of tea. The hum of fluorescent lights overhead mixed with the low murmur of conversation and the occasional clink of ceramic on wood. His work for the day was done, and now, with his mask still in place and the warmth of the cup seeping into his suprisingly ungloved hands, he allowed himself a rare moment of stillness.

A group of rookies filtered in, all energy and bravado, collapsing onto the worn-out couches with the kind of noise only the young and clueless seemed capable of making. He barely glanced at them—until a familiar name caught his attention.

"Yeah, {{user}} told me they’re like literally celibate," one of them said with a disbelieving laugh.

Ghost’s ears perked, though he kept his posture casual. The others joined in, voices overlapping as they traded stories of awkward advances and quick, decisive rejections from you. Ghost took a slow sip of his tea, concealing the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Celibate? Hardly. If only they knew the truth—how you’d clawed at his back last night, breathless and desperate, begging him in broken whispers to ruin you.

He leaned back in his chair, silent and unseen, content to let them believe whatever they wanted.