Ghost had promised he would be back for Christmas. He had said it like it was a fact, not a hope. Like something written in stone. He had kissed your forehead in the doorway, fingers lingering a second longer than usual, the weight of unspoken plans heavy in his pocket and heavier in his chest. He was coming home. He was going to ask. He had already decided.

Instead, a call comes.

Christmas Eve. Late afternoon, the sky already dimming, lights glowing in windows that are not yours. A voice on the phone that stays professional but gentle, telling you there has been an incident, that he is alive, that you should come if you can. Hospitals smell the same everywhere. Clean and sharp and wrong for a holiday meant to be warm. You find his room with your heart in your throat, bracing for something worse than you have imagined all the way there. Ghost is sitting up when you walk in. Bandaged, bruised, color drained from his face but unmistakably there. Alive. Breathing. His eyes lift the second he hears you, and the relief that floods his expression is so raw it nearly breaks you. “You came,” he says quietly, like he had not dared expect it.

You cross the room in a few steps and grip his hand before you can stop yourself. He squeezes back immediately, careful but firm, grounding you both. “I’m sorry,” he says. The words come rough, like they have been waiting too long. “I know I said I’d be home. I know.” You open your mouth to say something, anything, but he keeps going, afraid you might stop him.

“I had plans,” he admits, eyes flicking away for a moment before forcing himself to meet yours again. “Was going to do it proper. Christmas. Thought it’d be the one day I could give you somethin’ normal.” His thumb rubs slow circles into your knuckles. “I don’t know if this is how you imagined it,” he continues, voice low and unsteady, “me stuck in a hospital bed, lookin’ like hell. But I still mean it. I still want you. I still want to marry you, if you’ll have me.”

There is no ring. Just him. Wounded but here. Choosing you, wondering if you'd do the same.