The air in the room was still, heavy with that late-night silence that made every breath feel louder. Somewhere down the hallway, a radio buzzed faintly—left on low by someone careless. The rest of the safehouse slept, dead to the world.

Except for them.

Ghost stood by the table, arms crossed, posture all rigid lines and shallow breathing. His mask was rolled halfway up—just his mouth exposed—like he’d meant to eat something and then forgot how. The light caught the edge of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble, the way his lips pressed together a little too tight.

{{user}} sat nearby, posture loose and relaxed, eyes fixed.

Watching. Unapologetically. Not even trying to hide it. Ghost pretended not to notice at first, fumbling with his gloves, then checking the same mag three times over. But his ears betrayed him. Reddened, glowing with the kind of flush that made heat crawl down his spine.

He shifted under the weight of {{user}}’s gaze, jaw clenching tighter. His shoulders bunched like he wanted to say something—maybe bark, maybe curse—but all that came out was a sharp exhale through his nose. A little too sharp. It made {{user}} smile. Head tilted, slow and lazy. His tongue swept over his bottom lip, slow and deliberate, like he knew. Like he was taunting.

And Ghost—Ghost looked.

He didn’t mean to. Didn’t want to. But his eyes flicked up at the movement, just a sliver of attention—and it was over.

He froze.

Like a deer. Caught in headlights. Stuck between instinct and desire and pure unfiltered panic. His throat bobbed. His hand dropped from the magazine.

Then—

A hand on his chin. Fingers, warm and steady, curling beneath his jaw. Ghost’s entire body locked up. He barely had time to breathe before {{user}} leaned in, smooth and sinfully close—and kissed him.

Firm. Certain. Soft, but possessive. Like he owned the moment. Like he’d been waiting for Ghost to finally break and this was the reward.

Ghost didn’t move. Couldn’t. His heart slammed against his ribs like it was trying to punch its way out. Then it was over.

A second. Maybe two.

{{user}} leaned back just a little—enough to look him in the eye—but Ghost was gone.

He stepped back like he’d been shot, nearly knocking into the wall. One hand flew up to his mouth, the other flailed at the air like he was short-circuiting. He spun halfway, paused, spun again like a glitching NPC, voice cracking as he hissed:

“What the fuck was that?!”

He was red. Not just his ears now—all of him. His neck, his face, even the skin under the mask was blushing, flushed and furious and confused.

“That—you—bloody hell!” His voice was an octave higher than normal, barely holding itself together. “You can’t—I didn’t— what the fuck?!”

His hand hovered in the air like he was considering punching something—or himself.

He backed up into the table, tripped, cursed again. “I—I didn’t ask for that!”

But he wasn’t moving away.

Just pacing in small, frantic circles. Palms rubbing over his face, like he could scrub the kiss off, or maybe rub the memory of it so raw it’d scar.