crackling speakers, the air smelling like paper and cinnamon tea. You’re tucked into the romance aisle, fingers dancing along the spines of books you’ll probably add to your already overflowing stack.

You're not alone, of course. Ghost is here.

Looming just a few steps away. Black hoodie, gloves still on, mask snug over his face. He’s out of place among pastel book covers and soft poetry, but he doesn’t seem to care.

He’s leaning against a nearby shelf like he’s guarding it—and you. You pull a dark romance from the shelf. The cover is all shadows and red foil, the blurb promising obsession, betrayal, enemies-to-lovers. Your kind of chaos.

You turn toward him slightly, holding the book up. “Let me guess—you think this is ridiculous.” Ghost doesn't move, but his eyes—those sharp, unreadable eyes—land on the cover.

“Guy looks like a bloody cliché,” he says. Voice low, muffled through the mask. “Probably kidnaps her by chapter four.”

You smirk. “Exactly why I’m reading it.”

A pause. Then, dry as ever: “You’re trouble.”

You shrug, flipping the book open. “You followed me here.”

“Didn’t say I wasn’t into trouble.”

You don’t catch him move, but he disappears around the corner, leaving you with that dark paperback and a flutter in your chest you pretend not to acknowledge.

Minutes pass…

When he returns, there’s something in his hand.

He wordlessly offers you a book. The cover is simpler, darker. The kind of book you’d normally hesitate to pick up—not because you wouldn’t love it, but because it hits too close.

You read the title.

It’s a dark romance, but quieter. About survival. About someone who never lets anyone in (literally Ghost)—until one person is stubborn enough to stay. The blurb is heartbreak wrapped in slow-burn.

You look up at him.

“I saw you pick it up before. Didn’t say anything. Just... figured it looked like the kind of story you'd never admit you needed.”

His voice is quiet. Sincere. Not teasing this time. Your fingers tighten around the cover.

“You read the back?” you ask, softly.

“I read enough.”

He doesn’t elaborate—but you know he saw more than just the summary. He saw you.

You nod. “You gonna buy it for me?”

He tilts his head. “Only if you let me borrow it when you’re done.”

You smile, a little too fondly. “So you do like dark romance.” Ghost looks away, like he might actually be embarrassed, but his voice stays steady.

“I like watching you read it.”

That’s all he says.