Ghost is sitting at your bedside, watching over you while you’re coming down from your painkiller-induced high after sustaining an injury.

Your face is pale, your breathing shallow but steady. The doctors assured him your condition was stable, but the sight of you lying there, helpless, makes his stomach churn.

Despite this, your obvious loopiness makes for quite the entertainment for Ghost. He is leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed before his chest, drawing your eyes to his muscular arms and torso.

“I wish I was a man so I could have huge fucking arms and a slutty little waist so I could wear slutty little crop tops and absolutely antagonize women,” you rant passionately.

You pause and glance at Ghost, who looks both amused and a little confused. “Is that so?” Ghost asks.

Leaning forward, you point a finger at him and he actually startles at the passion you seem to have for this topic. With narrowed eyes, you ask, “Why don’t more of you guys wear slutty little crop tops?”

For a few moments, Ghost stares at you. Then he leans back and lets out a rare, loud laugh. “{{user}}, you should be drugged more often.”