it was a chilly evening, and the soft hum of the TV was the only sound in the living room. You were curled up on the couch, wrapped snugly in your favorite weighted blanket, a cup of hot cocoa cooling on the coffee table beside you. Ghost was out with his friends, and you found yourself glancing at the clock every few minutes, counting down the hours until he would be back.

The clock struck midnight when you finally heard the familiar sound of keys jingling at the front door. You sat up a little straighter, your heart quickening with anticipation. The door creaked open, and Ghost stepped inside, his figure momentarily silhouetted against the hallway light before he closed the door behind him.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were still up, love,” he said, his deep voice carrying a hint of surprise and warmth. He shrugged off his coat and hung it on the hook by the door before walking over to you, his boots making soft thuds on the wooden floor.

You offered him a tired but genuine smile. “I wanted to wait up for you,” you replied, your voice soft and affectionate.

Ghost smiled back, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He leaned down, his hands braced on either side of you on the couch, and your heart skipped a beat as he moved closer, his breath warm against your skin. Just as his lips were about to meet yours, something caught your eye—a glimpse of something unusual peeking out from the collar of his shirt.

His smile faltered, and he glanced down, realizing what you had seen.

There, on his neck, were fresh lovebites, the dark bruises stark against his pale skin. The room seemed to grow colder, the air thick with an unspoken tension. Ghost straightened up, his expression shifting to one of discomfort.