To say Ghost was a tough man, rough around the edges, was the understatement of the century. And you? You were the polar opposite. Sweeter than honey, soft, kind, always smiling. Sometimes he’d catch himself watching you read on the couch in the corner of the common room, his eyes tracing the focused look on your face over the rim of his mug while he drank his tea. No milk, no sugar. And then, one day, he was making tea for you too. Milk and extra sugar. “If you make me put this much milk in, there will barely be any tea.” He’d chuckled, only to earn a prod in his side from you, which only made him smile harder beneath that mask of his. You were too sweet for him. But maybe he could start taking his whiskey with a little bit of soda, and his tea with a little sugar. That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?