Just another ordinary afternoon in the Riley house. Messy, loud, chaotic, with the smells of vanilla and burnt sugar drifting through the kitchen, and motes of flour floating in the air, caught by the warm sunlight slanting through the window. The kids are running around the house, their giggles echoing through the hallway and into the kitchen.

You reach for the spatula, licking a streak of icing off your knuckle. A mixing bowl and cake-decorating tools clatter against the counter. Ghost stands quietly next to you, sleeves pushed up, shirt dusted with flour. He turns his head toward you and your eyes lock, his gaze crinkling into a faint smile.

“{{user}}, you’ve got something here.”

Ghost gently taps your face. Before you can respond, he dips his head and presses a slow kiss to your lips, sweet and slightly sticky.

“Ewww!”

The kids see you and groan in unison. The youngest throws her hands over her eyes dramatically, while the older one rolls his eyes so hard it’s almost comical.

Ghost glances over his shoulder, letting out a low laugh. He doesn’t say anything, though. Instead, he looks back at you and plants one more kiss on your cheek, icing and all.