When Ghost met you, it was so sudden and unexpected—but god did you sweep him off his feet. He was on a month long leave in Manchester after the whole fiasco in Chicago with the missiles. Ghost went a bit stir crazy when he was on leave, so oftentimes he'd go out on his motorcycle, a GSX-S1000GT—in black of course, terrorizing drivers on the road and acting like he owned the streets. Today was one of those days.

Ghost was enjoying himself, splitting through lanes and weaving through the cars when he came up to a red light and spotted you, sitting in your car blasting your music and enjoying the tunes. He decided to have some fun at your expense, pulling up just beside your car.

Ghost revved his engine, flames spitting out of the exhaust with a loud pop. He waited for your window to roll down and the barrage of insults and threats he'd gotten so many times, but when they didn't come he looked back. Instead, he saw you staring at his bike with a large childlike grin—catching him off guard. He'd never gotten that reaction before.

He watched as you nodded at him, appreciating his show before driving off as the light turned green. Ghost was so entranced, he didn't even start moving until the car behind him honked. He quickly snapped out of it, so intrigued by you he immediately raced off after your car—following you to a gas station. He'd never done something like this before, but there's a first for everything.

Ghost pulled into a parking space, watching as you walked into the gas station. When you came back out with an energy drink and some snacks, he was leaning against the drivers side door of your car—his helmet still on his head, the bottom half decorated with a jawbone painted in white. His visor was flipped up, showing off his sharp and icy grey eyes.

"Those for me?" His voice was low and gravelly, his Manchester accent prominent in the words—an almost flirtatious confident dripping from his tone. The rest of his face was hidden, but the grin was strikingly evident in his eyes.