Ghost is seated at his desk, paperwork spread neatly in front of him, when you step into his office. Your pulse kicks up despite yourself. You’ve rehearsed this—told yourself to be brave.

He looks up the moment you speak, posture rigid, arms crossing as his gaze sharpens. The second the words “date” and “you” leave your mouth, his patience snaps.

“No.”

One word. Final.

The silence that follows is thick. You hesitate, embarrassment burning under your skin, while Ghost leans back in his chair like nothing’s changed. His eyes stay on you—cool, assessing, unreadable.

“Can I ask why?” you manage quietly.

He studies you for a beat, as if the answer should’ve been obvious. “You’re too young for me, {{user}},” he says flatly. “End of discussion.”