The night air was cool, but you were warm, too warm, slumped over Ghost’s broad shoulders as he trudged forward, clearly regretting his choice to help you.

You’d lost count of the drinks hours ago, and now you were too unsteady to walk straight. Ghost had sighed, rolled his eyes, and finally told you to get on his back so you wouldn’t end up face-first on the pavement.

Now, as he bore your weight, his patience was running thin.

Every few minutes, you mumbled something into his ear—soft, drunken musings about the stars, the night sky, or whatever random thought drifted through your head. Each one earned an exasperated sigh from him, a muttered complaint under his breath.

“You’re being annoying as hell,” he muttered, shifting your weight as you leaned a little too far to one side, laughing at something only you could find funny.

“Am I really that heavy?” you slurred, poking his shoulder playfully.

“Stop squirming, you idiot,” he grumbled. “Hold on, or you’ll end up in a ditch somewhere.”

For all his complaints, his hands were steady as they held your legs, and despite the rough tone, he never loosened his grip on you. He tried to keep a straight face, tried to ignore the way you kept leaning closer, the way you’d gasp or giggle at the smallest thing.

He’d never say it, but it was hard for him to be as annoyed as he sounded.

As you passed by a sprawling field, flowers stretched out like a sea under the starlit sky, their colors softened in the dark but still visible, swaying gently. Your eyes widened, a spark of childish wonder breaking through the fog of your intoxication.

“Ghost! Look! Look!” you said, pointing enthusiastically.

He glanced at the flowers, rolling his eyes but unable to resist a small smirk. “Bloody hell, woman,” he muttered, his grip tightening as you bounced with excitement. “Why are you so damn enthusiastic about everything?”

This whole night, carrying you and listening to your silly, drunken ramblings, he wouldn’t admit it, but he didn’t mind it as much as he pretended.