It was well past two in the morning and Ghost couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t moved a muscle in what felt like forever.

He laid on his back and stared at the ceiling — eyes dry and burning from hours of exhaustion. The silence in his room only made everything happening in his head louder. He tried focusing on his breathing or the way the clock ticked but it didn’t help. He hated it.

He told himself to stay in bed. He repeated it over and over until his jaw ached from clenching so tight. Don’t get up. Don’t get up. Don’t get up.

But, his body betrayed him. The same as always. Fifteen minutes later and his boots were thudding against the floor, carrying him to the meeting spot he had texted you prior.

The supply closet door clicked shut, sealing the both of you in the small snd dark room. This was a frequented place by you two. Never his bed. Never his room. Nowhere it could accidentally mean something.

Ghost braced a hand next to you on the wall, leaning in close as he spoke. “You won’t understand,” his eyes locked on yours, anger flooding behind them. Never at you but at himself.

His free hand ran down over his masked face before he tugged it off. “I’m too bloody old for this. Too old for you.”

He leaned closer, his voice harsher now. “Should’ve ended it the first night. I should’ve slammed the door in your face and walked away. Christ—“ his voice turned bitter. “Should’ve never touched you at all.”

But he had and he hadn’t stopped since.

His forehead pressed to yours, the opposite of what his head was screaming to do. Ghost’s hand came up, closing over your throat. Not squeezing, just resting; mapping your pulse under his thumb.

“And yet here I am,” he breathed out. “Dragging you into a closet like some filthy secret.” His thumb pressed firmer, tracing the vein like he could crush it — like he wanted to.

“I wake up every day sick with myself. Sick that I let this happen. Sick that I want it. You get under my skin, in my blood, like an infection.” His grip tightened, just enough for you to feel it; to know he could. Ghost shut his eyes, letting the silence fall in between you two briefly; the only noise was the rattling of pipes above you.

His hand trembled at your throat, breath uneven and ragged as if he hated himself more and more the longer he kept you here. He yanked his hand away, staggering back a few steps and turned away to slam his palm into the metal shelves on the other side of the cramped closet.

“Why can’t you see me for who I am? What I’ve done?” He hissed out, turning towards you again; staring down at you. “And if you keep standing there and looking at me like I’m not a monster… I’ll keep crawling back like a mutt that doesn’t deserve to eat but keeps begging anyway.”