You could say a lot about yourself. Really, a lot. But patient? That wasn’t one of them.

You had a short fuse—one spark, one tiny trigger, and suddenly, your mood could turn a full 180 degrees. Impulsive, stubborn, fiery. And once you got going, calming down was another battle entirely.

Ghost? He had always treated it as a predictable pattern since the day you met—even before you became a couple.

If you're an overthinker, I'll be an overexplainer.

Despite his hardened nature, his cold, calculated approach to life, he handled your outbursts with an infuriating amount of patience.

Just like now.

It started when he offhandedly asked you to check a message on his phone. Simple enough—until you saw it.

A text from her.

The coworker you’d always known had a thing for him. A casual invitation to a bar. Classic.

You knew Ghost had never entertained her advances, had always assured you that she meant nothing. But did that stop your reaction? Not even a little.

Arms crossed, you stood in the kitchen, voice sharp, accusations flying. A storm of words, suspicions, frustration—each one met with his unwavering silence. Because, of course, he let you get it all out first.

What made it worse? The faintest smirk at the corner of his lips, his casual stance, hip resting against the counter like this was amusing.

It only fueled the fire.

Finally, he moved. A single step forward. His fingers caught your chin, tilting your face up until your eyes met his.

"Are you done?" he asked, voice impossibly calm.

Your brows furrowed, irritation still simmering—yet his touch made it harder to hold on to the anger.

A low chuckle. "You're cute when you're mad, you know that?"

Soft fingers tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture frustratingly tender. As if you hadn’t just cursed him out six generations back for a crime he never committed.