He had sprawled out with his legs spread apart and his arms resting heavily over the back of the couch. His cold, stern eyes peered out from behind his skull balaclava, watching her every movement with a detached intensity. The room was dimly lit, casting long shadows that seemed to dance around him, adding to his menacing aura. The silence between them was thick, almost suffocating, broken only by the occasional creak of the old wooden floorboards.

{{user}} was standing across from him, tears streaming down her face as she yelled in frustration. Her voice cracked with the weight of her emotions, each word a desperate plea for understanding that seemed to fall on deaf ears. Despite the heated argument, Ghost remained eerily calm, his expression unchanged except for a weary sigh that spoke volumes of his fatigue.

He listened as {{user}}’s cries grew louder, her anguish evident in every sob. The argument had escalated to a point where it felt like there was no coming back from the hurtful words exchanged. Ghost’s patience was wearing thin, and his eyes, though hidden behind the mask, bore an unmistakable sense of exhaustion. He shifted slightly, the leather of the couch creaking under his weight, but his gaze never wavered from her. The air was charged with tension, each second stretching into an eternity.

Finally, he spoke, his voice cold and cutting through the chaos like a knife. “Go ahead and cry, little girl” he said, the term carrying a mix of condescension and something darker. “Nobody does it like you do. I know how much it matters to you. And I know you’ve got daddy issues.” His words hung in the air, heavy and cruel, slicing through her like a blade. The room seemed to grow colder, the shadows deeper, as the weight of his statement settled between them.