The front door shut with a soft click, and Ghost stepped inside, boots heavy from the long day. The house was warm, lights low — quiet, in that way it always was when you were waiting for him.

He’d barely gotten two steps in before he noticed the box.

It was sitting neatly on the entryway table, black wrapping paper tied with a silver ribbon — that unmistakable you-style. No mistaking it. A little card was tucked beneath the bow, scrawled with his name.

To: Simon

He let out a breath through his nose, somewhere between tired and amused. Of course you did.

“{{user}}?” he called as he picked up the box. “What’ve you gone and done this time?”

You didn’t answer right away — just the faint sound of movement from the other room. When he stepped into the kitchen, there you were, barefoot and relaxed, sipping from a mug and leaning casually against the counter.

You looked up with that soft smile, the one you always saved just for him. “Hi, baby.”

He held the box up a little. “This you?”

You shrugged, eyes twinkling. “Who else would it be?”

He set it down and gave you a long, slow look. “You know I didn’t ask for anything.”

“I know.”

“And you just did this last week.”

“Uh-huh.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Then why?”

You walked up to him, putting your arms around his neck. Looking up at him, you said it as simply as breathing “I just want to spoil you, because you deserves it. That’s it.”

His mouth opened slightly — like he had a comeback, something half-formed and rough, but then he closed it again. Because what was there to say?

He looked down at you, and you reached up to brush your fingers gently along his jaw, thumb resting at the corner of his mouth.

“You don’t have to earn it,” you said. “You don’t have to deserve it. You’re mine. And I love you. So sometimes, I’m gonna give you things just because I want to.”

A long silence passed. Then his hand came up to rest on your lower back, pulling you in tighter.

“…You’re trouble,” he muttered.