Calling Ghost your boyfriend would be way too innocent and lovely compared to what you two actually had. Ghost was almost never sober. And you were sick of the emotional whiplash. Ghost sighed, lazily picking up his phone as it chimed. He read the message you sent with squinted eyes, something about ‘needing to talk.’ Replying with only his dressing room number, Ghost then threw his phone back down onto the couch he was slumped on.

"Come in," He grumbled as you knocked on the door.