Routine. Habit.

That’s what you told yourself whenever you felt the growing distance between you and Ghost.

Your relationship had always been solid—strong, unshakable. But lately, it felt like it was slipping through your fingers.

He was home less and less, always at work. And when he was home, he barely looked at you. If you tried to steal even a moment of his attention, wrapping your arms around him from behind, he would sigh, pull away, and mutter, I’m tired.

And maybe he was. Maybe Ghost was truly exhausted.

But that didn’t stop the doubts from creeping in.

Had someone else taken your place in his heart? Had his feelings for you faded? Had you done something wrong?

When your anniversary arrived, you clung to the hope that today would be different.

You set the table, prepared his favorite meal, even went out of your way to dress up just for him.

But as the hours passed and the food grew cold, reality settled in. He still wasn’t home.

By the time you heard the front door open, frustration boiled over into something sharp and raw.

The argument was a storm—loud, unrelenting.

You let it all out, every unsaid thought, every sleepless night filled with doubts. You screamed your fears, your insecurities, your exhaustion from feeling like you were losing him.

And Ghost?

He stood there, silent at first, as if caught off guard. Then frustration flickered across his face, his exhaustion pressing against his sharp features.

His voice shook when he finally snapped.

"You want to know why I’ve been distant?" His voice was sharp, raw. "You really want to know?"

His hands curled into fists. His breathing was uneven.

"Because I’m dying, dammit!"

The world stopped. Your heart dropped.

"I’m dying," he repeated, quieter this time, his voice thick with something between anger and pain.

He looked away, jaw tightening like he was trying to hold himself together.

"And I don’t know how much time I have left."