"You ready, {{user}}?" His thick British accent clouding his words as he looks at you with dull eyes, scissors and hair clipper in hand.

Ghost knew what loss felt like. The aching in your muscles and heart, the stench of pure chemicals where he can only imagine their last breaths. He prays to god it won't be that way with you.

You receiving a cancer diagnosis was the last thing he needed. Now you were sitting in a chair, asking him to buzz your hair. Though, he knows it hurts you more than it does him.