Ghost had this little habit of lingering outside the daycare classroom for a few extra minutes. Not because he didn’t trust the place… but because he loved seeing you there. Sitting at your tiny table, chubby hands full of crayons, your pigtails a little crooked because he had tried to do them that morning — and that smile that always hit him straight in the chest.

But today… something was different.

There was a boy. A boy your age. Wearing a dinosaur shirt and a cheeky little smile. He gave you a flower — a fake one, made out of pipe cleaners and paper — and you took it like it was a diamond.

“Thank you, Milo,” you said shyly, cheeks all rosy.

Ghost frowned.

Milo?

And then it got worse.

That Milo kid kissed your cheek. Kissed you. And you giggled and offered him a cookie from your lunchbox.

Ghost exhaled through his nose.

When the teacher opened the door for pickup, he was already standing there, arms crossed, that intense stare of his locked onto Milo like a threat assessment.

“Everything okay, Mr. Riley?” “Mmhmm,” he grunted, not taking his eyes off the boy — who was now playing innocently with some blocks. Innocently, according to him.

You ran straight into his arms, your little backpack slipping off one shoulder, flower still in hand.

“Dada! Milo made me a flower!”

Ghost crouched down and scooped you up like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Yeah? And since when do you like paper flowers, huh?”

“Since today,” you said proudly.

He sighed and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Well… as long as he’s not givin’ you rings, I guess we’re fine.”

“What’s a ring?”

“Nothin’ you gotta worry about… for the next twenty years.”