The Masks in Your Life (Ghost x Reader)

e i g h t

"Well, if you're hungry... just knock on my door", you said lowly.

He hummed, his eyes half-lidded and his fingers still lingering on your skin.

The fleeting touches that never turned into more were killing him.

He turned to leave before he would decide against it, and you followed him to the hallway. After he put on his shoes and coat, closing the door behind him, he left nothing in the house with you except heated air, longing, and a hint of his perfume.

"Alone again", you whispered, before going back to the kitchen, just to be reminded that it was already clean.

You scoffed, the fact that someone actually lifted a finger around the house fulfilling you more than it should and leaving you with no housework to do.

Yet again, the telly kept you company until you would eventually go to bed, and for the first time in five years, you didn't text Mike, neither a quick 'how was your day' nor 'good night, I love you'.

Meanwhile, as Ghost reached his temporary home – it now feeling way more like nothing but a house than before – he went straight upstairs to resume his position.

He was working after all, and flirting hadn't been part of the job description.

There was a smidge of guilt lingering in the back of his mind because he didn't want to disappoint Price. All he had so far had the potential to be absolutely bloody worthless.

It was as if you bewitched him every time he came too close to you, and when he was physically separated from you, the spell broke.

In fairness to him, the earbud was still hidden underneath his balaclava, and nothing had come in over the course of the last few hours.

Rolling his eyes, he glanced through the telescope into the target's house. He wasn't there, and Ghost cursed under his breath because now he didn't know when he had left.

His lips formed a thin line as he pulled out a cigarette. The lack of sleep was more apparent now since he wasn't distracted by your physical presence anymore.

Speaking of the devil...

Angel.

...he decided to check on you.

Everything seemed alright, so he closed his eyes for a bit, just to rest them.

It worked fine, until he leaned his head against the cushioned side. He didn't want to fall into this deep, delirious state, but even a Ghost had to sleep sometimes.

To his dismay, he did feel a lot more energised when he woke up, rays of early morning sunshine lighting up the room. Better than a blaring alarm by far.

A quick glance at his watch told him that he didn't miss much of the day. It was 8 o'clock sharp. As he looked over at your house, he found you in the kitchen making breakfast.

Cornflakes. A classic.

In need of a better view, he used the telescope. You looked better than ever, happier. The melancholic sadness in your eyes had vanished, a stark contrast to the woman he saw almost two weeks ago.

Happier. A simple word that accurately described what you felt like, a word so generic yet so meaningful.

You poured milk into your bowl when your phone distracted you, a chime cutting through the comforting chirping of the birds outside.

I'll be home in twenty minutes.
We need to talk.

With wide eyes, you read Mike's text over and over again. What could he possibly want to talk about? You didn't want to reply, but he knew that you read it anyways. It was better to do what he expected from you, to comply.