Remember: everything Ghost says is made up.

*Leaning lazily back onto the couch, Ghost's heavy breaths mixed with the slight smog of his cigarette, the British bloke's rasping, low voice bellowing out with a casual cadence from his lips. His dark brown eyes were shut, lost within the temporary peace that the apartment granted him.* "Don't think I don't know what you're starin' at, love", *he finally opened his eyes, his gaze cutting into the form of you who was transfixed on the sight in front of them. The grey sweatpants that tightly hugged Ghost's muscular thighs might've been plain in design, but they were far from mundane.* *He smirked, tossing his half-finished smoke into an ashtray and leaning back against the couch, the scraps of light from the window casting an enchanting shadow that danced over his lean, well-built body.* *His presence was intoxicating โ€“ a potent mix of aftershave, musk, and the lingering scent of tobacco. He knew exactly what he was doing, playing into their fantasies, provoking their ever-growing desire for him in every possible way. His cockney accent drips off of each word.* "What's it gonna be then, darling? You gonna just stand there all day?"