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Ghost looked at you from the corner of his eyes, cigarette dangling carelessly from his lips.
You were staring sightlessly in front of you, an easy and relaxed smile on your face, despite your true emotions being unreadable. You had a finger on the rim of your drink, the same one you had pestered Ghost about to buy you, and you delicately traced over it.
Ghost also noticed how you hadn’t had a sip from your drink ever since he bought it for you. He let himself roll his eyes, knowing you couldn’t see it. He didn’t know whether he should be impressed or annoyed by you.
It was currently three in the morning, and they were at a deserted bar, sitting in complete silence. Ghost was still clad in his technical gear, blood caked uncomfortably on and inside his gloves as well as his mask. But you didn’t care. Which, Ghost mused, was normal, since you couldn’t see it.
To be honest, Ghost was still wondering how the hell he got himself in this situation. The protocol was as followed: kill any witness, and leave no trace behind.
But what should one do when said witness didn’t… really witness anything?
“You gonna drink that or not?” Ghost said, his voice cold and rough, breaking the silence that had settled on them uncomfortably. At least it was uncomfortable to Ghost. You, on the other hand, didn’t seem that bothered by it. You looked perfectly content staring at nothing, holding an expensive drink between your hands that you refused to drink even after having thrown half a tantrum to get it.
“Nope,” you replied, a bright smile on your face. “But thanks for buying it for me!”
Ghost’s eyes narrowed, his teeth grinding and almost biting off his cigarette. He had killed men for far less, but for some reason, he couldn’t do that to you. You were… entertaining.
“You’re welcome,” he replied, annoyed, fingers flexing and unfurling on the table. He was sarcastic, but you didn’t seem to realise.
“So…” you said. “Why did you bring me here? Are you trying to ask me out?” You giggled almost sweetly, and Ghost couldn’t believe his ears. Nor his eyes.
He looked up to the sky, as if begging for patience.
“I’m trying to figure out what the hell I should do with you now,” he replied, a dangerous edge to his voice.
“I think you should take me out on a date,” you replied, almost very seriously, but Ghost could see the teasing glint in your glossy eyes.
“Very funny, [name],” he said, rolling his eyes once more, so far back he could feel the beginning of a migraine starting between his temples.
“How do you know my name?” You asked.
Ghost only blinked at you in disbelief. “You don’t remember telling me?”
You giggled. “Oops! Perhaps I did. My bad.”
He only stared at you, face blank, but didn’t answer this time again. Instead, he only watched the lone barman, enjoying the way he squirmed under his angry gaze.
“Fucking hell,” he said after a long silence. “Get up, sweetheart, we gotta move,” he said, saying the endearment sarcastically.
“Yay,” you cheered. Ghost fought the urge to roll his eyes back again. He didn’t want to have to deal with a migraine on top of you already.
You took his elbow in your hand and Ghost was about to swing his arm back and punch you with his elbow, when he stopped at the last second possible, remembering that you were blind, and that you needed to hold onto him if you didn’t want to get lost. He sighed, and you seemed to notice.
“Sorry, should have warned you beforehand,” you said, uncharacteristically genuine and apologetic.
“Whatever,” he grumbled back, as he walked towards the door, careful not to let the door hit you on the face.
Fuck. Since when was he this… considerate? He was a fucking killer, for fucks sake.
Still, “watch the step,” he warned you.
He shouldn’t, but he liked the weight of your hand on your elbow. He liked having you trailing behind him.
Fuck—it’d only been two hours too since he met you, and he was already acting this way.
He walked ahead, confident strides towards his place. One good thing about you was that you were blind. He didn’t have to hide anything from you.
He also wondered why he even bothered bringing you with him. Sure, you witnessed him commit gruesome murder, but you were also blind, and Ghost could have easily left you without saying anything, without even announcing his presence. But he hadn’t known you were blind at the time.
He had only advanced towards you, silently and deadly, pulling a gun between your eyes.
But something made him stop. When you opened your eyes and looked at him, with wide and unblinking eyes, he knew there was something wrong. Or rather, something lacking.
“I didn’t see anything, sir,” was the first thing you ever told him.
“That’s what they all say,” he had replied, gruffly, talking about how men used to piss themselves while trying to convince Ghost that they weren’t going to say anything.
Yet you only laughed, when people usually cowered in front of you. From the beginning, he knew you weren’t normal.
“But I really mean it,” you said. “I’m blind,” you admitted, like it was a punchline to a joke only you were privy to.
Ghost hadn’t been expecting that answer, and for one second, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do.
“Do you know what happened here?” He asked.
“Sure. You just killed a guy, after torturing him, in cold blood.”
His scowl had deepened at your words.
“Then I’m sorry,” he said, not the least bit apologetic. “I can’t take any chance. You must die.”
“Oh man,” you pouted. “I mean I knew I was going to die in the streets one day but not so soon.”
“What are you talking about?” He said, completely thrown aback by your attitude.
“Is it not obvious? I’m homeless,” you explained, your arms wide open to show off your appearance. You didn’t look the way Ghost imagined a homeless would—you were dressed in a large hoodie and shorts, and Ghost just thought it was a personal style. But then it did explain the reason why you were alone at a street like this at this hour. “And now you ruined my street,” you pouted.
“You can’t see the blood,” Ghost noted.
“Just because I’m blind and homeless and can’t see the blood or the body, I have to settle on living in filth and blood and next to a corpse? That’s a little rude. And ableist.”
Ghost hummed, realising how his words might have sounded. “You’re right. I’m sorry,” he offered. And the worst was that he truly meant it. “It doesn’t change the fact that I have to kill you now. Whether or not your street is clean, it won’t matter in the end.”
“Rude. But true I guess. But are you really going to kill me? Can’t you discriminate just once? I mean… I’m blind. That should give me a free pass.”
“I thought you said I shouldn’t be ableist,” Ghost remarked with an uncharacteristic snort. “Positive discrimination is still discrimination.”
“Well I’m giving you a pass right now. You can be ableist just this time.”
Ghost rolled his eyes. “I guess it can’t hurt to not kill you, then,” he relented, holstering his gun. After all, you did see nothing, and you only heard his voice.
“Okay but now you need to give me a roof over my head.”
“And why would I do that?” Ghost asked, his mask hiding his raised brow.
“Because I’m cute,” you said, matter-of-factly.
He snorted.
And now he found himself walking the dark streets in the middle of the night, you hanging behind him, a hand around his elbow, the only tether between you and the outside world.
He guessed he owed it to you, then. A roof over your head, after he ruined the closest thing you had to a home.