#ghost!viktor

[doctorho]

Sweet Hauntings (pt. 2)

ghost! viktor x reader 1k words, no warnings. well, except for ghosts i guess. and a brief mention of dying. on account of the being a ghost thing. part one

you offer him tea.

what else were you supposed to do?

the water's still hot from your earlier batch, and, to be honest, you'd never met a ghost before. it seemed polite.

the storm keeps on drumming the roof and the lights stay off. at least your eyes had adjusted to the darkness. and there should be some candles in the mainenance closet.

you walk to the kitchen, and the ghost - viktor, he'd introduced himself - follows you. his feet don't really make a sound on the floor, which is strange only as you start to notice it. it sounds more like pressing down a pillow on the floorboards than anyone walking. it's like he's feather-light, more swimming through the air than anything.

"i think you've got a blown fuse." he says, casually, as he trails behind you. "from the lightning."

"probably," you agree, "yeah. however, i'm not thrilled about the idea of poking around in a fusebox after a lightning."

"it should be grounded."

you turn to look at him. "just checking," you ask, "what's your current theory for why i can see you right now?"

he blinks. "well," he says, licks his lips, "i...suppose i died, or a part of me did, when a high-powered experiment short-circuited and, well, in lack of a better word, blew up on my face. since i am still here, my running theory is that my energy was somehow imprinted on the stone structure of the building, like music on vinyl. and the lightning strike must have..." he waves a hand in the air, "superimposed my energy levels, so to speak, to visible light. visible to you, i mean."

"hmm." you nod, processing this. "no offence, but i'd like for my current energy levels to stay where they are. so i won't be poking around the fusebox. that's gonna be someone else's problem tomorrow."

you pull a mug for him out of the cupboard, "wait," you continue, turning to look at him, "what do you mean visible to me?"

he tilts his head a little. "you are a scientist, no?"

you tilt your head back at him. broadly speaking, yeah. working in a museum didn't really constitute as breaking research. "yeah?"

"so you know that humans can only see a tiny part of the spectrum of light." he answers, like that explains it. "cats, for example, can see a wider range."

ah.

well, that does explain it.

"cats have been able to see you for the last fifteen years?" you ask, then motion towards the cup you were holding, now steaming. "wait. experiment. can you hold this?"

he blinks. looks at you. looks at the cup. back at you.

"yes," he says, then, "as much as i can gather. and i'm not sure. put it down so it won't shatter if i...can't."

you nod slowly and place the mug down on the counter. take a small step back and watch as he takes a careful one closer.

"you can interact with your environment, right?"

"yes." he answers, "to an extent."

"can you eat?" you ask, leaning your hip to the counter, "i mean, if i give you tea and you are able to drink it, is it just gonna fall through to the floor? or does it turn into ghost energy?"

"not sure." he answers, standing next to the counter, eyes keen on the mug. "i would hope ghost energy," he says, then looks down at himself. "i'm solid to me. it would be disturbing if something was to just...fall through."

you hum in answer.

he exhales a small sigh and looks at the mug again. "one way to find out."

he reaches out a hand and wraps his fingers around it.

they go through it.

his shoulders drop a little bit. just a little bit, but enough for you to notice.

"interesting." he exhales, "i can feel the warmth." he says, "that's...new. i've only been able to sort of feel the...hum in electrical appliances. before."

"but you can't hold it?"

"I don't think so."

you feel a little bit disappointed. you didn't think you were going to feel disappointed about it, but you do.

"well," you tell him, "i'm going to bring it for you anyway. you can warm your fingers."

so you drink your tea. viktor mostly studies his, inspecting the porcelain mug, and his fingers as they go through it. occasionally he wraps his fingers around it, hovering in the air by the cup with careful balance, and his shoulders seem to relax a little.

it's a weird situation. you've never met a ghost before, nevertheless spoken with one. you're still not fully convinced that this is actually happening.

"foxes?" you ask, "can foxes see you?"

he looks at you for a moment. "i don't meet many foxes," he answers, "but...I would guess so, yes." he takes a breath, "i don't think they like ghosts."

"what do you mean?"

he smiles faintly. "i look like a human, to them, but i don't smell like one. or sound like one. i think it bothers them. it's easy for me to sneak up on things."

"hm." you sip your tea, think it through. "what about little kids?"

"what about little kids?" he repeats.

"can they see you? you know, like in all the stories."

he hmms in answer. "sometimes, yes."

"...and now me."

"and now you."

[doctorho]

Sweet Hauntings

Note: soo this is the ghost!viktor fic i was writing around halloween, because who doesn't love a little spooky story? anyway, i just wanted to post this in a bit more readable form instead of just a reblog chain. so here ya go :) words: 1k, no warnings

so, you work at an old science museum. that might, allegedly, be haunted. a little bit. but it's fine! it's fine. the most the ghost's ever done is like, turn on the radio sometimes. maybe watch something on the auto-play screens when there were no visitors around.

when you'd started working there, the people showing you around had joked about it, because, like, sometimes the screens turned on by themselves. They didn't really believe there was a ghost, you don't think, it's just that there was that story about the old lab that used to be there sort of exploding in some unfortunate experiment and, you know, old building. it was part of the local folklore. it added to the character. besides, it was october, and who doesn't love a little harmless ghost story?

you weren't sure if you believed in it. logically, you didn't, probably, because it was a little bit silly and smelled like a tourist trick, but then again, there was a lot of unexplained weirdness in the world, and...the radio did sometimes change channels by itself.

so you sort of settle into the idea that maybe there was a ghost. that just happened to like classical music and watching the video clips added to the museum's exhibit library. so, you... leave the screens on for the ghost even when there are no visitors. leave the lights on for a little bit longer. say goodnight to the empty room when you leave.

it makes the long quiet nights seem less lonely. sure, you're used to your alone time on the opening and closing shifts, listening to your music while you make the rounds, you like it, but, still. the invisible maybe-there company is nice.

eventually, you start talking to the ghost, too. you don't really think about it at first; you're doing the opening rounds, turning on the lights with one earbud in, and one of the videos starts playing in the quiet space, and you jump. you honest-to-god jump, with a hand on your chest, because it's startling to hear a sudden noise in a dark room you thought you were alone in, okay?

"jesus, you scared me." you sigh, closing your eyes for a moment and taking a steadying breath.

and then the video staggers. or maybe you'd imagined that.

nevertheless, after that, you sort of start talking to the ghost more often. saying good morning, commenting on exhibits, the music on the radio. you're not expecting an answer, of course. it's more to pass the time than anything.

but then one day, it's absolutely storming outside, and nobody visits the museum all day. it's raining so hard you can hear the drum of it on the roof all the way from the foyer, it's nearly drowning out the sound of the radio. periodically lighting strikes somewhere not-that-far away, and you're happy to be sitting inside a building that was made from stone and quite literally half underground.

you've spent most of your day sitting at the front desk drinking tea and reading, happily getting paid the exact same you would be had the place been crowded.

and then lighting strikes close, close enough that the flash and the boom happen at once, and then, almost immediately after, the lights flicker out.

"great." you sigh, your eyes slowly adjusting to the new darkness. you set down your book on the counter and hop down from your chair, heading to the supply closet to look for a flashlight. or candles. or... anything, really.

"i know," a voice says, and you freeze. a voice?

"i was just getting to the part about the history of alchemy."

a voice. with an interesting accent. a voice??

"hello?" you call out, equal parts confused and...something else. your pulse still elevated after the shock of the lightning strike, your senses on high alert.

"there's nobody in here." the voice says, sounding a little bit closer, and almost tired of the statement.

there's a roll to the r's.

"then who the fuck am i speaking with?" you ask, raising your voice a little. you remembered hearing that you should never confront an intruder, but you were agitated, in the dark, and this close to picking up the seasonal candelabra in the closet and using it as a bat if it came to it.

"i don't know. under most circumstances," the voice says, calm and somehow sounding close and a little bit distant at the same time, "i would count as nobody."

and then there is a man standing in the doorway. a tall, pale, lanky man with a dusty striped suit and messy hair, and looking at you like he didn't really expect you to meet his eyes.

he looks tired.

you stare at him, and that seems to change the expression on his face.

"wait," he says, "can you hear me?"

"yes?" you answer, like it's a stupid enough question that it can only be answered in question form.

he lifts his hand in front of his face and waves it. "fascinating." he says, then meets your eyes again. there's something deep in the way he looks at you. "and you couldn't before?"

"no?“ you answer, "what do you mean before? how long have you been here?" you try to rack your brain for how this man got here. did he sneak past the front desk? why'd he stand there like he practically lived there? what kind of a freak sneaks around museums in thunder storms?

"that depends," he answers, leaning over the front desk and studying something on it. he then hums and straightens back up. "it looks like," he continues, "approximately fifteen years."

you stare at him. blink. twice.

"what?"

he crosses his arms over his chest and just looks at you.

"wait-" you look him over, "not to sound insane in case you're just a weird guy that broke in, but are you my ghost?"

"i can be both." he raises his eyebrows, does something that's almost a smile, but not quite. "your ghost?" he asks, "i'll have you know i was here before you."