Welcome to the Deepspace Estate
Where lonely ghosts roam, cursed by fate
Howls under moonlight and songs from the deep
A dance with death before you sleep?
Whisper their names, alone in your bed
Wear the thirst of desire on lips stained blood red...
Where would you like to go?
Visit the parlour
Visit the forest
Visit the docks
Visit the library
Visit the dungeon
The Deepspace Estate has witnessed many love stories over the years — Epic tales where love conquers all, and tragic naivete doomed to fail. Now, this once grand house of excellence, wishes to tell the tales of five men who occupied its grounds over the years and their soulmate who keeps coming back to haunt them...
During your exploration you will encounter — mentions of death, blood, vampires, werewolves, sirens, ghosts, reapers, grief, angst, sexual desire, suggestive themes, wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff (timelines doing weird things). All fics will be marked as MDNI with varying degrees of smuttiness (additional tags added to the individual fics)
AN: Ready for 5 days of lads angst? Lol, I'm not, but the fics are! For the five days leading up to Halloween I will be sharing a fic for each of the LI's set in a fantasy au. All can be read separately, but reading all five might answer certain questions that won’t be answered individually. If anyone is interested in being added to the taglist, let me know!
Comment 🤍 for general taglist or 🥀 for series taglist
Summary: Xavier stumbles across Michael in the woods.
Warnings: None
Notes: I wrote this really fast fyi !! But I really like these two bad boy nerds, so I hope you do too (gif credits to @spellman and @kylos)
Word Count: 1K
___
“You tell me what to do… Or you let me die here.”
~
“Well, well, well… What do we have here?” Xavier stepped out from behind a large redwood, sizing up the rugged looking gentleman in the middle of the clearing. “Are we trying to talk to ghosts? You got a ouija board over there? I want in,” he raised his eyebrows playfully while licking his bottom lip, making fun of this mysterious and “edgy” stranger. It wasn’t uncommon for people, especially stupid and unsuspecting teenagers, to come out to these woods to tell ghost stories and try to communicate with the dead, especially, with all the past and recent murders that had occurred on these lands. It was one of Xavier’s favorite pastimes coming out here and answering their calls, only to really turn things up a notch when he pulled out his favorite knife and stopped their tiny, inquisitive hearts from ever beating again.
“W-What?”
“I knew a guy once who was into this shit,” the corner of Xavier’s mouth lifted in a cocky manner, showing his sparkling grin, as he gestured to the pentagram drawn on the ground.
To say Michael was confused was an understatement. Here he was, one second, praying to his Father to guide him and show him the way, and here he was, the next, face-to-face with some 80’s wannabe that reminded him of the bad movies him and his sweet Ms. Mead used to watch together. He honestly didn’t understand what was going on. “Who are you?”
“Who am I?” Xavier asked incredulously, looking a bit offended as his eyes traveled slowly over the mysterious stranger. “I am the Xavier Plympton… Surely, you must have heard of me by now,” he smirked, narrowing his eyes shortly after the man in front of him furrowed his brows in confusion. “But I think the better question is… Who are you?”
“I’m Michael,” he grew slightly agitated at the arrogance coming from Xavier, as he still curiously wondered what was going on. “My name is Michael Langdon.”
“Well, Michael Langdon, you really shouldn’t be hanging around these woods all by yourself,” he licked his lips seductively as he inched his way closer to the deliciously, decadent looking blonde in front of him. “You know… it’s dangerous out here. You don’t know what could come out and get you.”
Michael couldn’t help the laughter that escaped him, which seemed to only irritate Xavier further, as he stopped his movements suddenly and straightened his lips into a tight line. “I’m sure I can handle it,” Michael said casually with the corners of his lips turning up.
“Oh, is that so?” Xavier mocked, starting to move closer to him once again, the sound of leaves crunching lightly under his feet as he got closer.
The blue in Michael’s eyes twinkled playfully as he watched this alluring, yet sort of annoying, person walk slowly towards him, “Well, yes.”
Xavier scoffed while rolling his eyes dramatically, stopping once he was a good three feet in front of his new friend, “I guess I shouldn’t complain… It is always the overconfident ones that end up being the most fun.”
With Xavier closer now, Michael really took in his appearance for the first time. “Why do you have blood on your shirt?” Michael tilt his head out of curiosity, a welcoming chill vibrating through his body.
“I know, can you believe it? Totally ruined my top,” he groaned, taking the purple fabric in his hands and looking at it with an annoyed sigh. “Anyways, to answer your question…” he smiled mischievously. “I just got done killing two hikers over there. Pretty pumped to add another to that list,” he pulled out a knife from his back pocket, his eyes gleaming dangerously.
“You killed two people?” Michael asked suddenly with amusement tinging his voice, making Xavier stop dead in his tracks again.
“Uh, yes,” he scrunched up his face, “You know… usually people run away in fear about that sort of thing. What’s wrong with you? Are you like… a freak or something that gets off on that thing?”
Michael did his best to stifle his laughter again as he looked at him curiously, “No.”
“Dude, you’re fucking weird,” Xavier tightened his grip on his knife, “I like you, though. Which is why this’ll be bittersweet,” he turned his huge grin into an exaggerated frown right before flipping his knife in his hand and lunging at Michael. He crossed over into his pentagram and knocked him down, almost too easily, he thought. There’s no way this guy is that weak, Xavier wondered with a smirk gracing his face as he leaned his full weight onto Michael.
As he lifted his knife to Michael’s throat, it flew out of his hand and stuck in the middle of a tree 20 feet away. Xavier looked on with wide eyes as the handle swayed back and forth gently in the wind, the steel shining under the broken sunlight gleaming through the trees.
“What the fuck just happened?” Xavier asked, mostly to himself.
Michael easily flipped him over and pinned his hands above his head, his bright eyes staring directly down into Xavier’s bewildered ones. “My father has answered my prayers,” Michael whispered, not paying attention to Xavier as he considered what his father has done for him.
“What? I’ve seen some freaky shit, but that- fucking hell, man,” Xavier tried to look back at his knife stuck in the middle of the huge redwood, but couldn’t from the position he found himself in. He couldn’t help the huge grin that adorned his face as he lay there in awe of what this stranger did.
“Yes… fucking hell. Precisely that,” Michael’s lips turned into a small smile as he matched Xavier’s growing enthusiasm. Xavier turned his eyes back to Michael and they shared an intimate look with one another, their features softening immensely as they looked into each other’s eyes. “I think you’re exactly what I’ve been looking for.”
“I- I am…?” Xavier whispered softly, suddenly feeling a sense of his heart beating rapidly in his chest, something he hadn’t felt for a really long time.
The Deepspace Estate has witnessed many love stories over the years — Epic tales where love conquers all, and tragic naivete doomed to fail. Now, this once grand house of excellence, wishes to tell the tales of five men who occupied its grounds over the years and their soulmate who keeps coming back to haunt them...
"It was a foolish idea, to fall in love with a ghost..."
᯽᯽᯽ Read on ao3 ll Halloween extravaganza masterlist
᯽᯽᯽ Ghost!Xavier x Reader ll Word count: 3.9k
᯽᯽᯽ Angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of death but no descriptions of how, soulmates, impossible romance, touch starved Xavier, melancholic depictions of physical intimacy
The familiar sound of a piano echoes through the vast foyer of the old estate. Gentle fingers gliding across the keys knowing exactly the right amount of pressure to create a melody so soothing it could lull you to sleep.
Wooden floorboards creak under your feet reminding you to tread carefully as you make your way through the dilapidated building. Tiny particles of dust glittering in the moonlight defy gravity and linger in the air as if they are dancing along to the music.
Every wall is adorned with detailed moulding and expensive tapestries, all tinted royal blue by the darkness of night. Peeling wallpaper and rotten woodwork makes it hard to believe that this was once a grand estate housing wealthy occupants and hosting lavish balls.
From your angle in the open doorway overlooking the parlour you cannot see the piano or the person playing. All you see is large white cloth covering almost every piece of furniture in the rather empty space. A thick layer of dust has gathered over top of the protective material and you can’t help but wonder why it has been so many years since the last time the estate was inhabited and cared for.
The enchanting music still flows from a hidden corner of the room. You just need to move a little bit closer...
With your next step, a particularly loud creak startles you and reveals your presence. The music abruptly stops. Your breath hitches and the hairs at the back of your neck slowly rise.
Did the room get colder?
“Who’s there?” A calm voice utters from the parlour.
Frozen in fear, you remain stagnant beyond the threshold, terrified of who or what you might have disturbed. You bite your lip, too hard, attempting to conceal your breathing.
“Why are you not answering me?”
You screech and stumble backwards as a man suddenly appears before you. Landing on the hard floor with a thud, you immediately scramble to put more distance between yourself and the pale man.
“Ouch!” You cry out and bring your palm into your field of vision. A sizable gash right below your ring finger and a splinter sticking out of it. No doubt a gift from the old floor after you fell on it with such force.
“A-are you alright?” The man says as he takes a tentative step forward, careful not to scare you further.
“I’m, uh –” You stupidly place your palm back down to the floor as you intend to stand back up “ – fuck!” The splinter presses deeper and the warm sensation of pain spreads throughout your hand.
“Let me…” He says and reaches a hand out for you to take but quickly pulls it back before you even have time to consider the offer. Shamefully, he stares at the hand like it had insulted your entire existence. “Sorry, I… I forget sometimes…”
“What do you mean?” There is an undeniable quiver in your voice, still laden with the shock of this encounter.
On shaky legs, you stand back up and properly study him. There is something off about his appearance. Pale white skin and matching hair. Blue eyes, you think, although it's hard to tell in the dark. He looks young, soft and almost ethereal with his otherworldly beauty.
“Why are you..? Why do you look so..?” The questions get caught in your throat as your mind struggles to compute the apparition in front of you.
His brows raise slightly as he braces himself for your moment of realization. This was always his least favorite part; watching someone study him so closely, only to flee in fear once all the dots connected. Loneliness had become his most reliable companion.
The alarmed look on his face makes you reconsider your wording. He looks scared, maybe even sad. Like he already knows what you’re going to ask.
“You’re beautiful," you whisper, still slightly shaky but steady enough for his expression to relax for a moment.
Flustered by your unexpected comment, his gaze drops to the floor. There was a chance you’d be able to see the subtle shift in color in his translucent complexion. A strange sensation he could not feel but one he remembered from many years ago.
“Thank you,” he breathes out nervously, “so are you.” From experience, he knows his face is probably a glowing lilac at this point.
“Wh-what’s your name?”
“I’m Xavier. Yours?” Instinctively you offer him your right hand to shake as you politely tell him your name. His eyes are fixed on your hand, but he does not move to accept it. He can’t…
“I’m, uh… Sorry, I have to ask –”
“Please don’t.” Xavier quickly cuts you off, looking at you pleadingly before looking away.
“Why not?”
“You’ll leave,” he states like it’s an undisputable fact.
“What if I don’t?”
“Everyone leaves...”
Taking a step forward you force his attention back to you. The close proximity lets you properly feel the cold radiating off him, further adding to your suspicion. You gaze deep into his undoubtedly blue eyes and wait.
“I… I’m a ghost.” When he speaks, confirming your assumptions, his cold breath touches your face before sending shockwaves down your spine. His confession along with the chill has goosebumps erupting all over your body, already sensitive from the initial fear of this encounter.
You tilt your head slightly as if you’re still trying to process the impossibleness of Xavier’s existence. The continuous flow of cool air brushing against your skin in a slightly strained rhythm makes him seem more alive, instantly contradicted by the fact that you can see right through him, adding to his enigmatic existence. You’re curious.
“Can I ask how?”
“You can ask, but I won’t answer. I don’t like to talk about my death.” The tone of his voice turns eerily deep. “Are you going to run now?”
“No, not unless you ask me to,” you answer truthfully, too enchanted to return to a normal life without knowing more about him.
“What if I never ask, will you stay?”
“You’ll get sick of me eventually.” The corners of your lips tug slightly upward as your expression softens. He seems to appreciate this as he soon relaxes in your presence.
“That sounds like a challenge. I have all the time in the world to prove you wrong.”
A strangely comfortable silence lingers in the otherwise bleak atmosphere. Mischievous smiles play on both your lips silently accepting the challenge you unknowingly presented. You don’t know why your instinct instantly tells you to trust him, but you do, without a single doubt that it isn’t the right choice.
“Then, may I come in?” You ask, gesturing to the parlour he had emerged from.
“Sure.” With a breathy laugh, he moves aside to let you enter first.
The parlour is drenched in dark blue hues, just like the foyer. Only illuminated by the moon, full and proud, a constant quiet observer. Everything is hidden under white cloth, everything except the piano in the corner. You imagine what the piano would have looked like when it was new, shiny black with details painted in gold. In reality it was a dull black surface with a few cracks and chipped paint. The intricate gold pattern matted and worn further adding to its age. Yet the music it produced sounded like perfection, or perhaps that effect was courtesy of the fingers producing the tones.
You can’t hear him move across the floor. Every movement is completely silent, whereas your steps creak even worse now that you’re not trying to be so quiet.
“You played beautifully. I’m sorry I interrupted you.”
“That’s all right, it’s very rare that I get to share my music with anyone other than the mice that sometimes drop by.”
“So, you have pets?” You smile and take a seat next to him on the piano stool.
“Hm, I guess you could call them that.”
“How… How can you play?” You question, loosely gesturing to his translucent fingers.
“It took me a while to figure out. I can’t feel the keys under my fingers so I spend a lot of energy and focus to apply the correct amount of pressure. If my pressure is the slightest bit too hard or too soft, my fingers slip through.”
“What is it? That ‘pressure’ I mean.”
“I don’t know. I assume it’s tied to whatever makes me so cold that the leak in the kitchen freezes over when I’m close.” Xavier seems surprised at your willingness to remain so close to him. “Are you not cold?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” you answer way too quickly, undeniable evidence of a poorly delivered lie. He glances down at the exposed skin on your arm, revealing the goosebumps still prominently displayed there. Tugging your sleeve to hide your lie, you quickly repeat yourself. “I’m fine.”
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“You’re not!” You reach out to place your hand on top of his where it rests on his thigh, startled when you make contact with the worn leather seat instead. Captured by the strange sight you move your fingers timidly through his leg before tracing along the side of his torso and up to his melancholy face. The sensation is so cold the tips of your fingers begin to ache before you reach his jaw.
“Don’t,” he whispers, instantly contradicting himself as he nuzzles into your palm.
“Can you feel that?” You question, stupidly hopeful.
“No…” You instantly pull your hand away and place it under your thighs, suffocating it as punishment for teasing him with touch. His eyes instantly find yours, filled to the brim with bleak longing. “Why did you stop?”
“Because it sounded like you were in pain, Xavier.” He mumbles an ‘oh’ as if he hadn’t noticed his own reaction.
“H-how’s your hand?” It takes you a moment to realize that he’s referring to the hand you fell on earlier. You’d forgotten all about it as the warmth of your blood was replaced by his coldness, unintentionally numbing the pain.
Freeing your other hand from the confinement of your thigh, you attempt to assess the damage and gently nudge the splinter. It’s too dark so you turn to straddle the piano stool which grants the moonlight easier access to your little injury.
Xavier inches closer to get a better look, frowning at how you’re forced to use your own hand to tend to your wound. That familiar frustration of being useless torturing him once more. Stubbornly, he still reaches for your hand, placing his underneath the back of yours as if he was holding it steady to inspect your palm. His body is tense, each and every muscle using all their force in hope of producing a touch, hopeful that there is a ‘correct’ amount of pressure for this task like it is for his piano.
Gazing up at him through your lashes you take note of his tortured expression. Brows furrowed, bottom lip bitten in concentration… Despite his efforts, all you feel is a faint numbness and cold air.
His shoulders sag in defeat and his whole body slumps forward, surrendering to his ghostly truth. Watching him like this hurts, far worse than any stupid splinter. You pull it out, whincing slightly at the sting, but eager to be rid of this unwelcomed distraction.
You let out a shaky exhale, heavy with grief. Sorrow attached to the death of a man you barely know, a ghost… No, a man. A man filled with indescribable longing and fear; problems you cannot fix.
Suddenly overcome with longing yourself, you reach out to cradle his face again. This time you choose the hand that still stings from the splinter, desperate to feel something.
Xavier is surprised at first but it doesn’t take long before his eyelids droop. Not closed, he needs to see your hand on him, he’s just relaxed. The foreign feeling of skin to skin contact is barely a distant memory. Even if he could recall the feeling, it would never be enough, cause he didn’t know what your touch would feel like. Were you warm? Was your skin soft or dry? What scent would linger on your wrist, something sweet, floral?
“Do you wear perfume?” He asks as his nose tilts into your wrist. You softly nod in response, too fearful of the state of your voice should you try to speak through the bleakness. “Could you describe the scent, please?”
“It’s… It’s cherries. Quite sweet, but not too sweet. There’s an undertone of vanilla, I think, and some other spices that balances the sweetness.” The description is probably not good enough, not even close to the accuracy Xavier deserves. But your voice shakes far too much as you stumble through your words.
You bite your lip to stop it from quivering but you can’t fight the tears that silently descend down your face.
“I like cherries.” His voice cracks, tormented by the memory of his favorite fruit and the idea of its scent on your pulse.
He reaches forward to trace a finger along the furrow in your brow, wishing he could smooth it out. Traveling down, he brushes his thumb along the lip you’re still biting into.
“Release it,” he orders. You shake your head and bite harder, fighting against the breakdown that simmers just below the surface. “Please, release it. I can’t do it for you…”
Then, you break. Silently sobbing and shaking with the force of trying to hold back as you finally succumb to the ache of it all. You slump forward as if you were to lean into Xavier’s chest to seek comfort and warmth.
All you feel is the cold…
Xavier tries to swallow his own tears, unsuccessfully. All he can do is sit and watch you cry. Although he is free from the physical pain of being human, the emotional side effects still haunt him as a ghost. He should never have allowed you to stay. Not only is your presence simply solidifying how much he misses being alive, but now he has to watch you suffer because he was too lonely to make you leave.
“Maybe you should leave.” It’s not a question, or a suggestion. No, he’s asking you to leave. You had said you wouldn’t leave unless he asked, but you hadn’t thought he would actually do it.
“What? Why?” You stutter through the tears that still cover your face.
He stares blankly into space, attempting to fake a coldness that matches the temperature around him. Not only did he have to make sure that you would go, he also had to ensure that you would not come back. There was something about you, something magnetic that made him want to keep you forever. Something that told him you would come back if he let you. That could not happen, he couldn’t be so selfish and condemn you to a life tending to his loneliness. You were alive, keeping you here would trap you in something in between life and death. Somehow, he knew you’d stay.
He should have tried harder, really. One night was all you managed before returning to the estate and entering the parlour drawn in by that same piano music. Xavier was weak… All you did was say ‘hi’ and smile at him that special way you do and he melted. He could be selfish for one more night, right?
Except, one night turned into three, five, seven nights in a row. You kept coming back and he had lost the strength to fight you on it. Having company, your company, made him feel almost alive. A great gift and also the cruelest curse.
Every single night spent with you, getting to know you, laughing with you served as devastating reminders that he was in fact dead. You were a rose; beautiful and captivating. But roses have thorns. It’s not the rose’s fault, it was him who willingly pressed those thorns deeper and deeper into his spectral self.
“Oh, that was not right.” A particularly unpleasant sound erupts from the piano as your fingers clearly were not on the correct keys.
Xavier laughs, a warm and infectious sound inviting you to join. Teaching you how to play was not the easiest task. Not only had you never played before, but he had a hard time keeping his gaze on your fingers when you were playing. Instead, he found himself lost in studying your face. How it moved when you concentrated, the sudden shift when you messed up. Your smile when he praised you.
There was no doubt in Xavier’s mind… He was truly cursed.
An unruly lock of hair falls forward, hiding your face from him. Instinctively, he reaches out to tuck it behind your ear again. His fingers accomplish no more than what a small gust of wind could have achieved. But you stop playing, swallow hard, and glance at him out of the corner of your eye. It was so close to being something. The gentle breeze against your cheek, how your hair shifted slightly before settling into the same position. He was there, but he wasn’t.
“I’m sorry…” he whispers, but his hand still lingers in the space between you. Increasingly desperate to move that stupid little strand.
“It’s fine,” you reply quickly, shrugging like it didn’t mean anything.
But now, you won’t meet his eyes and your fingers remain frozen on the keys. A slight shiver, like you were afraid to move them. Or perhaps, that was just him making you too cold.
“Please keep playing, you’re really getting the hang of it,” he says, voice filled with as much encouragement as he can muster.
You press a key, then another, then abruptly pause again.
“Did you forget what comes next?”
“No, Xavier. I didn’t,” you exhale deeply, bracing yourself for another night coming to an end. “I know exactly what comes next. We say our goodbyes, I walk out that door and pretend I still have a life outside of this room.”
“Don’t say that –”
“I will say that! I-I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how I’m supposed to handle this.” The look on his face will haunt you forever. You’d say his eyes got drained of life, if not for the fact that he was already dead.
“I don’t know either.”
“Tell me to leave,” you blurt out.
His eyes widened, shock and hurt written on his face in permanent ink. He’d tried that once, and it took everything he had…
“...” No words came out, nothing. Not even one lousy vowel.
“Xavier,” you whisper, teary eyed and broken, pleading for his rejection.
“I… I need you to… Fuck… I want you to leave.” His voice lacks conviction, shaky and weak in its delivery.
“Say it like you mean it, please.”
He stares at you like you’ll disappear if he doesn't. Like you were the spectral presence who’d fade into daylight and not him. His voice remains treacherous, unable to fulfill your request. Instead he lets his hand hover near yours. You turn your hand around so that your palms are ‘touching’, the sight encouraging another set of tears to form.
“Can I kiss you?” He whispers hopelessly.
You turn to face him, confused by his request, but there is no doubt in your mind about what you want. Bravely swallowing the most intrusive tears, you lean forward until you feel his cold breath on your slightly parted lips. Your eyes flutter close, freeing a few tears and almost freezing them in place on your cheeks as you welcome the numb, cold, barely there pressure of him.
Neither of you move. This is the closest you’ll ever get to kissing Xavier, and you don’t want it to end. The cruelest reality is that whilst you feel his coldness, he feels nothing. No physical evidence of your lips near his.
Soon you find your hands working on the buttons of your blouse, undoing each and every one of them with trembling fingers. Xavier doesn’t notice until he is alerted by the sound of it hitting the floor. His breath hitches as he pulls back slightly, stunned to find you shirtless in front of him. The thin material of your lacey bra struggling against the low temperatures causing your hardened nipples to poke through the fabric.
“Wha-what are you doing?” His eyes remain locked on yours, only betraying him a few times as they quickly flicker down and back up again.
“Will you touch me?” You’re pleading, needy, desperate for his hands on you. You crave the closeness he can never provide and you know that asking for his touch is pure torture for both of you. Yet, you ask anyway and Xavier will do his best to fulfill your wishes.
He reaches out, a slight tremble in his hand as he traces your features with the tip of his fingers. Gentle and careful strokes along your arms, shoulders, collarbones. A cold trail burning your skin so beautifully. Evidence of him.
Goosebumps litter your skin, coaxed out by his invisible caress, as you shiver slightly under his attention. His touch abandons you, ashamed of his own coldness. But you instantly shake your head.
“Don’t stop.”
How can something be so good but so horrible at the same time? Reluctance and eagerness mixed together in some strange cocktail he can’t figure out how to swallow. His hand resumes its previous actions, picking up where he left off. The journey from your collarbone to the enticing curve of your breast is short, but Xavier savours each and every centimetre whilst taking extra care tracing the crescent shaped birthmark right above your heart. Like you're a sculpture in a museum he isn’t allowed to touch, but he defiantly does anyway.
“I want to stay with you until morning. Can I do that?” Your voice is weak and frail, a quiet desperation for something you will never truly have.
Once your blouse is back on you take a seat on the floor, leaning against a credenza. Xavier sits next to you, close. You gaze into each other's eyes as you fight your tired eyes, forcing them to stay open just a little bit longer. In the end, you lose that battle and fall asleep.
Xavier spends the next hours studying you, committing every single piece of you to memory and locking it away somewhere safe. He pictures what life with you could have been like. Marriage? Children and grandchildren? Love…
He doesn’t cry often, not anymore. With you next to him he feels safer than he has in a very long time and he allows the tears to fall. Silently trickling down his cheeks.
The hours pass and the dreaded morning looms. Somewhere on the horizon the threatening sun is announcing its appearance. You begin to stir next to him, like your body subconsciously decided to battle the sunlight.
Your eyes flutter open, instantly met by his tender gaze. Xavier smiles at you and you smile back. None of you speak, but there is a mutual understanding that this will be your last encounter. The morning light catches his eyes revealing the tears that still linger, but he keeps smiling. He doesn’t want you to remember the tears…
The sun brightens, fully announcing its arrival by flooding the room.
Then, he’s gone. Drowned by a light brighter than his own…
Where would you like to go next?
Visit the forest
Visit the docks
Visit the library
Visit the dungeon
AN: So, I am admittedly very sensitive when it comes to reading angst and stuff related to the LI's, particularly when it comes to Xavier. The ending was probably the hardest thing I've ever written haha. Also don't question the ghost physics too hard, I have no answers for you. If anyone is interested in being added to the taglist, click here!
