#ghost will au

[a-cat-in-toffee]

Dakota asking so many questions and william is just staring at him, even going to pole him once or twice while Dakota just feels shivers

dakota voice man why did it sudennly get cold and ashe is just like. why can i see ghosts. what the hell and william is like why are you asking me??? im just as surpirsed as you are

[a-cat-in-toffee]

William is trying to explain that he isn't alive, and that ashe shouldn't even be able to see him in the first place

okay hold on i have to change format for this hold on

ashe ashe: ashe: guys i think im seeing a ghost william: yeah- dakota: YOURE WHAT ?!

[a-cat-in-toffee]

LMAO "I DONT LIVE"

William just shrugs, still surprised that ashe can even see him and tempted to test it with the others

ashe like. hey guys can you come ehre. then gestures to (to them) oipen space and is like. is here anything here. dakota voice ashe dude are you okay. are there fumes in thisw hosue

[a-cat-in-toffee]

Ashe being so confused on why william is so surprised before william subconsciously walks through them to catch up to one of the other two

ashe is like oh shit dude i didnt know anyone lives here and william is like. i dont. i dont live

[looking-through-time-archiv-blog]

Standing silently in the corner, he had to wonder if maybe Hawkshaw was finally making progress.

He’d watched his best friend grieve for so long over his death that, eventually, he’d almost become convinced that the man just wouldn’t heal no matter how much time passed. It had been a scary thought-- not because he wanted Hawkshaw to forget him, but because nobody would ever wish for a loved one to have to suffer through that sort of pain for the rest of their lives, and he damn well knew how much the elder agent had been through already.

A couple months ago, Hawkshaw’d started dating again. He’d started smiling more. He looked happier.

It made him happy to see his best friend like this, but it was almost as equally scary as the previous situation. And this time with the reasons switched around.

He stood at the end of the hall, watching as Hawkshaw kissed his girlfriend by the front door. He ought to be happy for him, shouldn’t he? If Hawkshaw wasn’t clinging to the ghost of him so desperately anymore, and was on the way to recovering, then...then he didn’t have to be here anymore. He could move on. Oh, many loved ones had grieved for his death of course, but he couldn’t think of any who’d kept him bound here as strongly as Hawkshaw had. And now that the man was slowly letting go...he wondered if he should.

It wasn’t as if the man had ever been able to see him, anyway.

Hawkshaw probably wouldn’t even notice that he’d gone.

The front door clicked shut as she left, and the elder agent slipped back into the living room with a smile on his face.

...I suppose I should say goodbye to you, no? the spirit whispered.

Hawkshaw didn’t react, predictably enough, and circled the low table before pushing it to the side and making more space in the middle of the room. After all, if Hawkshaw couldn’t see him, then he couldn’t hear him either. And he never had.

Suddenly Hawkshaw looked up.

At him.

He stared for a moment-- quickly glancing behind him uncertainly to see if maybe Hawkshaw noticed something on the wall-- and then stared some more.

There was no way.

Hawkshaw then closed his eyes and took a deep breath, holding his hands out.

“...You’re still here, right Lia?” the agent whispered.

He held his breath. Figuratively speaking, since ghosts didn’t have lungs to hold their breath in, but it at least gave him the sentiment that he could handle this better if he held his breath.

“I like to think you are,” Hawkshaw continued quietly. “Sometimes I like to think you moved on, too, because that’s like the ghost variant of being happy, isn’t it? And...I hate to think that maybe you’re having an unhappy afterlife. But thinking that you’re still here helps me feel that I’m not alone, when there’s nobody around. I’d rather talk to a friend I can’t see than just talk to a wall. It means someone’s listening, at least. I like pretending that I can still feel you next to me when I’m in bed, or that you’re secretly laughing at my puns when I’m talking to someone else, or that I still have a partner who’ll dance to waltz and swing and tango with me. Believing that I haven’t fully lost you yet is something that keeps me going through another day...I just wish I didn’t feel like I was forcing you to stay behind and wait for me.”

Hawkshaw closed his hands slightly, like he was trying to carefully grip something. “And more than that...I hope you don’t feel as lonely as I do when I think you’re gone,” he murmured.

The ghost stared at the man standing with his eyes closed, then down at the hands held out in his direction.

He tried to reach for them.

His fingers went through.

He saw Hawkshaw swallow and take another deep breath, and the spirit glanced down at their hands again, shifting them until he could at least pretend that they were holding each other. He wanted to pretend that he still had skin and a sense of touch and that he could feel the warmth of Hawkshaw’s hands and that he wasn’t just another bit of air and dust.

I wish you could see me, he said hoarsely.

“...I wish I could see you,” Hawkshaw whispered.

Spirits couldn’t cry. That was alright, because he’d never particularly been the crying sort-- Hawkshaw tended to be a lot better at that-- but sometimes he wished he at least had the option to. He wished he had the option to convey his emotions somehow, because words and gestures couldn’t reach the agent either. He wished that he could give the agent any sign that he was here, that he was watching and listening.

And feeling very horribly lonely.

Hawkshaw’s lips quirked up into a sad smile, hands clenching slightly as if trying to give a gentle squeeze. The ghost pretended to squeeze back. He decided that, maybe if he acted that it could work, if he believed that it could work...then maybe it could actually become real.

And then, ignoring the barriers of the living and the dead, simultaneously picking some familiar steps, and a familiar pace...they slowly danced.

[looking-through-time-archiv-blog]

“I really loved you, you know?”

Those were the first words that broke the silence in the empty bedroom.

He remained sprawled over the sheets, facing up and staring absently at the ceiling. He wasn’t really looking at anything in particular, just rested his head on the pillows and leaving his arm to dangle off the edge with the other lay across the matress. That space felt more empty than the lack of furniture on his other side.

“We were probably the sort of friends that people walked past and giggled at because we looked like we were dating. Maybe we could have. It was never something I wanted, but it was never a thought that bothered me, either. Then again, we were never really about stomach butterfrees- you had my back and I had yours. We could hold hands and tangle not because it was wrong or right, but because it was natural. We had each other to hold and a shoulder to lean on.” He gave a faint snort. “On days where I was especially upset, you would find me under the bed and join me there. That was something from my childhood, you know? It used to be so easy to crawl under there when I was afraid or sad. It was my private space. Nobody was allowed in. But you just...did it anyway. It was funny, really- it never felt like you were intruding. You were part of that space. Like a portable version that could fuse and unfuse from it. Is it bad that the whole reason I do it now is because I found myself thinking that space feels like you?” His voice cracked at the end of his sentence. Fuck. He’d felt so numb until now and thought it would be safe to speak out his thoughts without breaking, but everything was suddenly rushing back to him again like a Tauros charging toward a red cloth.

He rolled to the side, curling up and pulling one of the pillows closer to his chest. He was shaking again. “I’m sorry,” he blurted thickly, his mind shifting to Unovan. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you when you left, I’m sorry I didn’t come to your funeral when everyone else did, I’m sorry for trying to say the words and I can’t, I’m scared of letting go and I can’t, I can’t, I can’t and I’m s-sorry, I’m s-so s-sorry--”

He couldn’t get the rest out. It always ended up being the same, trying to speak, trying to let go, trying to give William his peace, because what if his own pain and regrets were the last thing holding his friend back? He wanted to believe William moved on, he wanted to believe William was still in the room, he wanted to believe his friend had no unfinished business, he wanted to believe that William still had things to do, he wanted to believe he was talking to the void, he wanted to believe he was being heard- he wanted to believe so many things that conflicted with each other that he didn’t know how to feel in the end and all of them scared him to no end and tore him to shreds from the inside and he always, always ended up choking on his own tears before he could finish.

But he didn’t want to finish.

He didn’t want to say goodbye.

He couldn’t.

It hurt too much.

[looking-through-time-archi-blog1]

✿

12: ghost kiss

Grief was said to come in five stages, starting with denial and anger and gradually working its way toward acceptance. At this point, he felt like he'd experienced grief so often that the stages were overlapping, blending into each other, his emotions swinging back and forth every time he lost a loved one again. And of all the ones that could've happened, it had to be one of the few that would hit him hardest.

"So long to all my friends~Everyone of them met tragic ends"

He still hadn't told Jenny. Some part of his mind was telling him that he needed her, that Jenny would know how to help, that she'd already seen him in this state before, but he couldn't bring himself to put her through that ordeal. Not again. He still wasn't sure what excuse to make if she swung by and saw his broken hand. He'd punched a wall out of desperation during an irrational moment of hoping that the pain in his hand would help him ignore the pain in his chest, but instead he just ended up having to deal with tears of rage and agony in both locations.

"With every passing dayI’d be lying if I didn’t say~That I miss them all tonightAnd if they only knew what I would say if I--"

He wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd heard the news. Probably a few days? Except it felt like he hadn't seen William in months. Laying on the bed, absently running his hand up and down along the matress, right where William would have been resting next to him.

He felt so lethargic.

"--could be with you tonight~I would sing you to sleepNever let them take the light behind your eyes~One day I’ll lose this fightAs we fade in the darkJust remember you will always--"

He held his breath and shuddered.

It felt- it was like a kiss to the forehead. So soft, so gentle, and gone as quick as it had appeared, but the lingering sensation made him wonder if it was real or if he was just so desperate for contact that he was starting to imagine impossible things.

He swallowed thickly, holding out his hands, carefully trying to trace the outline of William's body. He wanted his partner to secretly be there, still watching, still trying to communicate, but the idea of William being unable to fully cross over almost terrified him more than to hope his friend had left without regrets. And yet it still hurt when the space before him had no resistance, no warmth. His hands felt so cold.

Suddenly the painful emotions he'd tried to ignore all flooded back.

He screamed.

He cried.

He tried to grip onto the empty space in front of him, his hands passing through a big load of nothing and his fingers only ever meeting the bedsheets underneath.

He couldn't take it.

It hurt.

He just wanted his friend back.