“Smoking will kill your lungs.” You told him, your breath cold against the side of his face. Charles only sighed, taking another long drag. His eyes were sunken, and he looked more tired than ever.

“I’m aware.” He mumbled, blowing the smoke from his lips.

You died almost three months ago. He found you, your body rotting and collapsing in on itself. He buried you with his own hands. So why are you still haunting him?