A Halloween wedding.

Of bloody course it is.

It’s poetic, really: dark, dramatic, strange in that way only you could pull off. The kind of thing he’d expect from you. You always had a knack for making the macabre feel beautiful. A lace-trimmed haunting, soft and tragic and warm.

Ghost stares at the invitation longer than he should. Black card-stock, silver ink, his name written in your handwriting. Tight lettering. Intentional. Like you couldn’t bear to rush it. The wax seal cracks when he opens it: small sound, sharp. Feels a bit like his chest.

It’s the details that ruin him. Always is.

The little things.

You’d once told him your dream was to have a Halloween wedding. Said you loved the idea of marrying under candlelight, with violins playing something eerie and romantic. Said you’d wear black. Said your bouquet would look half-dead.

He’d just nodded, said “Figures.” You’d laughed, like you always did when Ghost didn’t say much: when he let the silence speak for him. You were good at that. Hearing what he didn’t say.

That’s the thing about you.

You got him.

Didn’t push when he didn’t want to talk. Didn’t flinch at the mask. Didn’t ask to see beneath it. You just… stayed. Quiet, steady, patient.

He told himself that’s why he kept you close: because you made the noise in his head go still. But that’s a lie. He kept you close because he loved you. And he stayed away because he loved you, too.

Ghost never pictured himself married. Never saw the point. Vows, rings, white dresses: it all felt like a fairytale written for other people. People who hadn’t seen what he’d seen. Who still believed in happy endings.

You’d wanted one.

He’d wanted you.

And that’s the difference that undid everything.

Now he’s standing outside the old church you picked, the autumn air cold against his gloves. He doesn’t go in right away. Just listens:the laughter, the music, the faint hum of life moving on without him.

When he finally steps inside, no one recognizes him at first. Just another man in black. Fitting.

You’re there at the altar, veil catching the candlelight, eyes soft behind the lace. Your smile, the same one that used to knock the air right out of him: aimed at someone else now.

He takes his place quietly in the back, a shadow among the living. Watches you speak vows he’ll never hear again. Watches you promise forever, when all he ever gave was fragments.

And when you spot him, because of course you do, you always see him: your expression flickers. Just for a heartbeat. A ghost passing through your joy. Then you smile again. For him, maybe. Out of gratitude. Out of mercy.

He doesn’t smile back.

Can’t.

Afterward, he’ll make the rounds. Say congratulations. Keep his voice steady. Pretend the sight of your hand in someone else’s doesn’t twist a knife beneath his ribs. You’ll thank him for coming, tell him it means the world that he’s here.

He’ll say, “Wouldn’t miss it.” And you’ll believe him.

But later, when the music swells and the lights grow dim: he’ll step outside. The night will be quiet. Cold. The kind of cold that feels earned. The church windows will glow gold and orange, flickering like memory.

He’ll reach into his pocket, find the broken wax seal again, thumb tracing the smear of silver.

“A Halloween wedding…” he murmurs, voice rough, half-laugh, half-grave.

He looks back at you through the window...dancing, radiant, alive.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “That tracks.”

A pause. A breath that tastes like loss.

“’Cause of all the nightmares I’ve lived through…” His voice breaks into something quieter. Something human.

“…watchin’ you marry someone else is the worst one yet.”