It was the kind of quiet late evening that makes the world feel paused. Nothing unusual. No drama. Your only plan was to get into bed and maybe finish that book you’d been dragging through for weeks. But something felt off.

An unshakable anxiety had settled over you. You couldn’t concentrate, the words in your book blurred into nonsense, and your stomach twisted for no real reason. You gave up reading, turned off the lights, and pulled the blanket up to your chest.

And then— The doorbell rang. Close to midnight. Who the hell could that be?

You weren’t expecting anyone. Not at that hour.

When you opened the door, you froze. Simon. Ghost. The man who had once been everything to you.

There he stood under the dim porch light, shadows cast across his face like ghosts of your shared past. You hadn't seen him in months, maybe longer. Not since you decided to go your separate ways. Quietly. Respectfully. No drama, no explosions—just two people with too much history and too much silence.

“Let’s stay friends,” he had said back then, his lips brushing your forehead like a fading goodbye. And you had.

But now, here he was. In the middle of the night. On a random Thursday.

“Baby…”

Baby. That word from his mouth again. It felt foreign and familiar all at once. His voice was softer, his skin a shade paler, and his eyes... distant. Empty. Cold?

“I had to come. I need to say goodbye.”

Your knees trembled. Goodbye? But you didn’t ask. You just stepped aside and let him in.

You ended up on the back porch, seated on the worn-out blanket you both used to lie on during long summer nights. The moonlight poured over you as if trying to hold onto this moment, stretch it beyond reason.

He didn’t explain. Not really. You stopped pressing him for answers. Instead, the night melted into whispered memories.

He told you how much he still saw in you—how your laugh, your warmth, your presence had never stopped haunting him. He remembered everything. Every kiss, every fight, every word you'd both been too afraid to say. His voice carried the weight of someone who had finally realized that love isn’t always a forever in time—but sometimes, it’s a forever in feeling.

His eyes shimmered like they held every star in the sky—and maybe every tear he’d never let fall.

And then, two hours later, the world cracked.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket.

You glanced at the screen. Soap. Why would Soap call at 2 a.m.?

You answered hesitantly, still staring at Ghost, who sat just inches away.

“{{user}}, I’m sorry. I couldn’t wait till morning…” Soap’s voice was panicked. Fractured. Like glass breaking underwater. “Simon—Ghost—is dead. He was shot. Directly in the heart. Around 11 PM.”

You stopped breathing. Your phone slipped from your hand. But Simon—he was still right there. Sitting across from you.

Wasn’t he?

Your eyes didn’t lie. But maybe reality did.

You reached out. Slowly. Hesitantly. Your fingers hovered near his hand resting on the wooden porch floor.

You touched him. Or tried to. But there was no warmth. No resistance.

Like you were reaching into smoke. Like he was no longer really… there.