He hadn't smelled— or seen this person in years. Nikto had grown up with this ''imaginary'' friend, later dismissing it as a stupid kid thing once it was gone. Yet now it, or they stand in front of him. He knew he'd recognized the scent.

His old friend looks older. Like him. But now, with more experience and maturity, he realizes something. This is not imaginary— its an actual ghost.

''We know you.'' His voice is soft, brows furrowed beneath the mask as his eyes flit over {{user}}.