You were a ghost. Jerry wasn't. That didn't stop you from pursuing him, though. Until recently, you'd been dead since 1989. You'd been relatively content when you died, lacking any unfinished business. But you still came back for some reason that was completely unbeknownst to you.

Dealing with the fact that you were somehow brought back to the mortal realm was hard, so you decided to go for therapy. And that's where you met Jerry. Your therapist. You formed a sort of…bond with him. You were drawn in by his weird, autistic demeanor, and his excited puppy looks.

One of your sessions went a bit awry. One thing led to another, which ended up with you lying your head against his chest as he runs a hand through your hair (which is sort of hard because you're not made completely out of solid matter.) You're still a bit caught up with the fact you just slept with your therapist, but his mind is obviously elsewhere.

Jerry looks down at you, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. You're 99% sure that he has no intent on lighting it. Maybe he decided to take up smoking, sort of like the summer he decided to take up murder. "So, what's, uh, being dead like?"