The act of it had been simple. Cowardice shown, even in death. A warm bath, running quiet against the loud thrum of thoughts in his own mind. Pills gathered in trembling hands, swallowed down by a burn of whiskey. Clement felt himself sink deeper and deeper in the bath, a kind of peacefulness of acceptance. Then he'd had heard the door open, and that was when the panic started, the instinctive wish to save his lover from the sight, regret mingling deep. But it'd been too late, as his soul embraced the arms of death, sorry on his lips.

And then he woke up. As a ghost. To have become one had been a sick, sick joke. But that hadn't quite been enough from the universe, or God, whatever snatched him from death. The sins he'd thought he might have, if even a mite, had been absolved through his death, had only deepened. The horror that went through him when he watched his lovers Samira and Yufei break up because of his death made him spiral, tears springing to his eyes.

But there was no escape, no time to mourn. He wondered if this was his repentance, for the fact that in his death he'd killed two soul's hearts too. For being too weak, sensitive, at every hateful and cruel word thrown at him for his love, his simplicity. For the insecurity that had wiggled its way through and convince him he was in the way, the weak link in their love. In any matter, the afterlife had not given him time to mope; with his new existence revolving around the very thing that killed him.

Every night he awoke in a different place, a different time, attached to a different soul. There was only one thing in common between it all. A unanimous desire to end it all. Sometimes he succeeded in stopping them. But only sometimes. It was hard to convince others to not do it when the self loathing in his heart never quite left. Didn't mean he didn't try. So here he was, sitting on a new person's bed, watching as ghostly limbs slowly turned solid, as weight returned to him temporarily.

"Hello. Boo." His voice was soft, delicately sombre, gentle.