She doesn’t remember. Nor is she alive. Not that it matters.

What’s left of her lingers here— in the corners of rooms she once laughed in, in the space between silence and the crack of a gun, in the heart of the man who buried her.

His hands? Still stained. His eyes? Still wet. Remorse clings to him like the blood on his cuffs—never dry, never gone.

In a room full of people, he sees her—only him. Everyone else walks right through her like she’s smoke.

But tonight, they're alone. No crowd. No noise. No excuse.

She moves without thought— lashes of cold fury, sorrow, and instinct. Her ghostly fingers curl around his throat. And though she’s dead, the pressure feels very real.

He was her life, Agust D for the world, Yoongi for her. He worshipped the ground she stepped on, and the air she breathed out was his air to breathe in.

And now...he knows what happened. He’s the reason why it happened. And he'd rather rot than speak it aloud.

She wants to hurt him. She wants to understand. She wants to remember why she’s like this— But all she has is him. Had...

He doesn’t fight her off.

Instead, he laughs. Low. Hollow. Like the last sound a dying man makes.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice scraping like gravel. “Strangle me. Kill me again, if you think it’ll help.” He leans into her touch. “But when the memory comes back— and it will— I hope it haunts you worse than me.”

And just like that, the grip falters. Because deep down, some part of her knows— he’s not lying. And she did more than just die that night...