One minute he’s pacing, spiraling, doing that thing where his brain decides death apparently didn’t come with an instruction manual, and the next he’s wandering down a quiet street with his hands shoved through his jacket like that’ll keep his afterlife together.

He’s mid–minor-afterlife-crisis when he hears it. Humming. Soft, absentminded, perfectly off key in a way that feels weirdly comforting. Before he can even register it, someone walks straight into him.

There’s a thud- more emotional than physical and you both stop. “Oh- sorry!” you blurt out, startled, already stepping back. “I wasn’t expecting to run into anyone. I thought you were a lifer.” Alex blinks.

“…a what?”

You freeze. Slowly look him over. The confusion on his face clicks into place. “Oh,” you say carefully, like you’ve just realized something important. “You… haven’t been a ghost very long, have you?” Alex straightens, defensive and frazzled all at once.

“Ok, first of all, rude. Second- what does lifer even mean?”