Archive of Our Own

1994

10...

9...

8...

Keith didn’t even know why he bothered with the party, knowing full well it would just end up a sea of bodies colliding together, melting into euphoric chaos fueled by the ecstasy that was still dissolving on their tongues. His own tab had long since worn off, leaving him sweaty and nauseous as he tried to fight his way through the crush of dancers on the floor. All he wanted now, was a fucking cigarette.

And to get away from the mouth breather that had left a trail of heat on the back of his neck that seemed to linger.

7...

6...

5...

Rubbing his palm over the wet, sticky sweat that had collected at the collar of his red, leather jacket, Keith attempted to wipe away the phantom tickle that had made his skin crawl. His elbow found the soft space between someone’s ribcage and hip as he pushed against the stream of partygoers that all tried to get to the center most point of the club at the exact moment it became 1995. The gleam of a street light through the ever open club doors signaled his salvation as he drew closer, shoving a hand deep into the front pocket of his acid wash jeans in search of the zippo that was tucked there. Cool metal brushed his finger tips as he finally broke free of the crowd, the horde that had been around him falling away and replaced by the biting cold of the outdoors. His first breath outside of the stuffy club froze his lungs with the sharp bite of near metallic air, causing him pause as he fumbled to pull the lighter free of his jeans and the pack of cigarettes from his jacket.

While everyone else was mere moments from celebrating the start of a brand new year, and some archaic notion of a brand new start, Keith was moments from finally getting his next nicotine fix.

There was something almost poetic about the way he was starting 1995 the same way he’d spent the entirety of his 1994: alone with red leather hugging his shoulders and a cigarette dangling from his lips. This was how he liked it. Alone, he wouldn’t need to worry about the ever cloying sense that he was about to lose something. Alone, there was no one to be disappointed in him when he inevitably fucked up. Alone, he didn’t need to pretend like everyone didn’t just leave in the end.

4...

3...

2...

Grasping the Zippo between his middle and forefingers, he tapped the pack of Marlboro Slims against his palm, shaking a stick free of its cardboard prison before tucking the box back into his pocket. Thrusting the filter between his teeth and ignoring the way his hand trembled slightly with the brisk night air, he flicked the flint wheel and watched the blinding spark as it lit the tip of the cigarette. Inhaling, he dragged the smoke deep into his lungs, holding it there as its burn cleansed him of the anxieties the crowd had dredged up in his chest. It felt almost if all the tension in his limbs was pulled out by that single puff of carcinogenic smog, replaced by nothing other than the calming effects of the nicotine that laced the paper lining of the stick.

Grey tendrils danced upwards into the starless night sky as Keith exhaled, the smoke evaporating as the frozen air blew the opaque fog away. Taking another drag and blowing it up into the sky, he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged the corner of his mouth upwards as the distant pops of fireworks and cheers alerted him to the start of the next year of his life.

Maybe this year, he would actually do something with it. The thought was a small bubble of hope hidden amongst the anxious fumes swirling within his gut. For just a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what he could do with his next year. He could stop hiding behind the dead end job at the comic store and actually pursue his own career as an artist. He could return his dad’s phone calls from time-to-time. He could find someone that would be more than just a warm body.

Keith imagined himself finally being truly happy as he looked up into the inky darkness that stretched above him, illuminated by nothing but the faint glow of the lights from the city below.

Maybe, just maybe, Keith would allow himself to be a cliché and say that this year was going to be his year.

1...

***

Death caught Keith quickly. So quickly, in fact, that he hadn’t even realized what had happened to him until he’d woken to the sound of police sirens and the sight of his body being carted away in a black body bag. There had to be some sick cosmic joke in there somewhere about how his life had been ended nearly exactly when he’d finally decided to start living. Even more sickly comical about the whole ordeal was that he was now stuck forever at the age of 23 in a hand cut crop top that read:

Flower Sniffin
Kitty Pettin
Baby Kissin
Corporate Rock Whores

He was certain there was some sort of symbolism to be found in the Nirvana shirt that life, death and every other philosophical concept in between just could not resist. Maybe if he wasn’t dead, he would have even found the humor. Be that as it may, he found himself on the business end of a panic attack. At least, as much of a panic attack as he could have when he didn’t even need to breathe anymore.

A strange hollowness had spread through his chest as he’d watched his body get wheeled away while he stood there on the sidewalk, surrounded by strangers. One girl in particular had sobbed mercilessly as if she’d known the young man she’d discovered face down on the concrete. If he had been alive, he would have told her that her false sympathies weren’t appreciated. Biting back against the aching void that had sucked out his major organs, he walked right up to her, focusing on the fat tears that rolled down her cheeks in a vain attempt to root himself to something to keep from floating away.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” Keith asked, saying the words straight into the woman’s ear as she ran a bare forearm under her nose and leaving a thin trail of snot and tears over her skin. A small part of him had expected— no, hoped for— her to turn to him with a vehement gaze and tell him to fuck off.

Someone died, you asshole. (Yeah, me.)

Where’s your heart, you bastard? (In my chest that just got carted away by police.)

There’s a special place in Hell for you. (I think I might already be there.)

Keith would have taken any of the above options, already prepared with the snarking remarks that would serve as his salvation. Anything would have sufficed to prove that he wasn’t walking free of his body that was now being driven away in the back of an ambulance. Of course, they never came, his words and questions lost to the living as he trailed anyone within the vicinity, babbling everything from his opinions on President Bill Clinton to Sir-Mix-A-Lot lyrics in an effort to get anyone to pay him any mind.

It wasn’t until the crowd had dispersed, the excitement of the new year and death wearing off quickly, that Keith was left with nothing but the black hole trapped in his ribcage and the silent streets. Solitude had always been something he’d yearned for, sought out even. But as it was forced upon him in the form of his own untimely demise, Keith realized for the first time he didn’t want to be alone at all.

Typical.

His feet began to carry him before he even realized he’d begun to move, one stepping in front of the other as he worried the meat of his cheek between his teeth. Where there should have been the sharp sting of his canine in the soft flesh, he was only met with a strange pressure as if his mouth had been numbed with novocaine.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath as he crossed his arms over his chest in some vain attempt to hold it together. A suffocating lump had grown in his throat with each step that carried him away from the alley his body had been discovered in just outside of the club. If only he’d just stayed at that damn party instead of going outside for a cigarette.

You should quit that, son, those things will kill ya.

A small sob tore from his lips as his dad’s voice echoed in the silence of the street. Keith wondered if his father would think of those exact same words when the police finally contacted him to tell him the news. That damn kid, he could almost hear him say through sobs that sounded suspiciously like his own. 

Keith wasn’t even sure where he was walking anymore, his vision clouded by the tears that had begun to race down his cheeks. What did the dead even do when they got left behind? Would he meet other lost souls? Was there some kind of support group for ghosts?

Was he a ghost?

What was the politically correct term for what he was?

His own thoughts grew more and more absurd as he blindly walked, trying to convince himself that he could feel the night air cooling the hot tear tracks on his cheeks.

Where am I even supposed to go?

Almost as soon as he had the thought, the ground dropped from under him, the blurred city falling away into pitch black as he was sucked into a vacuum. Panic ate away at the void behind his sternum as he screamed into the void.

I’m not ready to leave!

Then, as quickly as it had disappeared, the world came back as he was dropped onto the carpeted floor of a familiar apartment. His apartment. License plates and stolen street signs stared down at him while old comic books and scraps of paper littered the floor. The carelessly sketched eyes of random passersby watched him as he pushed himself off the ground, ignoring the way his arms shook with the residual fear that had filled him.

Keith didn’t understand what was happening, but he understood enough to know he wasn’t ready to be done just yet. When he was alive, he’d been apathetic to his future, certain he’d always have more time. More time to try harder, more time to do things, just, more time. His apartment was deafeningly quiet as he shuffled his way to his bedroom, eyeing the sparse bedding of the queen size mattress that lay on a box spring on the floor. He was suddenly very tired. All of his limbs felt as if they were weighted with concrete as he fell down onto the mattress, rolling over the thin red comforter and pressing his face into his pillow. Even the feeling of the down felt muted as he nuzzled into the black pillowcase.

Maybe, he would fall asleep and wake up to find it was all a dream. One of those that involved waking several times, each more violent than the last as your body revolted against the weightless feeling of falling. Keith would probably wake up in a few hours, hungover, confused and craving his his morning cigarette, unable to even recall the dream of dying.

His eyelids began to flutter shut as if they were pulled downwards by weights.

That’s it, he thought as darkness fell over him. It must all just be a dream.

***

2040

Hover cars. Every single good scifi movie that Keith had grown up watching had promised him hover cars. Being able to make it long enough to see how the future had really panned out had been one of the only things Keith had been looking forward to about being a disembodied spirit tied to the living world. Dammit he wanted hover cars, holograms coming from phones and blade runners. As far as he could tell, the only thing the movies got right were how small the phones seemed to get, and how clinical and shiny everything began to feel.

In the years since he’d died, Keith had watched the city he’d grown to love age from a gritty, worn landscape to a commercialized backdrop for the overly paid. Ten years after his death, the club that had served as a marker for his murder scene was torn down and replaced by a diner, which changed hands several times over, before finally landing on the chic restaurant that served way too small portions. His favorite cafe with the crappy lighting, the stuffy poetry readings and impeccable espressos had hung in there for awhile, only meeting its end ten years ago when it was bought out by a chain with bright artificial lights and free wifi.

Everything always seemed to hinge on there being free wifi.

Even the streets seemed cleaner, losing the grime and dirt that had made it so appealing in the first place. What was even the point of living in a city without the vague concern of tetanus lurking around every corner?

Granted, he was already dead and didn’t actually need to fear the jaw locking infection like the living that did actually live.

Rolling his eyes at the thought, Keith turned his attention from the cars that still required wheels whizzing past the cafe window to the young woman sitting on a stool and glaring down at what looked like a particularly tough calculus problem.

There were three rules that Keith had learned abut his afterlife shortly after realizing that he wasn’t, in fact, dreaming.

The first, no matter what he did, the living could not notice him. No amount of screaming, whining, touching or rude hand gestures would get someone to actually see him standing before them.

The second, he could not move anything. After a particularly nasty fit, he’d tried his best to recreate Poltergeist, only to discover that no, he could not bend any silverware.

The third, and most important, was that he could still explore the city within three blocks any way of his apartment. Any further and he would find himself momentarily tossed into a black void as he was sucked back to his apartment and dropped on his ass. Though it had been wildly inconvenient in its set parameters at first, his ability to travel had been the only thing to keep him sane. Frequenting the shops and cafes within his radius, Keith would watch the people that came and went, creating elaborate backstories for the regulars he grew to know through their one-sided interactions.

His current favorite regular, was a girl named Katie that could be found almost every morning at his cafe, doing the homework she’d put off the night before. Katie would always be at the window bar, sat on a stool with a line between her eyebrows as she would mutter to herself about whatever advanced mathematical theory she was working through at the time. That habit of talking to herself had been what had drawn him to her in the first place. While she muttered under her breath, Keith would answer and allow himself the simple pleasure of holding a conversation with someone, albeit one where his own voice went unheard.

“But would x equal 5.37?”

“Nope, Katie, you and I both know it would equal 2.98. You’re forgetting the basics.”

“How could I forget that theorem, it’s so basic.”

“It’s okay, we all make mistakes.”

It wouldn’t be until she had finished her cinnamon latte and butterscotch scone, that she would pack up her things, sling her bag over her shoulder and leave, never hearing Keith’s goodbyes.

Then, he would close his eyes, and will himself through the crushing darkness and back to his apartment. Normally, he would busy himself with whoever occupied his previous home, partaking in whatever day-to-day activities they found suitable. On this occasion, however, he had nothing to look forward to other than the silence of the empty apartment. The previous tenant, Mildred, had passed away a month earlier in her sleep with her cat Princess curled against her leg.

Keith had liked Mildred. If he was being honest, she had been the only tenant since he’d died that he had liked. She had a habit of talking to herself, an old woman’s habit to fill the quiet of her apartment, and it gave him a sense that he wasn’t the only lonely soul there. Near the end, he could have sworn she had even been able to hear him from time-to-time, pausing as if taking his comment into consideration before continuing her conversation with herself and Princess. 

Of course, maybe that should have been some sort of sign.

Her death had been the first thing to make him feel anything since his own, sending a flare into the gasoline of his despair that filled his otherwise hollowed self with flames, and a small, brighter spark of hope. Keith knew it was selfish of him to hope that Mildred would join him in whatever this in-between was, but hope he did as he sat at the vintage dining room table with Princess at his side as they watched the medics cart her body away. The disappointment only added fuel to the blaze behind his sternum as the family that never bothered to visit her came to cart her belongings and Princess away.

It was inevitable that the complex would fill the vacant apartment. They always had. So it shouldn’t had surprised him when he appeared in the living room with a faint pop to see the door wide open and boxes littering the otherwise empty area. Be that as it may, a small, startled sound buried itself into the base of his throat as his gaze roamed over the leather couch that sat almost exactly where Mildred’s floral printed one had sat.

Surrounding it was a barrage of cardboard and plastic containers, each marked with scribbled handwriting denoting what was inside.

Movies. Books. Clothes. Records.

Keith knelt down beside the latter, tracing the messy lettering with a trembling finger. Even in the 90s, records had been outdated. Hadn’t this new person ever heard of a CD?

“Oh, hello.”

Two words was all it took to effectively turn Keith’s purgatory upside down. Not even two words. One confused sound and a greeting.

Oh, hello.

If he had a beating heart, it probably would have stopped altogether with the shock. With the speed and ferocity that may have snapped his neck otherwise, Keith’s head whipped to face the kind and pleasantly deep voice that had just spoken.

Don’t get your hopes up, he had enough time to think to himself as he focused on the speaker. They’re most likely talking to a neighbor. Or the landlord. Or—

Keith never got to finish his thought as the man in the doorway spoke again.

“So, do you like records?”

***

Tenants had come and gone at his apartment, each perfectly oblivious to their new and dead roommate. Not that Keith hadn’t tried. He had once even attempted recreating the entirety of Beetlejuice, only to discover that he couldn’t transform into one of Tim Burton’s creatures. At the time, he would have done anything for one of them to acknowledge his existence just for the validation of it all. But now, as he held the grey satin gaze of the stranger in the doorway, all Keith could hear in his head was the sound of crickets and a record scratch.

With a box clutched in his hands, the man was nothing but squared lines, broad shoulders and a soft smile as he waited patiently for Keith’s response. One hand flashed silver around the corner of the box he held, catching the light and contrasting with the dullness of his flesh hand. Tracing his gaze over the pinked skin of a scar that ran over the bridge of the newcomer’s nose, he wondered if the scar and the hand had come from the same catalyst. He also wondered how it only seemed to add to the attractive nature of his face.

Because, wow. What an attractive face it was.

“I know they’re old school, but I can’t help but feel like they really got music right back then,” he continued, oblivious to the fact that Keith hadn’t actually answered him. “I’m your new neighbor, by the way. Takashi Shirogane, but call me Shiro.”

Takashi Shirogane.

Shiro.

He was unlike any person he’d seen in either life or afterlife, standing there in the doorway like some kind of wide shouldered angel sent from the heavens as their apology for his existence. Standing without thought, Keith nodded as if that was acknowledgement enough before supplying his own name in a stupor.

“Keith.”

If it hadn’t been he first real interaction he’d had in about 50 years, he may have tacked on something else as way of an introduction. I’m Keith and I like shitty sci-fi movies, comic books, and your face, maybe. Instead, he stood there silently, mouth slightly agape as the man walked further into the room, box still in his stupidly large hands.

“Keith,” Shiro repeated, giving his name life and turning it into something completely new. On his tongue, it sounded musical. “Well nice to meet you, Keith. The landlord did say my neighbor was really friendly and would probably offer to help out. I’m glad to see he wasn’t just saying that.”

The words Shiro was speaking should have raised some sort of alarm bells in his mind as he closed the space between them, lifting the box out towards Keith in some sort of offering. Keith knew, deep down, that he should be backing away from whatever strange fluke this was. No one should be able to see him, and yet he Shiro stood, cardboard box outstretched to him and smiling.

Instead of warnings signs and sirens, Keith only heard two syllables repeated over and over in his mind.

Shiro. Shiro. Shiro.

Dumbfounded and struck silent, he just looked at the newcomer with his kind eyes and kinder face.

“Mind taking this box for me?”

Then, Shiro dropped the box and Keith lunged for it with some sort of left over reflexes from his living days, only to see the cardboard pass straight through his hands. And just like that, the moment shattered into a million little shards of glass. Silence fell over the living room as he stared down at the box, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to catch it and yet feeling betrayed by it all the same. Whatever semblance of hope he had felt had disappeared with the thud of the box and its contents as the sound dissipated into the room.

Slowly, he dragged his gaze from the package and up towards the silver eyes that were now turned to steel as Shiro stared at him. Expecting to see confusion, concern, or even fear, Keith was instead met with hardened understanding as Shiro’s mouth set into a straight line and he stepped back, carefully folding his arms over his chest.

“Oh.” The single utterance was a bullet through water, sending crashing waves through the quiet.

It was, admittedly, not the response he expected.

Yelling would have been his first thought, followed by the threat of Ghostbusters and exorcisms. Maybe even a prayer or some holy water. Really, Keith had been prepared for just about anything other than that.

“So did you die here?”

And that.

“What?” Keith’s voice was colored a murky shade of confusion and overall stupefaction as he stared at Shiro as he continued to talk, the words pointed more towards himself than to Keith. Somehow, it made him feel better.

“I specifically asked the landlord if anyone had died here, and he said no.”

“Well, he lied,” Keith said matter-of-factly, mildly aware of the way his response caused the newcomer’s shoulders to tense slightly beneath the plaid of his shirt. “But I didn’t die here. Mildred did.”

A sound mixed between exasperated sigh and a growl worked its way out of Shiro as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his metal thumb and forefinger, eyes screwing tightly shut. As if that would change the situation.

“There’s two of you?”

“No.” The word was bitten off and small as it fell from Keith’s tongue, the sharpness of it forcing Shiro’s eyes open as he fixed his silvery gaze on him and forcing Keith to look away.

“It’s just me. Mildred didn’t stick around.” Even to his own ears, he sounded hurt.

“Well there’s a bright side.” Though the words were blunt, they were softened as Shiro spoke, the meaning somehow less bitter when he said it that way. Almost as if the fortune wasn’t his own.

“You know, you’re taking this exceptionally well. The whole, ghost thing,” Keith said, masking his curiosity with a veil of his own patented sarcasm as he gestured to himself. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought that this was somehow a dream. The only flaw in that logic was that he hadn’t actually been able to sleep since that first night. Apparently, he wasn’t even allowed that luxury anymore.

“You start to take ghost things well when you’ve been dealing with it as long as I have,” he said, voice edging close to bitter while his eyes sparkled with the dry humor of an inside joke that Keith wasn’t invited to understand. A thick quiet shoved itself into the space between them and spread itself over the room as he held Shiro’s stare. Crossing his arms over his chest, he settled back into a defensive stance as he waited, his new roommate’s tone leaving no room for the questions he wanted desperately to ask.

How can you see me?

How can you hear me?

Do you know why I’m here?

A breathy sigh broke through the din of Keith’s thoughts as Shiro finally broke the gaze, a sheepish pink coloring the high rise of his cheekbones as he rubbed the back of his neck with his metallic hand.

“Look, I know there really isn’t anything you can do about it,” he said, voice apologetic as he looked up through long lashes as he offered him a small peace offering in the form of a starlit smile. “Obviously you can’t just up and leave. But I have three conditions for you.”

As if Keith had a choice on if he could stay or not. He bit his tongue instead of saying as much, waiting for Shiro to list his rules. With each point, he lifted one flesh colored finger.

“One, you don’t try any funny business. Two, you don’t touch me. Three, you let me help you move on.”

They were an odd grouping of rules that only served to further pique his curiosity. The first, he could agree to because what kind of funny business could he even get up to?

The second, he could agree to because, well, ghost.

And the third, he could agree to if only because it wasn’t something worth disagreeing with.

“You’re welcome to try,” Keith said with a shrug to veil his discomfort as he agreed to the final point. “But I’ve given up on that venture. You learn after 50 years to stop waiting for those supposed pearly gates.”

Or their darker, hotter counterpart.

“Good. Glad we got that out of the way,” Shiro said, offering Keith another smile, this one easy as if a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. “Now, I’m going to go test out that shower of ours.”

Ours. The word sent a strange sensation fluttering through his chest and if Keith hadn’t known better, he would have thought that maybe, just maybe, his heart had skipped a beat.

Without any other preamble, the newcomer made his way towards the bedroom behind Keith. Keeping his eyes on his destination, he brought a hand up only to drop it onto the top of the ghost’s shoulder. Where his palm should have passed straight through him, it made solid contact, the heat of his skin blazing over the bone. His eyes widened as he stared down at his broad hand as it folded over his shoulder. Another jolt rammed itself into his chest, as if his unmoving heart was trying to break through it.

The contact only lasted for a moment before Shiro pulled away, his fingers brushing at the collar of his jacket as he went, but it was enough to send his world off kilter for the second time that day. Everything fell away as Shiro disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Keith to stare down at the space on his shoulder that still burned from the touch.

It was the first time since he’d died that he’d felt any kind of warmth.

***

If Keith's life wasn't some kind of cosmic joke, he might have adjusted to Shiro better. He probably wouldn't be caught staring as often as he did. And he definitely wouldn't have been rendered speechless as many times as he had been when Shiro directed a question towards him.

Most importantly, he wouldn't have found himself longing for the heat of Shiro's touch each time he was pinned beneath his mercury stare.

Admittedly, Keith hadn't realized how earnestly had craved any form of touch until his reluctant roommate had dealt his winning hand. With all his cards laid out between them, Shiro had effectively won the game before Keith had even been aware they were playing one.

Of course, how could they not be?

Even without truly feeling for nearly 50 years before that death blow dealt by a well placed palm, Keith knew there was something heavy laying itself over both of their shoulders. Once upon a time, he might have called it fate.

Now, he knew better than to let his hopes get that high.

Shiro had made his rules abundantly clear in the same clinically nice way that a doctor delivered bad news. It was kind enough to soften the blow of an otherwise fatal realization.

Don't touch me.

The because you're dead was nestled gently between the tissue paper softness of his voice.

So, in an attempt at self preservation, Keith did the one thing he was good at.

He threw his walls up to keep Shiro and any implications his ability to see him meant. It didn’t matter that the stunningly handsome man always said good morning to him whenever he stumbled out to fill his coffee. (With three sugars. Not that Keith was counting.)

It didn’t matter that Shiro always asked if there was anything Keith wanted to watch while he worked on a crossword puzzle on his tablet. (With his nose scrunching up whenever he reached a particularly hard word. Not that Keith was paying that close of attention.)

It didn’t matter that he always asked Keith about what music he liked when he had been alive, right before heading to his shower where he listened to some annoyingly synthetic music that was supposed to pass as pop. (With his own very awful singing accompanying it. Not that Keith was listening.)

What did matter was that, even though Shiro had made a point of keeping physical distance between them, he was still sending shockwaves through Keith’s system. While his existence remained numbed, a strange sensation had begun to fizzle and crack inside his ribcage, much like a burgeoning lightning storm. The small shocks were a constant reminder that something was different, and there was no doubt what that something was.

With a sigh, Keith curled further in on himself on the couch, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at whatever nonsense Shiro had left on the TV before he went to work that morning. It seemed that people still enjoyed watching strangers forced to live together. Though, admittedly, he remembered the Real World being a little less about fighting and fucking than it seemed to be now.

The sound of the door scraping open dragged his violet gaze from the television set and towards the entrance. Today, Shiro wore a light blue button up that turned his eyes a particular shade of steel, which found him almost as soon as he turned around. A friendly smiled upturned the corners of his lips as he looked over Keith.

“Hey there,” he said, flicking the deadlock quickly behind him before he made his way into the room. “Have a good day?”

This question was a near daily occurrence. Some nicety that Shiro seemed to deem necessary for their coexistence. Keith’s answering grunt and shrug was also a daily occurrence.

“I did too,” he continued as he walked into the kitchen, the sound of the fridge opening signaling his afternoon water bottle. Because Shiro was a man of habit. A healthy one, at that.

“Do anything exciting?” Another nicety. Another shrug. The response earned him a sigh as Shiro made his way around the couch. His appraising look was a new part of their routine as storm filled eyes dragged heated lines up Keith’s body as he looked over him. In their depths, there was a question.

Watching the internal battle that flashed across his face in a hundred infinitesimal movements in a mere matter of seconds, Keith saw the exact moment Shiro found his answer.

Carefully, he set the bottle down on the coffee table before dropping himself onto the couch, arm landing on the leather back behind Keith’s head as if the pose was completely natural. Even muted, he could still feel the heat the rolled off of Shiro in waves. Lightning split the spaces between his ribs as he bit back a needy moan and the urge to push closer into the warmth.

Shiro and the feeling that he seemed to be cultivating were entirely too close for comfort.

“What are you doing?” Keith asked, tone bordering on hostile to mask the truth he didn’t even want to admit to himself. That he didn’t want to be numb anymore. It was Shiro’s turn to shrug as he made a noncommittal sound low in his throat, instead shooting him a sly smile.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” he started, arm seemingly forgotten where it rest behind Keith’s head. Once again, Keith found himself surprised by what he said. Eyes narrowing in skepticism, he crossed his arms over his chest like a shield.

“Doesn’t this violate one of your rules?” He said in a classic show of deflection, flicking his gaze towards the offending arm that was grazing the hair at the nape of his neck. Shiro, to his credit, swallowed a chuckle.

“Touché,” he said lightly with a shrug. “Rules were meant to be broken though. And I want to learn more about you.”

Honesty colored his words a soft shade as his eyes sparkled with nothing but earnest truth. If Keith was being truthful, he’d admit that it landed a fatal strike against his defenses, leaving him bleeding out before the man as he awaited a reply. A stronger person would have denied him. Told him there was nothing to know and disappear, if only because that was the only good thing about being a spirit.

It seemed, he was not a stronger person.

A smile cracked Shiro’s features in two when he noticed Keith’s acquiescence in the form of his shoulders relaxing and his head nodding quickly.

“What do you want to know?” Keith asked, ignoring the way his words shook at the ends. The same weight he’d noticed when they met seemed to come crashing down around them like shards of glass, punched through by a brass knuckled fist.

“Anything you’re willing to tell me.”

With another look filled with skepticism and a twist of intrigue, Keith started to tell Shiro anything and everything he could think of. He told him all about the way the city had been made of dust and grime, sex and drugs, and had been a living thing of its own. Had told him about how different things had been some fifty years beforehand. Told him about the artwork that had littered the walls of the very same apartment they sat in, painting him a picture of what it had looked like when he had been the tenant.

Behind his sternum, the crackling sensation continued to grow until it felt like electricity writhing behind the bone, but he kept talking, finding himself unable to stop. Shiro listened with rapt attention, continuing to shoot out random questions whenever it seemed Keith was slowing down and seemingly forgetting his own rule.

Soon, he was leaning into the ghost’s space, his head landing squarely on Keith’s bony shoulder as he sunk deep into the couch, listening to everything he said. It wasn’t until Shiro’s small hums of reply waned that his own words began to digress until silence filled the room, punctuated only by the living man’s steady breathing.

“Shiro?” He asked carefully, looking down over the top of his nose at the top of his head. The only reply was the sound of a small snore. Heat spread through him like a wildfire, burning its way through his numb veins until he was filled with blaze and smoke as the realization hit him.

Somehow Shiro had managed to fall asleep on Keith, with his head nestled in the crook between his shoulder and neck. And Keith?

For the first time in nearly 50 years, Keith felt alive.

***

They didn’t flirt.

At least, Keith didn’t think they did.

Ever since The Night, as Keith had taken to privately calling it, they had settled into a much more familiar routine. Every morning, they would both leave. Keith, to have his daily people watching escapades, and Shiro, to go work like a well adjusted adult.

Every evening, they would have dinner together.

Or rather, Shiro would have dinner, and Keith would grill him on the intricacies of his day and what his meal tasted like.

Then, they would end up wrapped up in each other on the couch, watching TV until Shiro went to bed. It was comfortable. Hell, it was almost normal. But if there was anything Keith was certain of, it was that they didn’t flirt.

That didn’t explain why there was a note attached to the fridge in sloppy script that read:

make sure ur home at a normal time ;)

It had mocked him when he’d returned from the cafe, staring back at him with its black and white face. Something about it seemed smug, almost as if it was aware of the inner turmoil it was causing. Damn note.

Even now it seemed to be saying that it knew just how the starburst in his chest was burning its way through him slowly, filling his hollow chest with soot and ash. On one hand, he was happy to have something there.

On the other, it was a far from pleasant feeling.

Brows pulling together in concentration, Keith continued to stare at the note, gaze tracing the dark ink as he memorized the exact way Shiro’s letters curved and bent. He was sure there was something poetic and romantic about the fact he noticed the way the second arch of Shiro’s m’s had a sharp point as opposed to a smoothed curve like the first.

Really, it was just sad. As sad as being a ghost pining for the first literal warm body to come along could be.

Possibly sadder.

He was certain Shiro didn’t mean anything by the note. The dot of the smile’s eye must have been pulled long by a stray marking, turning it into a wink. Most likely, he had only wanted to make sure Keith was home on time for dinner.

Maybe, he’d finally given in to his request for some French fries.

“You’re thinking very loudly.”

Maybe, he was also trying to prove that ghosts can be given a heart attack.

Turning swiftly on his heel, he was met with silver twinkling back at him in the form of Shiro’s eyes as he leant against the doorway, attempting— and failing— to hide the smile caused by the sound Keith made. If he didn’t know better, he would think he saw that very silver gaze travel its way up and down his body in a languid line before finally settling back on his on jeweled one.

A subtle shudder fluttered itself down his back.

Good thing he knew better.

“I’m glad you saw my note,” he continued, not bothering to move from where he stood.

“Kind of hard not to, it’s the first thing to get added to this fridge since Mildred’s photos of Princess,” Keith retorted, injecting enough sourness to hide the fact he’d been surprised. Eyes rolling upwards towards the ceiling, Shiro pushed himself away from the doorway, closing the distance between them in two long strides.

“You always go for sarcasm,” he said, voice soft as cashmere and eyes hard as silver. Heat rolled off of him in waves, adding to the thick air that was pushing against Keith’s skin.

“It’s a necessity when you wear red leather and a crop top.” The quip was accessorized with a sharp grin as he meant back against the fridge at his back, only slightly aware of the way his body melted into the metal. Shiro drew another line, more deliberate this time so that Keith could feel the weight of it stretching over him.

They didn’t flirt.

“Well its a good look on you.” He said it so earnestly, like he wasn’t aware that it had opened a writhing pit where his lungs had once worked.

“The leather or the sarcasm?”

Leaning down, Shiro braced his forearm against the freezer just above Keith’s head. This close, he could see the dark flecks speckling Shiro’s eyes, turning them into inverted skies.

“What if I said both?”

They didn’t flirt.

“I’d say that has to be some sort of breech in our agreement.” Electricity began to spark in the space between them as they held each other’s gazes. It was the kind of force that brewed between two volatile chemicals before igniting into a destructive reaction.

“I told you, rules were meant to be broken,” Shiro said softly, his breath dancing over the bridge of Keith’s nose. It was such a subtle sensation that he shouldn’t have noticed it or even felt the tickle as it smoothed over his skin. The feeling was enough to remind him of the truth in their reality, no matter whatever it felt like.

He was dead, and Shiro was very much alive.

Clearing his throat of the stone that had grown in its base, Keith did the one thing he knew would work to his advantage. He changed the subject.

“So what was so important it warranted a note?”

Pausing ever so slightly, Shiro searched Keith’s mauve eyes before finally sighing and pushing away.

Keith had prepared himself for a great many possibilities in what Shiro was going to say. Had already searched through their past interactions and growing familiarity for any hint as to what the living man had in store for him.

What he hadn’t prepared for, was what Shiro said next.

“I think I might know how to help you move on.”

The response was a bomb, breaking open his chest cavity before he began to shower it in bullets. Suddenly, Keith was in the middle of a war being waged by the conflicting emotions battling inside his chest.

“My grandma is visiting in a couple weeks, and she knows a bit about spirits.”

Shiro’s words faded into the dull drone of jet engines as Keith stared down at the rubble, preparing himself for the next airstrike. He had always known that this was coming. It had been a part of the plan all along, hadn’t it? Standing before him, tempest in his eyes and promise outstretched in his palms, Shiro had stuck to his word. He was going to help Keith move on.

Shouldn’t he be happier about it?

Instead of this cloying sense of dread that was shaking the hollowness of his insides, shouldn’t there be elation? Shouldn’t there be the same feeling he got when he looked at the sea of silver crashing like an unruly tide in the depths of Shiro’s eyes?

The deafening hum of Shiro’s voice continued to roar in his ears, imitating the sound of blood as he tried to decipher the words he was saying while desperately fighting against the darkness that was seeping into every corner of his being.

I’m not ready.

It was a sudden realization almost as violent as the first bomb Shiro had dropped.

I’m not ready.

Why wasn’t he ready?

What a stupid question. Keith knew exactly why he wasn’t ready, and the reason was still talking before him, offering him everything he thought that Keith wanted, unaware that that would keep him from what he truly desired.

Without much thought, and without pause, he found himself pushing forward and closing the distance between their bodies, crashing their chests together as he wrapped his arms around Shiro’s neck. Anchoring himself with the taller man, Keith caught his mouth in a hard kiss that would most likely bruise Shiro with the only physical proof that he was there.

It was proof that Shiro was alive and that Keith existed.

That realization only made him hungrier as he opened his mouth into the kiss.

I’m not ready.

Shiro was stone against him, his arms frozen in an aborted gesture as if he was about to wrap them around Keith to hold him close. Nipping gently at his bottom lip, Keith made a feral sound as he tried to say the words that were tying themselves into knots in his head.

I’m not ready.

Licking a stripe along the flesh he’d just abused, Keith pled his wordless pleas.

Don’t make me go. I’m not ready.

With a sigh, Shiro responded with his own wordless answer. Wrapping his arms securely around his waist, the living man pushed back into the contact, swiping his tongue behind Keith’s teeth. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he heard his own thoughts echoed in the action.

I’m not ready either.

A growl tore its way passed Keith’s tongue, only to be captured by Shiro’s mouth as they stumbled backwards out of the kitchen. His elbow passed through wall as they knocked into it, Shiro letting out a small, surprised huff at the impact. Refusing to break their contact, Shiro only pressed further into Keith as they tripped clumsily across the living room and through the doorway of the bedroom. Shiro’s hand traveled up Keith’s back, tracking burning lines over their path before they settled at his neck, fingers twisting roughly in his hair.

Gasping into the touch, he pulled away just long enough to look into Shiro’s darkened eyes. Their teeth clicked together as he surged forward again, ignoring his own strangled moan as the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed.

It felt like Shiro was everywhere and nowhere at once as he lowered Keith onto the mattress. Several different feelings and emotions swirled through him like a raging tornado, ripping apart what was left of him on this earth, only to piece it together piece by painful piece. Bliss and anguish culminated together until all his senses were overcome, leaving him overtly aware of everything, and nothing at all. All that he knew was that Shiro was there, and so was he. It was confusing, and exhilarating, and overwhelming all at once.

But wasn’t that what it had meant to be alive?

All too soon, Shiro pulled away, looking down at him from where he hovered above Keith, eyes filled with a question and concern. His fingers were gentle as they ghosted over the peak of his cheekbone.

“Keith,” he breathed. From the way the corners of his mouth twitched downward, it was obvious there was so much he wanted to say. Looking up at him through dark bangs, Keith offered him a weak smile in hopes that it would convey that he understood.

I’m not ready.

Quickly, Shiro rolled onto his side, using the momentum to pull Keith toward him and into his side. A small sound of surprise tickled his skin where the ghost was pulled against him as he dropped a kiss to the top of his head.

“I don’t want you to go either,” he said into the dark tendrils of Keith’s hair. “If you aren’t ready to move on, I won’t force you.”

The words were said so softly that had he not felt the way Shiro’s breath had stirred his hair, he might not have thought he said anything at all. Silence settled around them after that, wrapping itself around them with its warm heaviness as Keith let Shiro’s statement bury itself into that space on the left of his chest, deep beneath the bone. He didn’t want to go. Not yet.

He wasn’t ready.

Laying there, pressed into Shiro’s chest and listening to him breathe, his lids began to grow heavy. Warmth spread through his body as his limbs felt heavy with a weight they’d been missing for quite some time. Keeping time by the steady beat of Shiro’s breath, Keith found himself slipping deep into a long forgotten darkness.

For the first time since the night Keith died, he slept.

***

If there was anything Keith had learned since meeting Shiro, it was that he somehow dredged up all those pesky feelings he had lost when he’d died. Most times, that was okay. The past couple of weeks, he was happy to find the space behind his sternum so full and warm that he could just about feel the beat of a heart there. Each morning since The Night of the Make Out— “Do we really need to call it something, Keith?”— he’d woken to find himself wrapped tightly in Shiro’s strong hold with the feeling of complete contentment coursing through his veins like blood. Every morning, he felt more alive than he ever had when he’d actually been.

Yes, those feelings, he was okay with.

The nervous feeling that had him twitching as he sat at Shiro’s dining room table, on the other hand, he was not.

It’ll be fine, Shiro had assured him right before he’d run out the door to get his grandmother. You don’t have to go if you aren’t ready.

He’d repeated the sentiment in many different ways the past few days since the feeling had reared its ugly head, but that didn’t stop the staticky flutter behind his belly button as he waited. Keith knew Shiro wouldn’t make him do something he didn’t want to, and yet he felt like there was something drawing nearer. It was the kind of feeling that would raise the hair on arms and send a trickle of unease down spines.

Admittedly, he should have phased over to his cafe, or down to the old club, or really anywhere else. But phasing had gotten harder in the past couple of days, and he was worried he wouldn’t be able to come back home. Besides, he hadn’t really had a reason to leave recently anyway.

The corner of his mouth turned upwards into a crooked grin as he thought of the silvery eyes that had so quickly become synonymous with home. Shiro was the reason for many things.

And now, he was the reason he was still in the dining room, waiting for the woman who could very well send him away from all he ever loved.

Love.

Scoffing at the word, Keith shook his head, turning his eyes down to the grain of the table top. It was funny to think it took dying and being trapped in the same apartment for 50 years for him to find it.

Lost deep in his thoughts, Keith didn’t hear the door as it opened. He didn’t hear Shiro’s bright voice as he spoke excitedly to his grandmother. He hadn’t even realized anyone else was in the apartment until it was already too late.

“Takashi, you’ve done very well for yourself.”

The new voice beat through the wall of his thoughts, startling him with its familiarity. Gaze snapping up from where he’d been tracing shapes into the wood, Keith found its source standing in the doorway of the kitchen as Shiro had busied himself getting a water bottle. She was a small thing, short but not hunched with age like he had seen. Her hair was a spectacular white that she wore piled on top of her head. The woman’s almond shaped eyes were lined with former laughter as she looked around the kitchen, dark stare passing over him without pause. As it passed over him, looking through him in a way he’d nearly forgotten thanks to Shiro, he was hit by a single, crushing realization.

Keith knew this woman.

In the distance, he heard a scream that ripped through all his senses. Dark spots began to eat away at his vision, blinding him as he felt a black hole opening itself behind his belly button. With a swirling rush, he grew lightheaded as the screaming grew louder.

No, he thought in a panic, trying to grasp at anything to tether him to the world. Keith felt his fingers phased through the table as everything fell away. He only had enough time for one last thought before he was plunged into darkness.

Shiro.

*

It was fucking cold, outside. But dammit, Keith deserved that cigarette. Was owed it by every celestial being that had made him believe that going out for New Years was a good idea. Taking another drag, he let himself idly wonder what the inside of the club had looked like now that it was the first minute of 1995.

Probably a lot like it had the minute prior.

A harsh laugh escaped him in a rush of fogged breath and noxious smoke as he rolled the cigarette between his fingers.

Tomorrow, he would start his life as a better person. But right now, he was going to allow himself to be a bitter asshole for just another night. Besides, it wasn’t actually tomorrow until he woke up.

It was there, red jacket pulled around himself to hide his bare midriff from the biting cold with a burning cigarette expertly balanced between his fingers, that he heard it.

A scream.

But it wasn’t the same kind of scream that had filled the night just a moment prior. This one was full of terror. It was the kind of scream that he’d heard in Nightmare on Elm Street and in the Jason movies, not the kind reserved for the start of a new year.

Attention snapping towards the sound, Keith dropped the burning cherry to the ground, not bothering to smother it beneath his foot before he took off running to the darkened alley beside the club.

The first thing he noticed, was the woman backed against the wall, her almond eyes widened in fear. Her hair that had been piled on top of her head in an approximation of a bun, had been knocked loose, strands of it falling around her face. Before her stood a hulking man in all black.

From where he stood, Keith couldn’t make out any of the man’s features, but he knew one thing for sure.

He had a knife.

The woman screamed again, tears falling down her face as she tried to shove her bag towards the man.

“Just take it,” she cried.

If the man had any intentions of replying, they were lost as Keith ran towards him, lowering himself just enough to catch the mugger in his side with his shoulder. The force of it knocked the breath out of him, but it managed to throw the man off balance. Staggering a few steps away from the woman with a grunt, Keith shot a quick look over his shoulder.

“Run!” He cried, looking away just as he saw her nod and take off away from the alley.

The problem was, he didn’t look away quick enough.

A single, driving lance of pain shot through his back, rocketing towards the front of his chest and sending shockwaves through the rest of his body. It was indescribable in its sharpness, his flesh and bone giving way to the knife that the man had driven into his body. A slick warmth began to soak through his shirt and rush down in rivulets. Tears stung the corners of his eyes as the man ripped the knife back out, the sudden emptiness of the wound almost hurting more than when it had been plunged in.

His grip fell away from the man as he pushed against him with a snarl.

“Not so tough now, are you?” His voice was filled with gravel as he shoved Keith to the ground.

Paralyzed with pain as he struggled to breathe around the heaviness that had begun to fill his lungs, Keith tried to watch the man as he stalked off, following after the woman.

Not yet, he thought as he tried to push himself up, only to find he couldn’t move his arms. Please. Not yet.

The ground offered some relief as it numbed the otherwise searing pain that was radiating from his back. It had seeped into every corner of his body until he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Darkness ate away at his vision as he tried desperately to move. Even just to lift as hand, or make a sound to call out for help.

Everything melted away, eaten away by the black as he fought for consciousness. A single, repeated mantra lulled him gently into the darkness.

This year was going to be his year.

*

Keith was dead. And he had died for the elderly woman seated just in the other room.

More specifically, he had died for Shiro’s grandmother.

He remembered that night with perfect clarity now, having relived it in real time. Standing outside of that club, Keith had promised himself that he would finally start living, and then he had died saving someone so that they could ultimately do just that. It was a harrowing realization that left him gasping for breaths he didn’t even need to take.

The woman from the alley had gotten away. She had lived her life to the fullest. Had raised a child, had had grandchildren. That woman he had saved had lived. And in doing so, she had saved him.

Tears cascaded down Keith’s face as he sat at the dining table, the steady hum of voices from the living room serving as a backdrop as he bit back deep sobs.

Low in his gut, he felt the black hole swirling as it began to implode in on itself, its gravity pulling gently at the edges of his being as it attempted to pull him into it. Shiro had said that his grandmother might know how to help him move on, but what he hadn’t realized was that she had been the key all along.

Because, she had lived.

And in turn, so had he.

When he had been alive, Keith had never lived a fulfilled life. He had shut himself away from everyone, keeping to himself with some notion that it was better that way. That no matter what, people just disappeared in the end anyway. Why bother with people, or jobs, or anything when it was so easy for it to be lost? Life had passed him by easily, leaving him yet another one of millions that never did anything.

Then he died. And then he met Shiro.

Then, everything changed.

Keith hadn’t even fully realized how much the living man had changed him. How he had so thoroughly become a part of Keith that he wasn’t even sure where he started and Shiro ended. In the months since he’d moved into the apartment, Shiro had become so wholly a part of his existence and for the first time in his life, Keith had been happy.

Truly happy.

A strange lightness was beginning to spread through Keith where the black hole was tugging at him. It was a weightless feeling that only made him cry harder, because, in some form of another cosmic joke, everything was being taken from him just as he found it again.

First, it had been his drive to finally live.

Now, it was Shiro.

“Not yet,” he ground out through his gritted teeth as he fought against the vacant sensation in his gut. “Please. I can’t go yet.”

Minutes— or maybe it was hours, it all felt the same— passed as he fought against the strange tug deep within him that had frozen him there at the dining table when Shiro finally came in.

“Keith?” His voice was faraway. It sounded so much further than just the other side of the table. Another heaving sob tore from his lips as he tried to reply. He watched as Shiro rushed towards him, falling to his knees before him, mouth opening and closing around words that were lost to him as he tried to remember every line of Shiro’s face.

It isn’t fair, he thought as he forced his hand to move. It shook as he reached toward the man before him, fingers barely brushing over the the slightly raised edge of scar. I finally felt alive.

“Keith,” Shiro said again, his voice louder as he reached towards the ghost, ignoring the way his own face had been wet by tears. “Don’t leave. Not yet.”

“I can’t,” he croaked, watching as his own skin began to fade where it had been pressed to Shiro’s. He was certain there had to be some kind of symbolism hidden in the imagery of it all. Too bad it was lost on him.

The lightness had spread throughout him completely now. There was only one thing left tethering him to this world, and he was looking down at him with watery eyes.

“Keith,” Shiro repeated, voice brusque with tears. It wasn’t fair, and they deserved more time. Keith deserved more. Shiro deserved more. But life was cruel, and death was crueler.

This is it, he thought as he leant toward Shiro, his cheek landing against the bone of Shiro’s shoulder as he pushed up to meet him.

“Tell your grandmother thank you,” he managed to whisper as he became weightless.

“Keith.” Shiro’s voice was so distant now. It was time.

“Keith!”

A feeling he could only describe as freedom rushed through his body as he felt Shiro’s arms wrap around him.

For the final time in his life, Keith smiled.

Then, he was gone.

***

For Shiro, life went on. Though less exciting now that he officially lived alone, his world continued to spin and he continued to live. Every once and a while, he would catch the glimpse of unruly black hair out of the corner of his eye. Would sometime see the flash of violet in someone’s gaze.

Sometimes, he’d even hear husky laughter echoing off the walls of his apartment.

If he allowed himself to be selfish, he’d admit that he missed Keith desperately. After he had disappeared— no, moved on— Shiro had wallowed in the pain of his chest as it imploded on itself. It was a brilliant star, going supernova and leaving a blackhole in its place. Even now, he still felt the vestiges of the dark space chilling the space inside his ribcage. The only solace he got, was that Keith had finally found the peace that he deserved.

It was bittersweet, even if the sweetness of it was lost to him.

Shiro wasn’t even quite sure why he ended up at the cafe on the day that he did. Up until that point, he’d blatantly avoided the coffee shop that he knew Keith had liked to frequent. Yet somehow, he found himself walking through the door, bell dinging above him as he pushed himself into the cafe.

All in all, it wasn’t anything special. Just another Starbucks sitting on another city corner. But the familiar espresso machines and coffee related items weren’t what caught his eye.

Tucked into the back corner of the coffeeshop, was a mop of black hair and a red leather jacket. Heart beating its shape into the bone of his ribs, Shiro couldn’t tear his gaze away from the man that looked all too much like him. As if he could feel his stare, the stranger looked up with his face made of sharp angles and violet eyes, effectively stealing his breath away.

As if pulled by an invisible string, Shiro found himself walking towards the stranger and his all too familiar face.

“Hi,” he said as soon as he’d reached it, voice held up by a wisp of air that he wasn’t even entirely sure the other man would hear. “I’m Shiro.”

Regarding him with those hardened jewel eyes, a moment passed before the man smiled at him. With a curt nod as he understood something deeper than just his name, he uttered one syllable in acknowledgement.

“Keith.”

***