Chapter Text
"You just have to get through this shift." He muttered to himself, rubbing his arm, which had started hurting out of nowhere along with his jaw just a few minutes ago. In fact, he'd been feeling incredibly ill, finding it hard to breathe, even. But, no matter how many times Steward reassured himself, there was that nagging voice in his head
(something bad is gonna happen something real bad this wont be good oh grambi oh grambi)
which had been there since he'd fallen ill.
He tried to ignore it.
Keyword, tried.
As he went through the motions he'd have to stop occasionally, attempting to take a few deep breaths. It was something Chambrea noticed.
"Hey, Gately, you good?" She tilted her head, watching as he fumbled with luggage. Steward gave her a weak-looking thumbs up.
"I started feeling sick, but I'm good! I'll finish this shift up and then I can get some rest back at my dorm." He watched Chambrea nod at the response.
"Alright, I'll make sure to visit you if I get the chance. Might cook something if you want me to-"
"Oh, no! You really don't have to go through all the trouble, honest!" Steward cut her off, trying his best to keep a smile on his face. Chambrea nodded, returning to work. Steward did the same, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it of dizziness. He needed to deliver this luggage.
Steward stumbled into the elevator, pressing the button for floor 5, the VIP suites. He made his way out into the hall, feeling substantially worse than how he did speaking to Chambrea. He just needed to get through this shift, then he could go home.
He just... needed... needed to....... get........ through..........
The world went black.
------
"Mmmnn..."
He stirred, opening his eyes. Well, trying to, at least. The once-tolerable lights of the hotel were now unusually bright to him, almost painfully so. He supposed he'd opt to keep his eyes closed, at least for now. Steward was fairly certain his condition worsened while he slept, his arm and jaw were both still sore, and on top of that, he'd presumably slept funny, as he couldn't feel his legs. Maybe he should end his shift early. He knew miss Gravely would understand. She certainly didn't want him working himself to death. Plus, he certainly didn't want to be seen lying on the floor. It was unprofessional.
It was when Steward tried and failed to move his legs he realized something was very, *very* wrong.
His eyes shot open, shutting again quite hastily. Instead of being able to push himself up one knee after the other, steward found that both of his legs moved at once, as if they were connected. To top it off, they felt weightless. The sensation sent a chill up his spine, leaving a deep pit of unease in his gut and making him shudder. He could only describe it as discordant, knowing full well legs did not move like that unless one wanted them to.
What was going on?
He'd have to figure that out.
Getting a bit of leverage, Steward flipped himself onto his back, taking a second to breathe once he had finished, the movement made him feel woozy. Gingerly, he propped himself up into a sitting position and cradled his head in his hands. All this was giving him a headache and he couldn't wait to get back to his dorm room and sleep.
That's when he took a look at one of his hands and realized it was blue.
Steward yelped, attempting some kind of recoil, only to get that same awful feeling up his spine. "What the-?!" Where was that even coming from?! He brought his hands to the ground, hoping that a better look at his legs would answer the question. However, in place of legs, there was a long, slender blue tail.
He wanted to scream. Hell, he might have actually screamed, he wasn't sure. He was dazed and confused and he was so, so scared. His breath sharpened and he tried to inch himself backward as if that'd solve anything. That was when Steward caught witness of his own corpse, and the fact that had been looming over his head dropped like an anvil as if this were all some sick slapstick act.
Steward Gately was dead.
He froze completely. Tears burned his eyes like acid, slowly building up and falling down his face like polluted rain covering a dull, grey city. The liquid glowed faintly, but it's luminosity provided no comfort.
"No. No. No. No. This can't be happening. This is a dream. I'm gonna wake up fine. This isn't happening." His own words held nothing convincing in them. He was a ghost. It was honestly something quite disorienting, he should've been right there, where his body was, but that wasn't him. Not anymore. Looking at his corpse was like watching a car crash, it was awful, nauseating, even, but he just couldn't look away. Steward wished he could've lived longer, he was only nineteen.
The most surreal thing was Steward didn't actually believe in ghosts. They were long left behind childhood fears, things Steward hadn't thought about since grade six. But, he was one, and it scared him. He didn't really know why, though. Maybe it was best he didn't think about it.
He couldn't tell you how long was spent like that. Curled up, tail hugged to his chest, head down low and with tears flowing and flowing. In fact, he wasn't even sure what happened in the moments leading up to his demise. Steward was lost, alone, and most of all, terrified.
Nothing was certain anymore.