Archive of Our Own ^beta

It began a tradition that I swore I’d never enjoy. Every year, the two of us would get together to celebrate. It wasn’t always a celebration of us as individuals, or even life in general. Sometimes it was just celebrating our favorite ice cream flavor or the shitty television show we were currently fixated on. My favorite year was the one where we spent the whole time celebrating the lack of birthday celebrations (full Alice in Wonderland style).

When I was with her, there wasn’t a single birthday that passed where I was alone. She was always there, cake and candle in hand and ready to listen to whatever bogus anti-wish I’d concocted.

Two days before her birthday that year, I had realized that I didn’t hate the reminder anymore. In fact, I couldn’t wait to see her. To hear what she chose to celebrate and to watch as she opened her gift that was, for the first time, completely unironic.

I realized that day, as I held the small gift in one hand and my phone in the other, that I wasn’t meant to enjoy birthdays.

‘There’s been an accident.’

Why couldn’t fate have waited at least another 72 hours?

‘I’m so sorry, Raymond.’

She deserved to have another birthday.

‘It wasn’t anyone’s fault.’

I made her favorite cake.

‘Raymond? Are you there?’

I bought her funny balloons months ago with curse words and sad faces.

‘I’m so sorry.’

It wasn’t fair, I thought as I turned to the calendar where she’d wished me a happy unbirthday.

We were supposed to have a party.

‘She didn’t make it.’

—————367 days later—————

I hadn’t been able to sleep in what felt like a year. What had been a year. A year and two days since I lost her.

Time passed differently without her, but birthday season felt the same. It always came too soon and lasted too long. I’d been dreading her birthday with a twisted sort of oxymoronic excitement. I’d spent so long planning a celebration for a dead woman that I’d never stopped to consider she might not come.

It was a difficult, isolating problem to have. Not many would understand why the empty space where she should be sitting felt so disappointing.

I had done everything I was supposed to for her to arrive.

So why was I surprised when she did? Why had I needed to blink once, twice, three times before I believed my own eyes?

There she was, proudly seated beside me like she had been there all along. She wore a smile that told me she’d been waiting for me to notice. I could only hope that my reaction — which could only be described as a total and complete state of shock — hadn’t been disappointing.

“(Y/n)...” I muttered mostly to myself, “You came.”

With a quirk of her head and a graceful snort, she laughed, “Was I supposed to miss my own birthday party?”

I lunged forward to grab her, but then I stopped. Frozen in the air just before our bodies made contact, I noticed that nothing felt cold or warm or strange at all.

“C-Can I— Can I touch you?” I asked, nonetheless, breathless, and terrified and happy all at once.

A teasing smile stretched over her cheeks that had the same color as always. Small hands reached out around me, urging me forward, begging me to take the initiative to close the gap.

“Of course, Raymond,” she said like it was a stupid question. And honestly, it was, because we both knew that regardless of the answer she gave, I was always going to try.

Because she was right there. There was nothing hazy, no glowing lights or corrupted pixels — it was just her.

My arms closed around her gently at first, waiting for her to disappear and leave me grabbing at empty air. But then she was laughing, the air pushed from her lungs as she struggled under my vice-like grip, and I couldn’t contain it anymore.

I burst into tears before I could even comprehend what was happening. Her hands laced through my hair and her comforting giggles continued to echo in the room that had felt so lonely for over a year.

“Hey!” she yelled playfully while trying to comb through the bird’s nest on my head, “The song goes it’s my birthday I can cry if I want to. Not you!”

“I’m sorry. I can’t help it,” I blubbered between sniffles.

“It’s okay… but you are being sort of a downer.”

She’d had a point, so I let it be. I answered only with an awkward, still stunned laugh, and she was all too happy to accept that as enough.

“Is the cake for me?” she asked.

Some part of me wanted to be offended, but it wouldn’t have been her if she hadn’t immediately abandoned me for a frosted pastry.

“Yeah. I made it myself.”

“I remember your baking,” she hummed just before taking a bite. Then, through a full mouth she mumbled happily, “I remember it well.”

While she lost herself in worldly pleasures, I was struggling to comprehend the otherworldly. I gazed upon her pure expressions of joy, the way her lips curved between each bite and her eyes fluttered shut to fully savor the taste of love baked into her favorite flavor.

I watched her, unabashedly basking in the beauty of another moment with her, even if it ended up being a fever dream or delusion. When she gestured for me to come closer, I followed without hesitation. I came so close to her that she actually had to back up to be able to bring a bite to my lips instead of hers.

I accepted the cake, and like her, I hadn’t let a full mouth dissuade me from singing her praise.

“I miss you,” I said, not realizing how heavy the words were.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she chastised with a soft click of her tongue.

The sound alerted me to what I’d yet to do, and before either of us could breathe another breath (assuming she in fact was), I brought our lips together. To my surprise, they were the same as the day I’d lost her. Warm, plump, and softer than what should be humanly possible.

Although, again, I supposed she was no longer human, anyway.

But it was hard to deny the perfection of every detail. As my hand smoothed over her hair and down her neck, I said the only thought repeating on loop in my mind, without considering how silly it would sound.

“You feel so real,” I said.

“I am real,” she laughed. Then, with a painful amount of sarcasm she lectured, “Ghosts are real, Raymond. I didn’t think I had to explain that to you.”

It was a good joke. A great joke, even. But I selfishly needed her to take the moment more seriously. To understand that I’d been waiting over a year to see her, and now that she’d joined me, she was acting like nothing had happened.

But it had. So much had happened.

“You know what I mean,” I whispered.

She let it go. It wasn’t entirely like her to let me win, but I think we were both willing to accept abnormal for the time being.

One thing had stayed the same, though. The music that gently flowed through the room was a healthy dose of nostalgia. A series of songs that I hadn’t managed to get through on my own in over a year.

“You’re playing my playlist,” she said with a distant, far-off stare. Like she was trying to remember the words that had escaped her.

“I heard it makes spirits more likely to come if they feel comfortable.”

(Y/n) started to giggle. Just a little at first, but then even a mouthful of cake hadn’t been enough to stop her.

“What’s so funny?” I mumbled in my usual insecure manner.

I knew it made her feel bad. It was sort of the point, but only because I knew she would make up for it swiftly and with full force. And she did.

“If you want what I’m used to, you should have played your 40s music and Halloween movie soundtracks,” she explained through the purest smile I’d ever seen.

I knew from that smile alone that, unlike how she’d struggled with her own, she would remember every word to every track on my list.

“I still can play that,” I pointed out matter-of-factly.

“Do it,” she urged through more lighthearted laughter, “I dare you.”

I’d been so excited to do it. I’d always loved our dares, always loved to beat her in whatever silly little way I could. I wanted to make her happy, to blast the music we shared together so that we could feel that foolhardy happiness again.

But when it came time to turn my back to her, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

“Wait,” I said with shaky breath. “C-Can you… Please, come with me.”

“It’s like five feet away, Raymond. I knew you were needy, but...” she tried to play it off, but I remained steadfast in my footing. There was no playfulness to my tone; only pain I hadn’t really wanted her to hear.

“I don’t want to let go of your hand,” I whispered, “… Please.”

I watched as the realization dawned on her. The grief, anger, and sadness flashed over her features in the blink of watery eyes. Then it was gone again, replaced with love, and only love.

“Fine. I have to get up to dance anyway.”

And dance we did. We danced in every conceivable way, and some that were probably too ridiculous to even be considered as such. We did the tango, the Macarena, and the waltz. Our lips found each other over and over until I was certain she would be sick of it. She never was. We held each other shamelessly, loved each other in excess.

But when the music lost its novelty, we still hadn’t tired of each other. In that silence, I found the strength to request the answers to things I hadn’t wanted to ask.

“Can I ask you some questions?”

“Depends. Are they questions about death and dying?”

Smart as a whip.

“No, they’re questions about you,” I lied. When it was obvious that she hadn’t bought it, however, I admitted the truth. “Okay, fine. A little bit of both.”

“I’ll allow it,” she hummed before nuzzling her face further into my neck.

I considered not asking. I thought about how selfish I was being, to waste our little time together with my selfish nonsense. But the questions had been eating at me for a year, and I knew if I didn’t ask her, if I couldn’t hear her explain them to me, I would forever assume the worst.

“Why don’t you come visit me more often?”

“Ah,” was all she said at first. With a pained, tight grip on the back of my shirt, she gave her answer softly and defeated. As if she had been ashamed of the truth. “I can’t. At least, not like this. I planned very far ahead to be able to see you again.”

“Are you... happy? Being here, on Earth?”

That one took her longer to reply. When she did, though, the apathy in her voice told me more than the words she’d chosen.

“I don’t know that I feel anything about it. It doesn’t really feel like I’m here like that.”

The insecurities crept back over the happiness, bleeding through and tainting the memories that might need to last me a lifetime.

“D-Does it feel like you’re here now?” I croaked, “Do you feel like you’re with me now?”

Whether it was because she hadn’t trusted me to believe her voice, or because she couldn’t find the words to explain, she kissed me.

I accepted it as the answer because I was pretty sure I understood it, anyway. But when we pulled away, I chased after her lips. Her hands cradled my face, holding our foreheads together so we could talk without feeling too far away.

“I have one more question.”

“I know,” she whispered in a voice so pitiful, she was practically begging me not to ask.

But I had to.

“Can you stay?”

“No, Raymond,” she said through tears that started to pour down still lively cheeks, “You know I can’t. You know I would, baby. I would do it so fast, but I can’t. Please know that I would.”

Through my own heavy sobs, I choked out the only solution that felt attainable. The only thing I could think to do to make anything okay.

“Then…” the words caught on my throat, and she tried to kiss me to stop what she saw coming. But I didn’t let her.

I had to.

“Then can I come with you?”

With a knowing, devastating smile she answered, “Over my dead body.”

Together, we laughed the grief into a manageable existence. We let our tears dry because we wanted to be able to see each other as perfectly as we could for whatever time we had left.

As if she’d been able to read my mind, the way she always had even before she became supernatural, she wiped the tears from my chin as she assured me, “There is no rush, Raymond. Live your life. I’ll be there when it’s time.”

“How long will that be?” I asked, hoping that she’d have some insider information.

But even if she did, she just gave a little shrug, instead.

“I hope it’s a long time, so you’ll have a bunch of stories to tell me when you get there.”

“I’m terrible at telling stories,” I reminded her ever-so-kindly.

“You’re good at ghost stories,” she argued ever-so-smartly, “Like this one.”

I hugged her closer, unable to look her in the eyes when she proved me wrong yet again. I breathed in the scent of her exactly as I’d remembered it. I let my hands roam her back, her hair, her everything. I was shaking from the enthusiasm in my touch, but she never once complained.

Although, that didn’t stop her from commenting on the obvious.

“You’re a bit handsy for a guy touching a dead girl.”

“You know, I don’t remember you being this funny,” I squeaked in a poor attempt at self-defense.

With a feigned offense, she gasped before crying, “How dare you misremember my greatest legacy!”

That time our laugh was nothing close to bitter. It was sweet as crystallized clover honey and milk. It did not hurt at all, and for the briefest of moments, she hadn’t been dead at all. She was alive in my arms, filling the reserves of my heart to maximum capacity once more.

I would need them to last me longer this time.

“When do you have to go?” I asked when I finally worked up the nerve.

With a lopsided smile, she answered, “Soon.”

“Will you wait until I fall asleep first?”

“Of course, my love,” she said.

There were no other words necessary. The night was quickly approaching its end, and although I knew it wasn’t a Cinderella story, I still didn’t want it to happen where she disappeared before my eyes came to rest.

So, the two of us curled up in the bed we used to share. Her body still fit so perfectly beside mine, and I wondered how it could be that my eyes fell heavy so quickly. After over a year of running on no sleep, my body was finally ready to rest.

So was hers.

“I’ll meet you in your dreams, too,” she promised me as she inspected my sleepy gaze with an unusual amount of scrutiny. Like she wasn’t quite sure she was telling the truth but would try her damnedest to make sure it happened. “Someday, I will.”

When I couldn’t stop the tears anymore, she was sure to brush them away all the same. Her eyes stayed open, and I decided that it was only fair that she would get to see me until it was time for her to go. Even if I was selfish for the extra few hours, minutes, or seconds, I would give her the chance to witness the peacefulness she provided.

“I love you so much,” I whispered for the last time.

“I love you, too, Raymond,” she returned in the same way, “I always will.”

I believed her. I would never have to wonder again.

“Go to sleep, darling,” she instructed with one more chaste kiss against my forehead.

And, in that way where I always tried my hardest to make her happy, I obeyed. I fell asleep to the sound of her voice saying that she loved me. I felt tight, greedy arms hold me until I was in the one place that always felt safe. The dreams of her and I, as we should have been.

I danced with her there, too. We held each other like a promise. We shared the simple joys of cake, Halloween soundtracks, and awkward laughter. I swore to myself that I would repeat it all over and over again so that I would never forget.

But when I opened my eyes again to see her, the day was new, and my bed was empty.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Things were going to be okay. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But that ever-elusive, always enticing ‘someday,’ we would be together again. She had basically promised me as much, and I had to believe her. She was always the smarter of the two of us. The funnier, too. I would be sure to remember that from that point on.

Breathe in, I thought to myself. But as turned to the empty chair where she’d sat, all of the air came out in a hasty, nervous laugh as I noticed half of the cake missing.

Beside the half-eaten pastry was a note, simple but sweet — just like we’d always been.

“Raymond,

I can’t wait until I see you again. Bring the best stories you can find.

I love you,

(Y/n).”

And although I cried as I read her name as written for the last time, I also had to smile at the frantically scribbled afterthought smushed into the little room left under her signature.

“P.S.” she’d written, “Bring more cake, too.”