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Damon has been dead for months at this point. Kaan knows this; of course he does, he was the one that killed him. He can say that he now remembers what it feels like to kill a man with his bare hands. It's a memory that hits him at even the dullest of times– his hands wrapped around a pickle jar Felix asked him to open is too similar to his hands around Damon's throat, the blows delivered to the punching bag at the hotel's gym make him mentally replace red leather with easily bruised skin, the snap of a twig under his feet sends him back to breaking his arm and watch in one single stomp.
Outside of the image of it flashing in his mind every other time he closed his eyes, Kaan hasn't seen Damon's corpse in months, either. Not since he, Felix, and everyone else escaped that God forsaken prison. He tries to avoid looking at dead bodies altogether, if he can help it. Even the cheesiest of horror movies have enough to overwhelm Kaan with guilt, leaving him no choice but to excuse himself to the bathroom until the scene passes. It works only as a temporary solution, as does praying, as does distracting himself, as does everything.
Kaan was fine with all fixes being temporary. Getting rid of his guilt completely wouldn't be fair. In the end, Damon was right; Kaan was a killer. But he was also wrong; Kaan wasn't coldblooded and unfeeling towards his victims. Even if Felix, and Kaan's own mind, reminded him that Damon deserved that cruelty every day, Kaan couldn't help but feel some shred of remorse.
He knew Damon. He knew him more than anybody. His own eyes read pages upon pages about his homelife, about his thoughts. He knew about the one friend he had. He knew about both of his parents dying. He knew of his selfishness, of his longing for acceptance. He saw him tremble holding a gun. He heard him cry out for his father as Kaan choked him.
And he killed him anyway.
Whatever guilt came Kaan's way was deserved. It was just as deserved as Damon's death was.
—
Kaan wakes up with a start.
Immediately, he notices four things: his body is drenched in cold sweat, Felix is still snoring quietly next to him, he can't move, and something– someone?– is staring at him from the corner of the room.
He decides he should start thinking of the least distressing things first and work his way up.
Waking up like this isn't very out of the ordinary. Kaan can't remember ever sleeping well. When he and Felix first escaped the prison, he thought he could rest easier, but he couldn't have been more wrong. Being awake before Felix was also common for him. He'd gotten used to hearing the sound of his soft snores. It was comforting. It told Kaan, from the second he woke up, that Felix was there, safe and sound.
Being unable to move was slightly more concerning. This state of being wasn't one Kaan had a name for, but had experienced it a handful of times in the past. Despite the frequency at which this occurred, Kaan doesn't think he'll ever really get used to it. It terrifies him, to be frozen like this. The knowledge that Felix is there and neither of them are in danger provides no comfort from the oppressive force that keeps him pinned to his bed.
The figure in the corner was the most concerning. And yet, it wasn't terribly out of the ordinary– on paper, anyway. Kaan had seen shadowy people out of the corner of his eye for as long as he could remember. This figure's glowing eyes are also not super uncommon for Kaan to see. However frequently it happens, it still startles Kaan. This level of fright is only made worse by his sudden state of paralysis.
What really concerned Kaan, though, was that he could make out the figure's features.
In most other cases, when he's seen the shadow people, they look like the vague idea of a human. They have a humanoid shape, and occasionally they have eyes, but that's the end of it. Even from his bed, in the dark, with his poor eyesight, he can see the features clearly.
The darkness outlines an outfit– a long coat, pants, a turtleneck, boots. Hair forms nonsensical shapes. The face is clearest to Kaan. The figure has a thin face. Every angle on the figure is sharp and harsh, chiseled out from years of malnourishment. Yellow eyes cast a light on his body.
Kaan feels his heart sink, then race. It's Damon. The figure has to be Damon. His look is distinct; even if it wasn't, there was no way Kaan could forget what he looked like. Damon was the first person Kaan could remember seeing. He's spent most of his life with him, from what he could remember. For God's sake, he killed him.
He wants to call out his name, just to see if it's really him, but his mouth won't open. Some part of him is glad for that. If he could talk and Damon responded, he isn't sure what he'd do. What could he possibly say to the man he'd killed?
So, Kaan says nothing. He merely stares at Damon. Damon stares back. His eyes seem angry, Kaan thinks, but that's typical. He can only recall him looking not angry a handful of times; if he was grinning or weeping or doing anything else, it might unnerve Kaan more. At least the scowl is familiar.
As familiar as it is, it still worries him. A blank, yet still angry, stare means trouble, surely. His stomach twists. Damon is mad at him. Of course he is. He has every right to be, and Kaan knows it. Kaan murdered him. He broke into his living quarters, verbally tore him apart, evaded the death sentence, and murdered him.
Naturally, Kaan thinks, he must be here to kill me, right? Or- no, no, Felix had too little to do with any of this. That's not stopped him before, but…
Kaan swallows. That isn't it. If Damon wanted to kill either one of them, he'd have done so. There's no reason for him to be staring at him from across the room if he was planning on getting revenge. Kaan repeats this to himself a few times, his eyes never once leaving Damon, who stood perfectly still. Once he convinces himself that both he and Felix are safe, relief washes over him. As eerie as it is, Kaan figures it's ultimately harmless.
Strangely, Damon's presence as a whole is also familiar. Kaan hasn't seen him in months, and some horrible part of him felt incomplete because of it. Being forced to stare at a shadowy Damon, Kaan feels oddly whole again, like the part that died alongside his captor has returned to him.
All at once, Kaan can move again. His body jerks, limbs folding in on himself as if his movements from earlier had finally managed to catch up with him, only with a minute delay. The pressure on his body releases. Gratefully, his lungs swallow as much air as they can take. His breaths come out in quiet gasps.
When he looks back at the corner where Damon was, he finds nothing. No eyes, no person, no vague suggestion of a human. Kaan looks for a minute longer, just in case he does return. When he doesn't, Kaan looks down at the bedsheets he awkwardly tucked himself into.
He blinks. What was that? Was that actually Damon? Perhaps it was a mere trick of the light? Or was it just an elevated version of what Kaan had already experienced?
Kaan shakes his head. He doesn't have any answers. He doesn't know. But he does know that, for the rest of the night, he will be monitoring every corner of the room in case Damon does come back. He also knows that, in the morning, he will tell none of this to Felix. The less Felix hears about Damon, the better.
Besides, some burdens are meant for a sole person to bear them.
—
Kaan doesn't find himself alone very often.
Damon's presence has been an increasingly more frequent occurrence. He often shows himself at night, waking Kaan up at odd hours to stare at him and hold him down with nothing but his glowing eyes. It's become almost expected, just another part in his nightly routine. The nights where Damon doesn't visit shake Kaan up more than the nights he does nowadays. Nights spent in a separate bedroom (with the door open, just in case) aren't as solitary, even if Damon doesn't speak and Kaan is unable to.
Days are even less lonely. Ever since he befriended Felix in prison, the two were attached at the hip. Kaan loves it. The loneliness from before he met Felix was suffocating. He knew he was missing something in his life, but he couldn't put his finger on what he was missing; as it turns out, all Kaan needed was a friend, a family.
Still, they couldn't be together every second of every day. When his best friend decided he needed to make a solo run, Kaan would wait in their shoebox apartment and try to keep himself busy until his roommate returned. Most of the time, Kaan would read a book on the living room couch, catch up on some trash TV Felix insisted he needed to watch, do something mindless to pass the time quickly.
Today, though, as he turns away from the front door Felix just left from, he spots Damon standing in the corner of the small living room.
He jumps, eyes going wide. It's clearly daytime. The sun is streaming through the slits in the blinds; Damon is just barely in the light. Damon hasn't ever visited Kaan during the daytime. Seeing him in the night was Kaan's new normal. This was a change in routine. Kaan's heart picked up pace and his throat went dry; he felt like it was his first time seeing this vision of Damon all over again.
A long moment of silence came. Kaan isn't sure what to do. He has a mile-long list of opportunities laid out in front of him, but he's frozen and silent. Would Damon kill him now? It'd be the perfect time. Kaan is alone, Felix is out, there's plenty around to use as weapons. But Damon doesn't move. He just stares.
Fleetingly, Kaan realizes that he could kill Damon again, and then he'd stop showing up. Kaan shakes his head at the thought. He doesn't want to be violent. He doesn't want to prove Damon right more than he already has.
Besides, Kaan knows that some horrible part of himself would miss Damon. Just like he did when he killed him.
Cautiously, Kaan takes a step forward. Just to see what Damon will do. When Damon doesn't move or react beyond his glowing eyes glancing down at Kaan's feet, he takes another step forward. And another, and another, until they're standing face to face, with only a few feet separating them. Kaan hasn't been so close to Damon in months; the last time they were in such close proximity, Kaan was watching the light leave his eyes.
In the darkness, Kaan couldn't get a good look at Damon. Now, though, with the living room light on and with the lack of distance, he saw things he hadn't noticed before. The white fabric of his lab coat was splattered with blood, mostly centered around his upper body. A severely broken watch hung off of his right hand; the wrist itself was discolored and unnaturally bent. His lip was busted. Purple-black-blue bruises were littered across Damon's face. His turtleneck collar was lopsided, revealing the distinct imprint of hands around his thin throat.
He looks just like he did when Kaan had last seen him.
Without thinking about it, one of Kaan's hands comes to the back of his own neck, scratching and scratching as he looks at the state of Damon. He takes a step back. His breaths are shallow. Damon is dead. He's in front of him, and he's dead. Kaan doesn't even see his chest rising and falling. Damon is clearly still aware, though– his eyes track Kaan's movements perfectly.
Kaan can, at least, disprove some of his theories from the first night he saw Damon. This isn't the light messing with his head, and the shadow people aren't this detailed, nor do they let him get close to them. This must actually be Damon Woods.
As for what he is, the only half-reasonable thing Kaan can assume is that Damon, in this state, is a creature from the horror movies Felix watches with him: a ghost, a spectre.
At the realization, Kaan's eyes widen. The pace of his nails scraping against the nape of his neck quickens. Ghosts weren't something Kaan has ever really considered as being potentially real, but one is right in front of him. He doesn't know what to do. Does he try to stick a hand right through him? Does he call somebody? He's never had to think about what to do in the presence of the ghost of the man you killed.
So, he opens his mouth. A thousand questions are flooding his head, so he might as well ask one of them. “Damon–”
Just as he's about to ask how he's here, the door opens. Kaan's head whips around and he jumps back, his eyes the size of dinner plates. In comes Felix, cane in hand, with an annoyed look on his face. Kaan watches silently as he makes his way to the coffee table. Felix grabs his wallet and shakes it at Kaan in faux anger.
“You just let me walk outta the house without my wallet? Some friend you are. I had to make excuses with the guy at CVS for, like, twenty minutes. The whole store was lookin’ at me by the end of it. I don't think I'm allowed back there,” Felix rambles.
Kaan blinks. He's not making any reference to Damon, which is odd. Kaan figures that the number one thing Felix would do if he saw him again would be insulting him. That, or attacking him directly.
Felix pockets the wallet and tilts his head. “What were you doing that was so important that you couldn't call me about my wallet? Is Blair Witch-ing it in the corner more of a priority than making sure your best friend can pay for his things?” He tsks, shaking his head.
Kaan's head spins. His mouth hangs open like an idiot. He can't tell Felix that he was staring at Damon. It'd just upset him.
“I… Sorry. I was just– spacing out,” Kaan replies, smiling softly. “If I had noticed, I would've called. Promise.”
“Yeah, and you would've taken a twenty, too,” Felix grumbles teasingly.
Kaan forces himself to laugh. “Maybe. Maybe you're lucky I didn't see it.”
Felix smiles. He waves a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. Hey, listen, I gotta run. They'll only hold my stuff for me for so long.” Felix is already halfway out the door. “I'll get you a Snickers or something!” he calls. The door shuts behind him.
Immediately, Kaan turns around. Damon is gone. There's no trace of him. He's here one second, Kaan turns his back, and he leaves. Kaan sighs. He runs a hand through his hair, then uses the opposite hand to scratch at his wrist.
“Damon…,” he repeats. He trudges over to the couch and plops down, burying his head in his hands. He's exhausted.
Everything was so simple when Damon only showed up to stare at him in the night. Why did Damon always have to complicate things for Kaan?
He puts his head further in his palms and stays that way as he waits for Felix – and Damon – to return.
—
Kaan swears he hears something.
Obviously, he can hear Felix's shower running and the muffled sound of his roommate's severely off-key singing, but the noise he just heard was different. Louder. Closer. Familiar.
Kaan holds his breath. He waits for the sound to come again.
After a moment, it does. Clear as day, he hears a voice calling out from behind him – “Mister Skaduw.”
Kaan whirls around immediately. His heart pounds for a brief moment as he takes in the person behind him. It's Damon. Of course. Who else would it be? His heart rate settled back to its typical speed.
Seeing Damon was barely a surprise at this point. Aside from the odd (accidental?) jumpscare and the obvious unpleasantness of Damon's corpse-like state, his appearances aren't too scary. Still, something about hearing that name – Mister Skaduw – makes him feel uneasy, even after all this time.
“Damon,” Kaan greets, lowering his voice more than usual; he doesn't want Felix to overhear him speaking to a ghost, much less the ghost of Damon Woods. “It's nice of you to show up today. I was wondering when you'd hit this week's visiting quota.”
Damon stares down at him silently.
“You don't need to call me ‘Mister Skaduw’ anymore,” Kaan continues. “We aren't in the– we aren't there anymore. I'm sure your job isn't… well, really your job anymore. They've probably passed it onto somebody else. Maybe it's the kid of– your boss; I believe you mentioned them, but I try not to listen when you talk about him.”
Kaan laughs softly. Damon doesn't react much, but Kaan thinks he sees his usual scowl deepen. The expression shift doesn't worry him as much as it used to. Damon can't hurt him. Kaan's tried to touch him, and he can't – Kaan just passes right through him, and then Damon evaporates into the air. He can't blame him; the sensation of having another person literally go through you can't be pleasant– but Kaan would love to try it out anyway.
“Either way, what I'm trying to say is,” Kaan says, shaking his head to clear his mind slightly, “you don't need to be so formal. You essentially live with me now, with how frequently you show up. Just don't tell Felix that. He'd hate to have you as a roommate. Probably about as much as you'd hate having him as a roommate, huh?”
Another laugh from Kaan, and another frown from Damon.
“It's a good thing he can't see you, isn't it? Why do you think that is, by the way? If you were going to haunt anyone, I would have guessed Felix above myself– ah, but I am the one who… murdered you, so I suppose it does make sense after all. Still, it is rather odd that you only show up to me. Don't most ghosts either make themselves known to everyone or turn invisible? Can you do that? Is that what you're doing when I can't see you?”
Damon narrows his eyes. His arms slowly move to fold over his chest. His right wrist is still limp, bent, and swollen, and the sight of how his hand moves fascinates Kaan. When Damon shoots him a fierce look, Kaan looks back up at his face, tilts his head, and smiles.
“Am I asking too many questions?” There's almost a sheepish tone to his voice. Damon gives an affirmative eyebrow raise. “Maybe I wouldn't be asking so many questions if you would talk to me more, you know. Some of my curiosity would be satiated that way.”
As Kaan looks at Damon's annoyed face, the oddity of this situation hits him suddenly. He's sitting on a chair, in an apartment with Felix Venturi, chatting to the ghost of Damon Woods like a casual friend. A year ago, he wouldn't have allowed himself to even dream about this; he wouldn't have thought to. The idea of truly befriending Damon is absurd and has only been done by one person prior, a person Kaan only knows of through words on a page.
Kaan stares at his arms. Pale skin is coated in scars. He knows the origin of only some of these; most of those stories involve Damon. The absence of memory is his fault, too. As is the cane Felix walks with. And the way Kaan doesn't feel safe on his own, or being touched, or being around weapons.
He should hate Damon, like Felix does. He wants to. Life would be easier if his feelings about him were simpler. If he could hate, unrestrained, paying this spirit no mind, he thinks he wouldn't feel so tired all the time. It would be reasonable for him to detest Damon, too– any outside person would assume he does. Damon hurt Kaan beyond repair, derailed his life to the point of almost not being able to come back, and yet Kaan doesn't hate him.
In fact, he realizes, he missed him. The part of Kaan that felt complete when he first saw Damon's ghost only grew with each passing visit. Their relationship is different now. It isn't as hostile; it can't be. It's friendly. Casual. Talking to Damon like a friend comes as easily to him as talking to Felix.
He frowns at the thought. Felix would hate him for that comparison, and so would Damon. But it's true. They're both part of his life. He can't think of a life without either of them. They're tangled in the same fabric that creates the life Kaan leads. Damon's return makes him feel normal again.
“Mister Skaduw,” Damon calls again. Kaan snaps out of his thoughts and looks up at him.
“I told you, just Kaan is alright,” he reminds. A sigh, and a half-smile. “Old habits die hard, don't they?”
Damon looks away, past Kaan and at the bathroom door. Kaan follows his gaze. Felix must be coming out soon. The shower has turned off, and he's only humming now. Quickly, Kaan turns back to face Damon, but he's already gone. Kaan shakes his head. No matter how many times they talk, Damon always has a habit of vanishing before they get a proper goodbye; Kaan supposes it's some kind of payback for how many times he startled Damon by appearing next to him when Damon was still alive.
Felix comes out of the bathroom a moment later in just a pair of patterned boxers, hair mildly wet. Kaan acknowledges him with a nod.
“Nice shower?” he asks.
Felix nods. “As far as showers go, yeah. But we've gotta upgrade to a bath in our next apartment. I miss soaking!”
Kaan nods with a smile. A moment passes. Felix looks back at Kaan.
“Hey, listen, I know this isn't a super normal question, but keep in mind that, as your best friend, I don't judge you, but have you- been talkin’ to yourself more? ‘Cause, as your best friend, I'm also kinda concerned for you.”
Kaan looks away. He smiles, somewhat nervous. His hand scratches lightly at his neck.
“Ah…” He pauses. “...Yes. Sorry. I'll try to cut back, or be quieter. I don't mean to disturb you.”
Felix waves his hand. “You're fine. Do what you gotta do. I was just curious, is all. Although, if you and yourself have any interestin’ conversations, you gotta fill me in. There's nothing worse than being excluded from a two-man friend group.”
Kaan snickers and agrees, but his stomach turns. Felix is probably right– in most social situations, Kaan trusts what he says, since his experience is far greater than Kaan's own– but he has to be excluded from this one thing. It's for his own good. Felix would lose his mind if he knew. He's stressed enough as is and he already lives with a constant reminder of Damon. He doesn't need Kaan adding anything onto it.
It wouldn't be fair, either. Kaan was the one who took Damon's life. He is the one Damon chose to haunt. He is the one who carries the most guilt, he assumes. To push that load on Felix wouldn't be right, no matter how close they are.
Felix wouldn't understand, anyway. Felix can't possibly miss Damon like Kaan does– did.
—
Damon has been dead for roughly a year at this point. Kaan knows this; Kaan also knows that he sees Damon at least thrice a week.
The guilt fluctuates. Some days, it's easy for Kaan to slip into a slight fantasy: Kaan and Damon are friends, Kaan talks to him, Damon listens, and neither of them have ever hurt each other. Other days, Kaan is frozen even when he's not stuck in bed. He looks at the ghost's cadaverous form and his heart aches. The worst things said about him have turned out to be true, and the proof stands in front of him, reserved for his eyes only.
He knows the guilt is permanent. He's tried shaking it with apologies and anything else he can think of, but it won't leave, and he figures that he deserves that. Damon's presence is permanent, too.
Kaan thinks that's deserves, too, for the both of them. Damon is stuck for, presumably, all of eternity following his murderer, the one person he couldn't control. Kaan is haunted by the only thing he can remember killing, the person who was there in his very earliest memories.
This relationship isn't normal, but it never has been. It's always been a complex, confusing relationship founded on one killing the other.
There is no other way their relationship could continue outside of one haunting the other. It's an unavoidable fate, and the only one that would fit the two of them.