Chapter Text
“Someone…someone I used to know found me. Tried to take me away, told me he’d have your soul once he’d dealt with me… But I couldn’t… I couldn’t let him touch you, Sunshine. I would give anything for you. I tried to fight him, but… well, maybe I’m not as good at everything as I assumed I was. I… I left part of my soul with you, Sunshine, before I cut away our connection. A much bigger part than before. Part of me will always be with you. If you ever feel lonely, put a hand to your chest and know that I will always be cheering you on.”
“I can’t go on without you, Casper…. Please don’t go.”
“You’ll be okay. You’re a strong person.”
“I don’t care about being strong, I just want you to stay. I love you, Casper. Please. Don’t leave.”
“I love you, too. Gods, I love you so much. I’ve always thought the only fairness in life was death. But right now, it feels… unbelievably unfair. I want to live. To stay with you. I was made for a singular purpose, and yet, here I am, failing it. But I also feel… happy. Because I had you. If I had never met you, I wouldn’t be feeling any of this. I would never have felt love, or sorrow, or loss. Never laughed, never cried…Be happy. You deserve to be happy.”
“How can I be happy without you now? How can I go on after having you?”
“I don’t know, Sunshine. I don’t know. Ugh, khh. So, this is what it feels like, to die beside someone you love more than anything… It is warmer… than I… imagined…”
His eyes fall closed, and his breathing begins to slow. Your body trembles as tears spill down your cheeks. You reach for him and feel his heat - what little of it he has. It is already fading.
“Please, open your eyes. Please, Casper! You said my soul was special, didn’t you? That I could heal people? Then take my soul! Take it all! I’d give it away in a heartbeat just to talk to you for a moment longer. Why… why isn’t it working…”
You half lift, half drag Casper inside, away from prying eyes.
“How sad.”
You don’t even turn to look. You hear a voice - his voice. The voice of the person who sent you that letter. You don’t even know how you know it, but you do.
“This is what happens to those who break the rules, ‘Sunshine’. Look and know that this was your fault. And now… your…soul…? Hah. So he has corrupted your soul with his own. A final effort to save that which he once loved. Your soul is no longer suitable for taking. Very well, it seems your ‘Casper’ has won, this time.”
“Please, help him. Please...”
“He is gone. He will be sent back to your home, and all memory of the Underworld, Casper, and anything he told you will be wiped from your mind.”
“I refuse to leave him!”
“That matters little to me.”
You feel a hand on your shoulder. Then everything goes white. The pain is brief, but sharp. But it’s not the pain that matters. You feel it, 5012’s powers attempting to rip every memory away from you. Every call, every joke. Every time Casper called you ‘Sunshine’, every time he said “I love you”. All the hours and hours spent talking, every memory attempts to burn away. Yet it doesn’t. The memories don’t fade like 5012 said they would, they stay. Casper and his edgy way of speaking. The bet, the fireworks. Everything was there…but shouldn’t be. You close your eyes, hoping it was all a dream. But when you open them, you’re back in your room.
You rush to your laptop to check if the virus Casper had installed was still there, and it was gone. Tears trickle down your cheeks, the realization hitting you. He was gone. You slink into the chair at your desk, press your knees to your chest, and sob.
/
It’s been 7 weeks and 3 days. Your days have been spent drawing, Casper mostly. Some commissions, to pay the bills, but mostly Casper. His long white hair. His cheeks, the ones that would flush red whenever you teased him. His expressive eyes that could never fully hide exactly what he was feeling. You drew it all. Deep down, you knew he was gone. That he’d never come back. But you didn’t want to believe that. You refused. Your sleep schedule was wrecked. Nights blurred together while you stayed up drawing. You would entirely forget to sleep, until the light had shifted and it was afternoon. Just one more drawing, you told yourself, then I’ll rest.
Something flickered at your window out of the corner of your eye. You looked up from your sketchbook, only to see a magpie perched on your window sill. Its head was cocked to the side as it watched you far too intently, as if it knew something you didn’t.
..Weird.
You went back to drawing, continuing to work on Casper laying in a field of sunflowers. You couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong, though. The room felt off, somehow. It wasn’t colder, it wasn’t darker, it was just… off.
You lift your head, deciding to put your paranoid thoughts to rest.
Someone was standing at the foot of your bed.
Your gaze drops back down to the sketchbook in your lap. Sunflowers surrounding the man who was now standing in front of you. You glance up again, confirming it was him.
The same height. The same shape. It was him.
His hair was shorter than you remembered, and his eyes looked brown, not red, but you convinced yourself it was your memory failing you. 5012 tried to wipe them anyway, right?
“Casper?” Your voice breaks. “I thought-” you set the sketchbook aside and practically throw yourself at the grim reaper standing in your room. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
You cling to him, fingers grasping his shoulder as your sobs start.
He doesn’t push you away. He doesn’t hold you either. He stands there, motionless like a doll. The silence stretches. You don’t get the warm welcome you were hoping for. No “hello sunshine”, no “I missed you”, nothing. It’s quiet.
You finally look up at him like a frightened animal.
“I’m not Casper.”
You blink.
“I don’t even know who that is.”
Were you misremembering? No, his name was definitely Casper. You were certain. This had to be Casper.
“That’s not funny.”
“I wasn’t trying to be humorous.” He retorts, his voice is monotone and blunt. It’s almost clinical.
You sniffle. “8394, station 13…? Casper…?”
His brow furrows, just slightly. “My name is 3048 and I’m from the 11th station.” There’s a pause in his words. “I don’t know who Casper is.”
“Oh,” your voice is quiet. A weird sort of quiet that’s almost pathetic. You stare at him, trying to process this. Your fingers start to loosen their grip on his coat.
He watches you quizzically, as if waiting for the denial, the correction.
It doesn’t come.
“You’re not Casper?” You ask.
“No.”
The answer is immediate, without hesitation. You’ve dealt with Grim Reapers before, and you know they can’t lie, but grief does things to your memory. Yours. Probably his, too. You swore he had longer hair and red eyes, what’s stopping him from forgetting his name?
You nod.
The motion is foreign, as if it’s not yours. You let go of his coat fully, your arms falling to rest against your side.
“Okay.” Your voice is softer this time. “I’m sorry.”
You don't know what you're apologizing for. Mistaking him. Crying on him. Existing, maybe. All of the above?
You pick the sketchbook up again, shuffling back to your original position on your bed. He watches you, clinically. Like he’s observing you. You should be scared right now, there’s a grim reaper in your room. The fear never comes as you continue sketching each individual petal. The only fairness in life is death, you remind yourself.
The silence is deafening. It’s the loud kind of quiet that drowns you and everything else around you out. He’s still staring, you know he is. You can feel his gaze following every movement your hand makes.
“You look like him,” you start. He stays quiet, waiting for you to finish. “Casper had longer hair, though.” You say, more to yourself than him. “And red eyes. I think.” You pause. “Or maybe they were brown. Maybe I just remembered wrong.” You put the pencil down and lift your head to match his eyes once more. You were studying him.
He’s the same height. He has the same hair. The same expressive eyes. It had to be him.
“Things change though, don’t they?” Your voice is amusing, as if there’s a joke about to be made. Yet the punchline never gets said. “Stations change, people change. Fleeting and human, right?” You remember the fireworks.
Your first date with Casper.
It wasn’t supposed to be the last one, but it was. Flashes of red and purple, green and blue filled the sky. That’s what he called them. Fleeting. They were brief. There one moment, and gone the next. You said all the good things were. But you didn’t mean this, you didn’t want it to be brief.
You reach for your pencil, holding it above the paper, hesitating.
It had to be him. Of course it was him, who else would it be? Your brain gives up arguing and lets you believe what you want.
You lower the pencil to the paper and continue your sketch. It doesn’t match the man in front of you exactly, but it’s close enough. Artists change things all the time.
“Hold still,” you command mindlessly. “You always move around while I’m drawing you.”
He doesn’t move. He doesn’t argue, either. He stays still and allows you to finish your drawing.
“There.” You relax your grip on the pencil and it falls onto your bed. You’re too focused to look for it. You examine the drawing, and are once more absolutely certain the two faces match.
You don’t look up at him as the name leaves your mouth,
“Casper.”
It’s not a question this time. It’s a statement.
Your room reacts before he does. The air stills like it did when he arrived. Like the shock of a plate falling onto the kitchen floor.
You can feel the way his brow furrows again. You don’t look to confirm, you just know it does. He inhales as if he’s about to say something, but nothing is said.
He should correct you.
He doesn’t.
He doesn’t say anything at all as you turn your sketchbook to face him.
“See?” You say softly. “I knew you’d come back.” You smile at the man, at Casper.
He continues studying you. His eyes narrow faintly, in protest, maybe, but he doesn’t voice his concerns.
You return to your sketch.