He was dead. The only person she actually loved authentically. Sure, she was woebegone about her one and possibly only, but she didn't really have a reason to.

She knew she could never have him anyway, with all those girls surrounding him. Hell, she was better off forgetting and giving up on trying. Who could blame him, he was hands-down devilishly handsome and had that "bad boy" emanation that girls always seem to go moonstruck for. And unsurprisingly, she herself fell under that alluring conjuration. Out of the blue, as well. She never really felt such a strong magnetism for an individual.

It was raining, and she was outside. Out in an open field. She couldn't care less if she caught pneumonia and died. At least that would be enough reimbursement for what she did. In all reality, she didn't necessarily kill him as in first-degree or second-degree murder. Instead, maybe aforethought by some as third-degree murder.

But, that wasn't incontrovertibly correct, either.

He committed suicide. She was there with him, too. She could have stopped him. Instead she let him self-slaughter himself. And she abhorred herself so much for letting him slip right through her fingers like hot acid.

She let out a soft sneeze, wiping her petite nose with her already-sodden sleeve. Her knees were brought up to her chest, while her arms wrapped around them. Her head was tucked between the gap her knees and chest made. Her clothes were aqueous and saturated to the bone. She remembered he loved the rain. Another sneeze emitted from her nose, although this time more clogged-up and strangled. Her hair was showery with cold, rain water. Her once-perfect buns, now bedraggled and sloppy, lay on both sides of her languorously. She didn't wear her visor ever since his death. It just sat on his grave, untouched and undisturbed. The cardboard that gave the brim its shape was probably all soggy and misshaped. And yet again, she couldn't give a shit even if she tried. She became so apathetic after that tragic day. Not even her best friend could make her crack a grin or force a giggle out of her. She was so crestfallen and irrevocable without him. A small, brunette head peaked out from being tucked in its chest to look at the sky. Her bright blue eyes, once bubbly and cheery, were now gray with despair and wretchedness. The simulacrum copy of his cadaverous body appeared in her mind, causing the brunette to shrink back into the gap of her body. The image of her hand desperately trying to grab him before it was too late cued in right after that scene vanished. Everything was seen in black and white for her now. Her now phlegmatic nose bothered and fragmented her respiratory system. The depressed girl peeked her head back up from her body to face the sky again. The rain drops shot her eyes remorselessly like agile bullets. Her callous eyes, jejune and glacial, blinked monotonously against the beating of the crisp monsoon. Who knows how long she'd endure the wintry torrent. Ignoring the freezing droplets, she lingered there, silent and quiescent.

Being a wraith was reprehensibly platitudinous. It was nothing like how it's depicted in films and other folklore.

It was, in a sense, quite imbecilic compared to all those prosaic fabrications.

Being a phantom had nothing engrossing about it. There really was no such thing as paranormal because ethereal beings, such as himself, are incapable of interacting with the real world. Mere mortals cannot see them nor hear them, and incorporeal beings aren't qualified to occupy an inanimate being or the body of a wight. If anything, being a ghost completely and utterly blows. He detested to acknowledge it, but he might have actually preferred to live his shitty life instead of this spiritless dump.

He looked at himself. He was slightly transparent; the color of his over world features merged into a pale pastel palette and whatever was behind him could be seen. The deluge and droplets went right through him. He could feel the presence of someone so very faintly. It was imperceptible, but it was still there. His phantasm senses followed the weak signal until he found her.

Faithsu.

She was wheezing rather silently, with her head sunken low in between her knees and chest. He wondered if it was from crying or if it was from the frosty rain. He walked towards her, kneeling down beside her blandly. She was the only girl who actually meant something to him, those other females meant lesser than a penny to him.

This life is filled with hurt.

"... Why can't I feel anything anymore...? Have I really become this numb to everything around me?" He heard her talking softly, glancing over at her drenched frame. Her clothes showed her now-wrinkled flesh, especially her black tights.

Anger and agony are better than misery.

"... I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all... I miss you..." She spoke again, burying her head deeper into her body.

"Rakutsu." A dull cry emitted from his left. She obviously was struggling to speak, as she sounded like she was being strangled.

You're not the only one.

The male adolescent also voiced what he felt. "... I miss you too."

Much to the wraith's surprise, the brunette jerked up rapidly in confusion, turning her head in both directions quickly like a rabid animal. "W-Who's there?"

Wait, she could actually hear him?

Trust me, I've got a plan.

"Can you hear me, Faithsu...?" He said in a soft tone, sparsely.

Can't get enough.

She wiped her face, although it was useless. "Who are you?"

"Ah, so you can hear me..." He said frivolously. "I'm somebody that you used to know."

I'll show you a world you'll understand.

"Somebody that I, what?" She asked rhetorically, cognizance suddenly hitting her irritably.

I like it rough.

"R-Rakutsu...?" The other squelched, grasping her throat in hopes of relieving her throat.

"Yeah, it's me..." The male replied tenderly. He had always thought that it wasn't possible for a mortal being to hear him. Looks like he was proven incorrect, then.

Faithsu couldn't remain soulless anymore; she broke down. Her eyes were rejuvenated with life again, returning to their original sky blue color. Her speech was gurgled and asphyxiated, as she choked slightly.

"R-Rakutsu!" The teared up female wailed. "I'm sorry I didn't-" Sniff. Gurgle. "Stop you. This is all my fault, and I'm-" Sneeze. "So sorry..."

She heard his voice again. "It's not your fault, Faithsu... This was my choice, and you have no fault on you..." It was so forgiving. And that just caused her to mourn even harder.

"Pick your head up, princess, your tiara's falling down..." She heard him, before she saw him right next to her. Was she hallucinating?

"R-Rakutsu..." She choked out, coughing a bit. "I-I can see you...?" The spiritual being looked at himself, then smiled softly. "Guess you can..."

As waterfalls flowed down Faithsu's cheeks, the male phantom leaned in and used his hand to sponge off her tears, much to her astonishment.

"I may not exist physically anymore, but I'll always be there," He pointed to her heart. "Right in your heart." She looked at his gleaming, clear amber eyes. She crawled towards the consciousness of her past crush, and embraced him. She sobbed quietly in his shoulders, her sodden hair lying against his knee and ankle. The rain continued to pour down callously. She felt him wrap an arm around her slightly.

"I'm sorry I died, Faithsu... I hope you can forgive me..." He whispered out.

She clung onto him tenaciously, tightening her arms' grip on his phantasm neck.

"I don't care! ... Just as long as I know you'll be watching over me, and that you'll never leave me... Again..."

Rakutsu knew that was something he could fulfill. And he certainly had no objections towards it.

"I promise..." He replied, before vanishing, leaving the cold and water-logged brunette lying on the grass. I promise...

As long as she knew that he would be there for her, maybe she could return things to the way they were.