The demonic pits don't hurt her, but crossing them nonetheless makes her skin crawl. Joy holds her breath and can't help but tread gingerly, a hurried, awkward hop-step carrying half the expectation that she'll pick up her boot and find burning tarry residue clinging to the sole.
"Hey, kid? Gonna need your help here."
Loathe though she is to pause, she glances back to where Ronan is standing at the edge of the glowing pit, his expression expectant, and her eyes cast helplessly around for an alternative. As much as she hates this supernatural game of the floor is lava, possession is always worse. "Can't you…I don't know, go round?"
"No more than you can."
The expected answer. He knows what walls he can walk through better than she does.
Joy huffs, shaking off the chill that runs through her even at the thought and hurries back to the start. "Alright, fine. But you know I hate this."
"Hey, I don't like it any more than you do. It'll take you, what? Five seconds tops to cross? I'm not going to outstay my welcome."
"You aren't welcome. Do you even understand what possession feels like?"
"Can't imagine it's worse than being shot seven times in the chest."
Touché. Joy grits her teeth and shoots him a glare. "Alright. Let's just get it over with."
Taking the permission like water wrung from a stone, he moves forward, too fast, too thoughtless, and though she tries to brace for it Joy finds herself flinching away. "Wait…"
An instinctive hand that can't hope to actually touch bats at his chest. He pauses, the impatience on his face replaced quickly with concern, though in the same moment that he freezes, so does she.
The fingers that passed right through him linger. Motionless, suspended in what may as well be empty air, yet her eyes have widened in shock.
Ronan stares at her. "What is it?" A few beats of nothing pass. He doesn't pull away, yet finds himself awkwardly shifting his phantom weight from foot-to-foot as she leaves her hand lodged inside his chest without answer. "Okay, you're making this awkward now…"
Joy licks her lips and swallows. It makes no sense, yet there's no denying the sensation drumming against her fingertips in defiance of all reason. "You have a heartbeat."
Now it's his turn to fall silent. She swears she feels the shock, an actual quickening beneath her hand, but looking up at his face she's surprised to find his expression has turned somber.
"You…feel that?" His voice is uncharacteristically quiet. "I'm not just imagining?"
"I know it makes no sense, but…yes. It's real."
"I thought I was just fooling myself."
Even were her hand not currently touching his heart, she senses the ache in his words. "Maybe it's because you still remember how it feels to be alive. Some ghosts are dead so long they start to forget."
His heart beats like an echo. A persistent relic with no physical function, yet like the phantom cigarette he'll never be rid of, perhaps its whole purpose is to anchor him to the identity that time and demonic spectres threaten to suck away.
Perhaps it's a common experience to all ghosts. She's never been close enough before to find out.
Her curiosity gets the better of her as she still doesn't draw back her hand, flexing her fingers to test what else she can feel and drawing a wince from Ronan as she grazes the presumably sore spot of a bullet hole.
He grunts softly. "Okay, now you really are making it awkward."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Does it bother you having some other entity hanging out in your body just feeling everything out of your control?"
His expression turns sheepish, head bowing. "Yeah, yeah. Alright. I get it. Sorry."
Satisfied, she begins to pull away, yet to her (and seemingly his) surprise, Ronan's hand flies up to clutch at his chest. He can't hope to physically keep her there, yet his palm comes to rest over her wrist, seeming to plead.
She swallows and chooses to ask. "May I?"
Silently, Ronan nods.
For a few moments longer, they stand and Joy marvels at the sensation of a phantom heart beating strong and steady within him. He's cold, yes, but the gentle thumping burns with a fierce humanity that death could never hope to erase.
The hell pit simmers beside them, hissing its threat. She feels a sudden surge of protectiveness.
"Alright, you ready?" she asks at length.
Ronan lets her go, being sure to meet her eyes this time before they try again. "May I?" he asks.
Joy nods decisively. "Yes."