"Hey, doggy? Can you fetch another spanner for me, please?"

"Arf!"

A blur of white leapt across the room. Harsh clanging and crashing followed in the ghostly canine's wake. Luigi flinched, whirling around in his seat as he watched the dog rummaging around. Exaggerated sniffing and barking echoed as Polterpup searched through the toolbox on the other side of the room.

Luigi sat back. He presumed Harhall hadn't touched the untidy box in years. At least not after he caught a passing comment about how 'basic repair doesn't equal innovation', as Harhall'd been muttering when he was digging the thing out from the back of a closet. Luigi didn't want to assume anything. Maybe Harhall just didn't know his way around a drill. It was a lack of knowledge for most, he supposed, and as long as it was at Luigi's disposal, he didn't mind either way.

Shiny metal spilled as Polterpup emerged from the toolbox, beaming with pride. He carried his newfound catch over to his owner. The wrench, covered in ectoplasmic slobber, was promptly deposited into his open palm. Luigi shivered a bit from the sensation, but still leaned down and gave Polterpup a firm pat on the head, chuckling.

"Heehe... good doggy. Thank you."

"Borf!" Polterpup barked and hopped up on the couch, laying down and stretching. He busied himself, chewing on a pin cushion.

Luigi turned back to his desk. He wiped the slobber off his hand onto his shirt and got back to work, whistling as he tightened one of the bolts on his patchwork Poltergust prototype.

Since waking, he'd laid out a plan. Harhall's studio was boiling with well-rested energy, Luigi having finally obtained a full night's sleep. When he woke (only a few hours ago at this point), he'd nearly forgotten where he was, if only for a fleeting second. The confusion lifted when he saw Harhall standing in the kitchenette and draped over a buzzing coffee machine.

Drowsy at the time, Luigi forced himself to sit up on his elbows. Metal glinted off an overhead light, catching his eye. A pair of gardening shears rested on the countertop, caked in bits of crumbling dirt and glistening aloe. A pair of black pumps rested against the wall to Harhall's left, stained with patches of fresh mud. Luigi looked to the window; the vines previously encasing it were gone.

"It's growing by the minute," Harhall told Luigi. He turned off the coffee machine, wiping at sweat on his forehead. Steam fogged up his glasses. "These things are getting way too close for comfort."

Luigi's eyes widened with recognition. The recent memories flooded in: thankfully, the ones post-coma, instead of what came before... for just a minute. He tried to keep his focus on the present, attempting fruitlessly to banish creeping, guilty thoughts. Still, they came. He couldn't help thinking about how his boyfriend was a piece of room decor, and how he was somewhere close, yet still so far away from him. The idea he was in mortal, unfamiliar peril permeated in his head. The desperate, panicked sound of Peasley's voice, crying out for help, clung to his brain like sap. It was an everlasting alarm to keep him focused, prepped for the dangerous mission ahead.

His brain seemed keen on wandering — there was nothing he could do about it. He sat up, clutching tight to the scratchy old quilt he'd been provided, placing both feet on the ground. Luckily for quieting the tumult of his overactive brain, Harhall didn't give Luigi the chance to dwell. He shoved a cup of coffee in his hands first chance he got, ushering him up off the futon and over to the workbench. He sat him down, handed him his backpack, and told him to get to work.

"Drink. It'll do you some good." He kept it simple as that.

As Harhall walked away, Luigi lifted the mug to his face, nose and mustache twitching uneasily at the scent. One bitter sip told the still sleepy man this wasn't Starbeans' usual fare. Just his luck, he supposed, that Harhall would want something stronger. Despite that, he filled up on it. He was going to need all the energy, and caffeine, he could get.

The cup rested by his hand as he mangled Harhall's old canister vacuum into what might have resembled a ghost-catching device... maybe, if one were to squint. Since early morning, he'd wound up mutilating the innards of Harhall's vacuum, taking out what wasn't important, leaving enough space for containing ghosts.

He thanked any celestial beings above (the ones he hoped were listening) that he'd hyperfixated on mechanical engineering in the past. The fixation came right after a fuzzy adventure in the back of his head — Mario told him about it: something about a void, and a very sad man in a top hat. Luigi hardly remembered it at all. But he did remember how attached he felt to machines afterwards. It was odd, but he didn't complain. In fact, right after they got home from Flipside, he'd taken apart one of the earlier Poltergust models in a frenzy. He analyzed it top to bottom. It had been from a visual glance, nothing intensive, aside from taking things out and putting them back together.

Though his memory about it was faded, it was just enough to get him started. His makeshift Poltergust was steadily shaping up. It didn't exactly match E. Gadd's incomprehensible blueprints, but the nozzle worked fine. It satisfyingly turned on and off with a clunk, whirrrrr-ing for extended periods of time with strong enough gusts. Heck, if this cobbled-together thing could catch even ONE ghost, he would call all of this a success.

On the other side of the room, Harhall was invested in his own project. He started up his sewing machine and began to work on a new wardrobe for his current local guest/celebrity/ghost-hunter. Prominently, a roll of dark fabric sat out on the table. He worked quietly, lip bitten and tongue slightly out as he sat consumed in focus. Fabrics featuring turquoise camouflage lay strewn amongst a collection of buttons, needles, and pins. The tick-click-clunk whirring of the sewing machine put Luigi and him in a steady stream of focus.

They worked over intermittent, hypnotic bumping coming from Harhall's radio, featuring alternative tunes Luigi would hesitate to call music. Polterpup was on the couch, continuing to play with the discarded pin cushion he'd found (he could only hope Harhall wasn't fond of it). Luigi took a few delicate sips from his coffee cup now and then, sticking out his tongue when he finished with an audible 'bleh' noise. What he wouldn't give for a little sweet treat right now.

The concerning parts of the day arrived in bursts. Every now and then, the studio would creak and crackle. Heavy vines outside the windows and doors squeezed, pressing into the house constrictively, as though suffocating prey. When this happened, Luigi sat frozen at his desk, paralyzed at the thought his position had already been compromised. Harhall assured him this was normal "ghost apocalypse" fare, but it didn't stop Luigi's mind from wandering (as it so often did). He was terrified of the idea that ghosts were lingering around outside, sealing off his escape routes one by one. If Polterpup could get in and out so easily, then what about the beanshees, the wandering spirits, or vengeful royalty? What could they do?

So Luigi stayed quiet, as though keeping silent might protect him from spying eyes and sneaky spectres.

When the creaking came to pass, Luigi leaned over the desk, stretching to grab a handful of screws that'd managed out of his reach. Old, fraying leather belts (generously donated by Harhall) sat beside his satchel of collected nuts and bolts. He dumped some of the screws into his hand, aiming to attach leather straps to the pack next. Polterpup was snoozing now. Luigi leaned down, checking on the contents of his backpack, ensuring the Gooigi jar was still secure.

"Soooo…"

Harhall piped up, catching Luigi's attention. The distinct clunky noise of the vintage sewing machine slowed to a halt. The radio faded out as it went to the next song, but Harhall quickly turned it off, dialing the volume knob to zero.

"Whassit?" Luigi tilted his head.

"...you and the prince, huh?"

Luigi's chest tightened; the very mentioning of Peasley made him seize with anxiety. "W-What about him?"

"You're dating, right?"

"...oh. Yeah." Luigi didn't go much further than that. He kept working, only continuing to speak to void the awkward silence that settled. "We've been"—he paused—"b-been, together for a while now..."

"Hm. Cool." Harhall nodded. He went back to sewing. "Tell me about that. Why… er, I guess, how did that happen?"

Luigi tilted his head. He put down his tools, flipping around on his swivel chair. He looked at the fashion designer, squinting. He couldn't tell if he was being genuine.

"What do you wanna know?"

"Everything, honestly," Harhall requested. Luigi sat silent, so he exhaled, trying again. "Look, truth is, I'm bored, and you seem more interesting than you let on, Luigi. More interesting than a wordless radio that is." Harhall put special emphasis on Luigi's name again. Luigi grimaced; if this doomsday ever ended, he was sure Harhall would use this experience for clout. "So... let's pass the time. Spill."

Harhall looked back down at his sewing machine, working slowly. He didn't want to drown out Luigi's voice.

"Uhm... wowie, well..." Luigi leaned against the desk, ruffling his hair with his hands. He might have felt uncomfortable sharing his whole life story in any other scenario, but he needed some comforting memories right now. "...do you remember when we met? Like, when Mario and I met you?"

"Sure I do. Around that time, then?"

"Mm-hmm. I like to call it 'the Cackletta incident', hehe," he noted, sitting back. "I guess it started when we rescued Peasley from Hoohoo Mountain. He was... well, Cackletta turned him into this big ol' dragon beastie, and we were forced to fight him... n-not like we knew it was him at the time though! I would have probably wanted to find another way to lift the spell... a less, uhm, hammer-smashy kind of way. We just had to find a way to get the curse out of him, y'know?" Luigi nervously tapped his fingers together. "Guess it wasn't such a traditional first meeting, now that I'm thinking about it..."

"Sure." Harhall nodded. He made a face, chuckling and shaking his head. "Of course, yes. Like all great romances begin."

Luigi forced half a smile, still unsure of Harhall's sincerity. He continued.

"Well after that, he was back to normal. And what I had been imagining, this faraway prince from this- this Beanbean Kingdom... I mean, this was a trip I hadn't even wanted to go on in the first place!" Luigi asided before diving back into his tale, "...but ohh, he was so much more than anything I could have ever imagined. He had shining skin, shimmering hair that lit up the world around us, and when he and I first met eyes... ohh, mammamia, he has such handsome eyes..." Luigi sighed. He caught himself in his dreamy stupor, stumbling awkwardly over his words. "He... he looked at me, like... l-like... I don't know..."

He tried to articulate his thoughts. His limbs felt like gelatin, attempting to work and talk at the same time.

"Mario and I, we- well, we meet a lot of people together. And when we do, they always look right past me. They talk to Mario first, and look for his approval first. I mean, throughout my life, a-all anyone ever really cares about is my big bro... but I'm used to it! So I don't care. I love my brother lots... I don't get jealous easy.

"But, but Peasley..." He fiddled with his thumbs, a dopey smile on his long face. Pink blush dusted on his cheeks. The ends of his ears and nose lit up. "He saw me first. He talked to me first, and when he left, h-he gave me a rose. He even said it matched my green! I didn't know how to react. Mario said I didn't speak for a long, looong time after that.

"He was just so... so nice. Handsome, courageous, a hero, everyone liked him. And then we kept running into each other, and I was getting more and more comfortable around him, and he kept teasing me, and I guess... I mean, I think at least, he was f-flirting with me." Luigi's face flushed with embarrassment. Harhall snickered. "...but I didn't realize it at the time! Like, I was so lost in a world where I was unimportant, that the very thought that someone was showing interest in me... it felt unreal."

"Mm-hrmmm..." Harhall drawled as he re-threaded his sewing machine. "Go on."

"He was so clever, and smart, and resourceful, and thoughtful, and pretty, and cool... he kept on impressing me, haha! Mario wouldn't stop saying stuff about how Peasley felt the same way about me. I didn't believe him, even though I really shoulda... 'cus it turned out to be true," Luigi sighed. "Then I got to rescue him again, all on my own. He was so appreciative. He called me such nice things, wished me luck... e-even forgot Mario's name. I like to think he was just being a little cheeky, s'all...

"And by the end of it all, I really fell for him," he said dreamily, before pausing. "Like... literally. I fell flat on my face, on the concrete runway at the airport, just as we were getting ready to leave. But then, after he noticed," he lowered his voice to a whisper, "a-and saw me crying, he rushed to come help me up..."

He wiped at his glossy eyes, sniffling.

"He gave me a hug, one of the best I've-a ever had. It was so warm…" He rubbed a hand against his face. "Thanked me for everything... ignored Mario again... heheh... and slipped a letter in my overalls. And the whole time, I kept thinking... t-this was just a friend thing. It couldn't be anything else. Even after he wiped at my eyes with his soft gloves and told me to have a safe flight back home."

Luigi stopped. He turned his attention back to his handiwork, putting down the Poltergust model by its now-attached straps.

He exhaled, releasing the air in his lungs, granting himself relaxation. Going back to that moment: it was just the push he needed. He kept talking, desperate to relive one of the happiest times in his life. This was right after he'd saved the day by his brother's side. Everyone was safe and happy. And he had been falling in complete and utter love with someone. Life couldn't have been better.

"Peach and Mario teased me on the plane ride back," he continued after his moment of blissful pause. "They said they'd never seen me so head over heels for someone... I-I guess I can't really blame them though. You could see the hearts in my eyes."

"So you went home? Then what? Long-distance?"

"We wrote letters!" Luigi exclaimed. "He sent me pressed flowers, seed packets, little recipe cards, and constant, constant invitations to balls and parties," he excitedly continued, "and whenever I went to them, he always introduced me as his extra special plus-one... and, uhm... i-it was at this point I kind of realized he liked me."

Harhall snorted, before quickly clearing his throat. "That so?"

Luigi ignored him. "We kept sending each other letters, and kept visiting when we could. See, he used to be so busy all the time, and now he... he..." he hesitated, a lump caught in his throat, "he is, he IS still so busy, all the time." He paused, running his thumbs over his knuckles. "He's..."

He tried to find a happy memory.

"We had our first kiss at one of the balls, actually," he said wistfully. "It was hosted here, a summer solstice party Queen Bean planned. Peasley looked so handsome, mio bello..." Luigi whispered, speaking partially to his hand as he leaned into one of his cheeks. "He kissed me under the moon, out on a balcony. I could have sworn he had the twinkle of the entire sparkly night sky in his eyes..." he exhaled. He put his hands to his chest, trying to settle his thumping heart.

His face flushed. Oh dear, were his eyes watering?

"And... and then our relationship got a little bit more into the public eye... I think the first photo of us got taken that night. But we still kept it pretty secret. I-I don't think anyone believed it, really... that Peasley would ever date someone like me." Self-deprecation always managed to sneak its way into Luigi's words, much as he tried to avoid it. "But... that's how it started, I-I guess."

"Ah." Harhall pursed his lips together.

Luigi frowned. That wasn't the reaction he was expecting for his grandiose romance retelling.

"Makes sense, I guess. I don't usually read tabloids, not unless they mention me or my work, so I didn't know anything about you two. You got me thinking though, I do wonder what exactly it takes to get invited to one of those balls you mentioned. I've always wanted to go to one," he mused. He winked at Luigi. "Hey. Think you could pull some strings, prince consort?"

"Uhm..."

"That is, if we ever get out of the thralls of this ghost business."

"Ah... y-yeah..." Luigi's voice softened to a whisper. "Yeah..."

"What's wrong?"

"Thinking."

"Abooout...?"

Luigi exhaled, shoulders falling by his sides. "I-I'm here in the first place because I had to do a job. It was just supposed to be a tiny little trip, just for a bit, just to take care of a little ghost problem... and then I made it into an even bigger ghost problem... and... and..." Luigi felt a tightness bloom in his chest and throat. Tears threatened to spill. He released frenzied words first. "...I got everyone so wrapped up in my problems... a-and now Peasley... Peasley..."

His scream lived fresh in his mind.

"And... and..."

Something within him teetered and fell, plummeting to inky black earth below. His articulated sentences cracked into messy, broken fragments. He tugged out each and every one of his deepest fears, putting them on display. It wouldn't have mattered if it was Harhall or a blank wall in front of him; he needed to get it out.

"And-! And now my boyfriend is captured, and he's stuck as a statue that King Boo's got ahold of, and I'm out in the middle of NOWHERE, far away from him... a-and the way you're talking about it, I probably won't ever get back to the castle, e-ever! And the Beanstar is broken into a bunch of tiny little pieces and, and, and, I'm never gonna find them all and make this all better, 'cus Hellen and Boo are g-gonna find out I'm alive and kill me 'til I'm deader than dead!" The words strangled in his throat, voice raising before breaking, crackling off.

He submitted to his grief. The tears came quick. He didn't pay mind to Harhall's confused expression, continuing to burble aimlessly about his continuous, humiliating parade of sorrow.

"I feel s-so lost," he hiccuped mid-sentence, "I'm lost without Peasley, lost without a working Poltergust..."

He was keenly aware of the fact he wasn't even sure the machine he was tinkering on could catch a single ghost. He slammed a hand on the table, getting some stress out. The nuts and bolts rattled, rolling around.

"I've never dealt with something like this... I don't have anyone. I-I don't know what I'm gonna do. Everyone's counting on me. But what if I can't do it?" he finished with a quiet, shaky sigh.

Harhall stopped, taking his foot off the sewing machine pedal, the whirring sound slowing to a halt. He nodded his head as he recounted the story details.

"If I'm following this right, the reason you need to save the prince is because he got turned into a statue by your archenemy? Aaand he's at the castle, as you've mentioned so many times before?"

Luigi didn't humor him with words, opting to nod instead.

"Well hey." Harhall stood up, patting Luigi on the shoulder. "Look on the bright side. At least he hasn't found you yet right? As far as we know. And he's sent no stone pinky in the mail to bait you! That's gotta be a plus." He chuckled, nudging Luigi in the shoulder.

A glance down at Luigi's eyes was a mistake; a dangerous death glare greeted Harhall when he made eye contact. The fashion designer nodded, laughing nervously and backing up when he realized Luigi's hard expression. His dark-ringed gaze was consumed with sadness and something else: something unidentifiable.

"Oh. Salt in the wound, right? Sorry." Harhall stepped back. "Hey, while I'm up, do you need more coffee? And hey, what's all this about not having anyone to help? You've got me, and your mutt's around too. No need to worry!"

His guest was silent. Luigi shook his head, trembling slightly. Harhall made a move toward the kitchenette, but he stopped as he surveyed the Poltergust's progress. He moved past the silent Luigi, reaching out to grab it.

"This actually looks like it'll do the trick. I'm impressed," he said. "Also looks like your story filled up just the right amount of time. You ready to take that thing out for a spin or wh—"

Luigi slapped Harhall's hand away. The force was enough to leave a mark.

"Are… h-have you been making fun of me, this whole time?" Luigi glared as he looked up, hovering a hand protectively over his desk. He wasn't prepared for the anger slipping into his normally timid tone. "Telling you everything... m-my story. Was all that just entertainment for you?"

"Oh, hey! No! No." Harhall threw his hands up in alarm. "It was interesting! I think you're a real stand-up kind of guy. Does things for others without being asked, selfless and brave, yada yada, hero jargon. You seem like a gentleman." Harhall waved a hand dismissively. "I was just curious 'cus… normally overalls-wearing shy folk don't mesh with princes. That's all I was wondering about. Sorry."

Luigi's scowl tightened. He stood up and pushed in his chair. It scraped on the ground, generating a sharp, sudden noise. An irritation that had been brewing meet its boiling point.

"Peasley and I are happy. We're- he believes in me, and I'm going to do everything I can to make sure he's safe!"

"Let's drop it." Harhall insisted. He gestured to Luigi's desk. "We can just test that thing out, we don't have to do anything else."

Luigi couldn't help his body from shaking. His ego was fragile enough. He wanted to scream at Harhall, about how he constantly laid awake for hours, thinking he wasn't good enough for the prince, how he wasn't good enough for the Beanbean Kingdom. About how he wasn't good enough to save anyone. How he wasn't good enough to do this, how he couldn't even make a stupid Poltergust work. How he couldn't protect his friends, protect his family, protect the love of his life—!

"Look, I really am sorry."

Luigi sniffled. He glanced down, feeling hellish as he dug his fingers into his pale skin. The constant reminders, the feelings of being lesser, the crushing doubt—it stirred his chest into a thunderstorm. He turned tail, burying his growing sadness in his sleeve, retreating from his project and marching toward the door.

"Hey, hey, woah, where are you going?"

"I need some air."

"Look, I didn't mean to offend you," Harhall continued to insist. He rushed to block the exit, but Luigi moved quicker than him. "You know what could happen if you go out there alone?"

Luigi gripped the handle.

"I know."

He slammed the door shut behind him.

A thick, amber glow swirled in the air. Weeping willows cried out, chirping and creaking ominously, as though some terrible evil lie within the leaves. The vines of the thicket crushed logs in their path, buds of flowers along their length, sharp thorny edges making Luigi's walk into the woods a treacherous one. The mid-day humidity soaked into his shirt, clinging to his pants. He ignored the sweat beading down his face—he was already searing internally. The rays of sunlight were shrouded by a canopy of leaves. The perspiration of summer lingered, dewy heat leaving imprints of his shoes squished along the ground.

He'd processed Harhall's words too late. He heard the apology, physically, but he didn't accept it. He didn't know if he ever would. He was far out of reach, far away from the studio. It didn't seem like it mattered anyway; Harhall made no attempts to follow him. He took the opportunity to be alone.

As of right now, he'd passed denial — anger settled in his soul.

His feet shuffled along the dusty pathway, kicking at the living vines consuming the path. He picked up a rock, tossing it between both hands before throwing it off into the distance. He threw pebbles by the handfuls against the living vines, making them flinch and snap at him. He didn't care; he just wanted to be angry.

He bent down, securing a larger rock. With a swing of his arms, he threw it into the woods, his grunts of effort suddenly turning to screams of frustration. He threw another larger rock, hitting a branch, knocking it off a weeping willow. The arched branch landed on the ground with a crunch, the rock snapping it into pieces. He huffed. He wanted to throw and break all the things he could. He wanted to cut down, chop away, and burn everything King Boo had grown. This wasn't the Beanbean Kingdom he knew and loved. Boo had desecrated it, made a mockery of the place he found so much solace in. He didn't even know the extent of his revenge on Luigi. The overgrowth was like an infection. It would rot everything before long.

Luigi used what energy he had left to lift and throw a small boulder, chucking it against a thick vine. It landed with a CRACK, denting the thorny mass so much so that it bled, like plants do, dripping honeydew over the grass. The noise echoed, reverberated, and met his ears again.

A small part of him shrunk back, begging to get to safety, to what little reassurance he had left in the form of his backpack and dog, the two things he'd left defenseless back at the studio. The other half wanted to stay out here until something found him, took him, dragged him kicking and screaming all the way to King Boo's throne room. At that point, at least, maybe he'd see Peasley again, before they did him in for good. Maybe then, he'd fulfill the wishes of someone... even if it meant his demise, he'd bring someone—even if that someone was horrible and evil and nasty—peace.

He stopped himself. He didn't want that. Why, why was he thinking like this?

A sob wrangled itself in his esophagus. Saliva caught amongst his slow, angry heaving. He was directionless, but pleased with the minimal destruction he'd caused thus far. He had something small, something substantial, to find comfort in.

He thought of everything that had happened. He knew he couldn't give himself in; he couldn't give up. Giving up was easy. He had to do this, he had to do this for Peasley, he had to do this for everyone. His determination was firm, even though his heart and lungs felt like deflating. He struggled to stand up. He mumbled to himself, trying not to envision his body splattered against the wall or hung up in a frame.

He leaned back, wobbling. His legs gave out. He fell to his knees, plopping on the ground and leaning back against a rock that lacked tons of plant growth. He tried to keep out of reach of the roving, mossy vines. He sniffled once he'd found a comfortable enough position to cry in, burying his face in his knees. He tried to hold back, but the floodgates broke the second they started. He wiped at his face, dirt and mud on his fingers mingling with the salty tears on his cheeks.

On days like these, it felt like the whole world was against him.

Whenever a good thing landed in his lap, there had to be a catch: a little vacation time to spend with his boyfriend? A fashion designer selflessly offering him shelter? Successfully capturing all the ghosts E. Gadd wanted him to? Everything ended in failure, and tears, all at his expense. Luigi scowled into his knees; he felt like an idiot for ever believing otherwise. Why couldn't just one thing work out? Why couldn't—

Something moved.

His eyes shot up from his knees, quick as a bullet. His heart sank. That wasn't the sound of human weight.

He thought about whistling for Polterpup, but his hands were frozen, stuck clutching his knees. Even if he did call out for his companion, what were the chances of Polterpup hearing him all the way out here? He leaned back against the boulder he'd found sanctuary against, wishing he could simply dissolve. Hiding behind it was the next pitiful move his brain conjured. He visualized crouching and praying, pleading for whatever was stalking him in the woods to just go away.

The movement continued, rustling in the bushes. In all his self-loathing, he'd forgotten how much he wanted to live.

He threw himself upwards to his feet, running in the opposite direction. He knew the thicket could grow fast, but he didn't know how much had grown in his momentary lapse. He tried to navigate back toward Harhall's, following the subtle, fading tracks of his boots. He thought about yelling for help, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn't want a whole legion of ghosts flanking his every move.

He stole a glance back.

Comfortable as always in the sunlight, a familiar, unsettling shade of mint appeared in the corner of his eyes, cautiously prowling out from the underbrush. The ghoulish outline of a single Beanbean ghost reflected in his widening, fearful gaze, following him as he ran the other way. He scrambled on his feet, trying to stay upright, stammering out terrified noises. He squeezed his eyes shut, reopened them, and closed them again. Again, again, and again. He shook his head; it was too early; he couldn't possibly know he was alive again. He couldn't take him so soon, he wouldn't- he couldn't go like this.

Luigi balled his hands into fists. It's not like he could fistfight a ghost, but the thought was there. His mind went back to doing what it did best: wandering, while his legs did what he did best: running. He thought about how he should have brought his Poltergust along, he should have brought Polterpup, he should have, have—

"S-Stay back!" he whimpered, holding up a wary hand behind him. Cowardice was something he knew well. He screamed. "Get away!"

The ghost stopped. In a way, it listened to Luigi's plea. It flew backwards, looking frightened.

Upon realizing the change, Luigi did the same thing. He stood still but shrunken back, cowering in on himself as the minty ghost hovered a few feet in front of him. The wide, soulless, translucent eyes looked up and down, as though to examine him, not capture him and drag him to his untimely demise. Luigi held out a hand, getting closer. He steadied his post-sprint breathing.

"A-Are you... did... uhm..." Negotiating with a ghost didn't seem like the best idea, but he didn't really have anything else at his disposal right now, aside from his words. He stepped back, footstep by footstep, cautiously making his way toward a familiar clearing. "Did you just listen to me... or...?"

The ghost tilted its head from side to side, looking like a lost puppy. The sprout on its head drooped.

"Can you understand me?" Luigi tried instead.

The ghost made no moves. It got a little closer though, Luigi flinching as it entered his personal bubble. Harhall's words rang in his head: ...they're kind of easy to distract, almost like newborn sproutlings... you'll learn to tame them quick.

He spoke as if talking to a child, softly and gently. "Please- per favore- not any closer, please."

To his amazement, the ghost respected his wishes. It floated idly, waiting for his next request. His eyes widened at the revelation, but also furrowed with confusion. Where had this little guy come from? Was this a trick from Boo? How, and why, did it appear only now? Luigi stood still, maintaining eye contact with the minty ghost.

"You don't wanna hurt me, r-right?"

The ghost blinked.

A loud, harsh barking squandered his attention. He turned quick, Polterpup bounding from further up the path and toward the floating ghost, lunging and growling. The two glowing spectres fumbled and tumbled over each other, rolling in the dirt. Polterpup secured a hold on the ghost's neck, or where a neck might have been, shaking his head violently. The ghost made a noise: a panicked, frightened little noise.

Luigi yipped in alarm. "P-Puppy, wait, stop!"

"Stars! There you are!"

Luigi turned on his heel, looking over his shoulder. Harhall was fast approaching, having undergone an outfit change in the time they'd been apart. More importantly, Luigi's prototypical Poltergust was in his hands. Before he could ask any questions, issue any statements, or get a single word in, Harhall shoved the device into Luigi's open arms, beginning a long, personal monologue.

"Listen. When I said I was sorry, I really did mean it, and hey, we come from very different cultures. I guess I'm a little too blunt sometimes and I'm sorry I didn't warn you in advance. Really, you ought to learn to not take things personally under my roof. Should have mentioned that in the rules. That was my fault."

Luigi tried to speak, more confused than anything now, but Harhall lifted his arms, shuffling the straps of the Poltergust over each one. Luigi went silent and moved like a marionette, doing whatever the fashion designer dictated he do. He grabbed him by the shoulders, facing him toward the ghost. He also got a quick waist measurement while he was at it, pulling out a tape measure. He had multi-tasking down to a science.

"It gave me a lot to think about, you know? I threw myself into finishing up my work. Once we test this sucker out"—he gave a couple of firm pats to the Poltergust—"we'll send you on your merry way, simple as that. I trust you'll find my designs to your liking. Your only job now is to get that ugly thing out of the woods." He pointed at the ghost.

"B-But! We don't even know if this works," Luigi exclaimed with a shake of his head. "And, Harhall, I... what you said earlier, I... I don't think..."

"Ha! No need to thank me yet."

Luigi grimaced. "No, that's not—"

Polterpup's snarling took priority over his messy emotions. The mint-colored ghost was ripped in two pieces beneath Polterpup's paws, held down to the earth. Luigi turned, rushing to the tussling ghosts. Harhall appeared at his side, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a sequined top, flashing some of the sparkling, glittery fabrics in the ghosts' faces. Both Polterpup and the bean ghost were captivated.

Luigi took the opportunity to turn the Poltergust on, listening and sighing in relief as it clunkily whirred to life. It stuttered awake, the vacuum rattling like an earthquake on his back. It wasn't pretty, by any means, but it should work. He raised the nozzle and pointed it at the ghost, shooing Polterpup out of the way. Luigi stumbled, falling over himself as he held up the nozzle with both hands. If there was ever a time to try this, it was now or never.

One last time, he met eyes with the ghost. He held down the suction switch, waiting, hesitating to capture. The ghostly gaze bore not a malicious look, but a benevolent and curious one. Luigi's heart skipped.

Harhall shook his head, clasping a hand on Luigi's shoulder. "What are you waiting for? Get it already!"

He nodded. With a sharp rushing of air, the nozzle shook. It got to work and sucked up the ghost at Luigi's feet. It landed in the holding unit on his back, Luigi felt. In an instant that was like eons, it was over. It was done. The ghost was successfully contained.

It worked. His "Poltergust": his prototype, his experiment... it had captured its very first ghost!

"Nice work!" Harhall ran up and patted Luigi on the back. He didn't realize they were moving until Harhall was already a few yards ahead, leading him back toward the studio, promising him a bottle of Chuckola Cola the moment they got back.

But Luigi's celebration remained unceremonious. He stood aimlessly, pondering the ghost's vacant expression. Why had it been out here in the first place? Polterpup usually had an intuition about dangerous things. He looked down, the ghost dog trotted by his side. Maybe it had been a trick, and he'd been right to capture it. He didn't know for sure.

The weight on his back felt heavier than it was. He looked back over his shoulder.

Again, his mind wandered off, moving far away.

"You okay in there, Luigi?"

"Almost ready."

He threw back the curtains to Harhall's "dressing room" (rather, a repurposed broom closet). Luigi'd donned the wardrobe Harhall had promised him. A green cloak, deep and dark as the bottom of a swamp, sat draped over his shoulders. His shirts and pants were also green, faintly turquoise, providing enough of a gradient so he could blend in with the shadows of the forest's greenery. He wore his Poltergust underneath the cloak, keeping the colorful vacuum slightly hidden.

"Not bad, not bad! It looks splendid!" Harhall congratulated his own handiwork with a clap of his hands, getting up off the couch. He circled Luigi. "Does it fit? Do you like it?"

"Mmhm..." Luigi was cautiously polite.

Once they got back from the woods, Harhall'd spent the rest of the day trying to repair his relationship with Luigi. And while Luigi didn't quite know if it was out of the goodness in his heart, or out of obligation since Luigi was apparently worth talking to, he accepted the kindness. He'd filled up on Harhall's hoarded supply of Chuckola Cola while the designer worked on alterations. He continued to try and butter Luigi up, but didn't hesitate talking his ear off the whole while. He helped fit him into his new clothes, doings last minute stitches to suit Luigi's frail, thin form.

Before he left, Harhall handed him his backpack. He had a funny way of showing friendship, Luigi realized; the bag was filled with gifts. He'd packed it full of protein bars, drinks, and a mini sewing kit, in case anything went awry. The most gracious gift from Harhall was a flashlight, with fresh, powerful batteries just replaced, something Luigi desperately needed.

He pocketed it close to his Poltergust. Flashlight and Poltergust: that's all he had. In his mind's eye, he was reliving the first nights of his ghost-hunting career. He was back in the illusionary mansion King Boo had conjured into reality. He felt like he was starting over again from the very beginning, as though someone high above had hit a reset switch. It was like he was back on the stairs of that manor, back to being scared, alone, and searching for someone dear to him. He mustered up what he'd gathered from each of his misadventures—a panicky, anxious courage, that kept him determined.

Striding to the door, he turned back to Harhall, who was folding up stray fabric pieces. Luigi fixed his cloak, tucking brown tufts of hair behind the fabric.

"Are you coming?"

"Me? Noo. I'm not going back there until the gravekeeper gets back on his normal schedule." He laughed. "Don't wanna risk anything. But hey, if you take care of that, I'll see you around."

"You'll..." Luigi paid attention to the creaking of the fashion studio. Nighttime filtered in through the windows, peeking in behind crawling, twisting vines. Heroic instinct took over. "You'll be alright here?"

"I've lasted this long." He shrugged. "Go on now. You're gonna do great out there!"

He held up a thumbs-up, ushering Luigi to the door. The sound of the door opening had Polterpup hopping off the couch, rushing to Luigi's side. He skidded to a stop, tongue lolling from his mouth and tail wagging excitedly. The cooped-up pooch was eager to go outside.

"And, just a thought, but if you DO make it to the castle... how about putting in a good word for me with the royal family...? It's the only thing I ask in exchange for helping you out."

Luigi hesitantly smiled. "Sure thing."

He stepped outside, cautious of what might lay beyond the sanctuary of Harhall's place. A purple midnight ate away at the sky, having stolen away the sunshine from earlier. A breeze rolled in the doorway, nipping at Luigi's exposed skin. Shaking, he tightened the cloak over his body, holding it over his sides. Polterpup leapt up to his arms, cocooning in the cloak, hidden beneath the dark fabric.

He wandered away, out of the doorway and into the clearing, looking back at the studio. Vines gripped tight to the exterior walls, tickling the doors and windows. Harhall grimaced and trimmed one of the intruding vines away with his shears. He wiped at his forehead, turning back to Luigi.

"See you later, Luigi." Harhall leaned back in the doorway, crossing his arms. "Oh! And one more thing."

"Yeah?"

"Best of luck to you and Peasley." He grinned. A coy, cheeky glint reflected in his glasses. "Invite me to the wedding, won't you?"

He shut the door quick. He left Luigi standing still, face aflame with fluster in the evening light.

Shaking his head as though to clear it, he went to the woods, entering straight into the beating heart of the thicket. The living vines moved like veins, crawling, creeping beneath soil, pulsating thinly through the earth beneath Luigi's feet. It's not like Harhall was a cobbler, after all. His shoes had been the very same boots he'd worn this entire time, since arriving in the kingdom, to when his heart stopped, right to this very moment. He took careful steps.

The evening light made it apparent that ghosts were out, awake and active. Minty ghosts chattered back and forth, paying him little mind. He kept his face tucked away beneath the cover of the cloak. It seemed just crazy enough to be working, but it was. He gripped tight to one of the straps of his Poltergust. The weight in the container was lively, ever-present.

He shivered once more, partly from fear, and partly from the chill of the night. Polterpup licked Luigi's face, bonking his head into Luigi's neck.

"...thank you, doggy," he whispered.

The woods were green and alive, quivering with movement. He continued down the path. He knew it had to lead him to the graveyard eventually. He moved lightly, the scent of sweet, green-velvet moss filling his nose.

Little flowers sprouted along the path. They grew against thorny vines and roots: bright golden and yellow blooms, blossoming fruitfully. The little flowers, in a maze of seemingly endless vines, were his only geographical markers. He supposed there was no fear in getting lost—he had nowhere to go after this. He crept to avoid any patches of yellow flowers. He didn't want to step on them.

In time, he came to the graveyard's entrance. He stood just beyond the squealing main gate. Purple, flickering lanterns lined the fencing. And in the foggy evening, though barely visible, a brilliant green light swayed rhythmically in the mist. It remained in the hands of the long-faced, corpselike gravekeeper, who turned just in time to see Luigi arrive. Luigi gripped at his cloak, moving it aside and reaching back. He grabbed hold of the Poltergust's nozzle, bracing himself.

He took a deep breath. With a heavy exhale, he pushed the cemetery gate open.

"Here goes nothing."