Do you ever get a little bit tired of life
Like you're not really happy but you don't wanna die
Like you're hanging by a thread but you gotta survive
'Cause you gotta survive
Like your body's in the room but you're not really there
Like you have empathy inside but you don't really care
Like you're fresh outta love but it's been in the air
Am I past repair
Many of Lysandra's memories were hurtful. They twist a knife in her heart to even think about, to even recall. Some had left physical scars that still ache to this day. Others left none on her skin. But the singular one that hurts her the most, is a conversation. The details of the event have faded with time. It had hurt, had left more scars on her heart and had exhausted her more than anything in her life- and it will continue to do so. But still, she holds it close to her heart. Still, she lives by those words.
Be careful of exhausting your empathy, 'Sandra. Just because something is common, doesn't mean it is right, or that you should become accustomed to it.
Even if it hurts?
Even if it hurts.
A conversation from memory, she can no longer decipher whether the words are as they were, or something the mind has romanticised.
Still. She would sooner die than forget these words.
The rest of dinner was- awkward, to say the least. Hotaru-san and Mafuyu-san left after making sure Tetsuya would be alright, his aunt's hand a comforting warmth on his shoulder, lingering even after she left. No one knew what to say, and the silence blanketed them even after they paid their bills and left.
The rain stopped then, the air thick with something humid and the scent of rain. Tetsuya breathes it in, the feeling of water heavy in the air and his lungs. He can hear his teammates murmuring behind him, the tension and silence tangible in the air.
He catches something, brushing across his senses. He turns, and sees Kagami-kun's whisp hovering, drifting away from the group. Curiosity draws him to follow, and Tetsuya rounds a corner into the alley right next to the restaurant, then he stops.
There's a kid. He's small- smaller than most, crouching down in front of a small cardboard box and poking at it. It's dark, so he takes a step closer, and another. Tetsuya remains silent- there's no need to announce his presence. That's a ghost.
Tetsuya peers over the boy's shoulder, and finds a dirtied, small dog in the box. A husky. He turns his gaze towards the boy- the ghost now close enough that he could feel how cold and clammy he was. The young boy looks back up towards him. He looks blurry- skin and features melded together like wax, face shrouded by shadows that cling to him like tar. It's a common look for younger ghosts, whose senses of self aren't as developed yet and sometimes forget who they are- or even who they were. The ghost tears open his mouth, shadowy skin stretching and breaking with movement, and then he rasps.
"...hurts."
The sound grazes him like a physical touch, and Tetsuya feels the helplessness of the ghost wash over him, cold in a wave. Something clenches in him. The air trembles with an echo of pain, loss, and confusion-scared-so-scared-who-am-I-where-I-don't-remember- and Tetsuya shakes with it. Faintly, he can feel the ghost of a touch from Kagami-kun's whisp, cold and concerned as it brushes across his hair. There is a mess of threads and sounds in the air around him, and it stabs at his skin, like how the boy now claws at his own face with an anguished, wheezing sound, dislodging the glass embedded in his skull. Black pours from the openings like blood.
He almost drowns in it, then a hand claps him on the back. Tetsuya sucks in a breath, sharp and harsh and far too audible for his liking. The cool air of the night scorches his throat like a bristled brush, but along with it comes clarity.
"Take the dog, yeah?" Kazunari Takao walks up from behind him, his hand still loosely clasped on Tetsuya's shoulder like a tether. The contact is awkward, but Takao doesn't remove his hand. "And maybe keep your teammates busy for a bit. Wouldn't want them to see me wrestling air." The teen's voice is light with a quality that makes it sound false, the levity something that hangs in the air unnaturally. Tetsuya stares for a moment, then obliges.
He picks up the dog silently, before the shadows around the ghost reach the box. The ghost lets out a small whine that's just... sad. And it took Tetsuya a moment to gather up strength to get up and leave. The magic clawing at his ankles as he leaves the alleyway to talk to the rest of Seirin.
A dog is always the best way to cheer up a situation, apparently. Because it took approximately three seconds before coach Riko started fawning over the tiny little husky, and around ten more for them to realise the husky resembles Tetsuya, and they collectively decided to name him Tetsuya Nigou. Meanwhile, Kagami cowers in the corner in fear- apparently, he's not really good with dogs. Tetsuya feels the dangerous urge to become a menace.
He ends up handing the newly named 'Nigou' off to Koganei-senpai, who dotes on the puppy with a reluctant Hyuuga-senpai. Watching from a short distance away, he turns his attention towards the mouth of the alley, just in time to see Takao emerge. The teen meets his eyes, and smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes. Tetsuya looks away.
"You're still new to this, huh?" Takao says as he comes up next to him, patting him on the shoulder.
"Hm?" Tetsuya looks up, briefly meeting the teen's gaze. There is something in it that's almost unsightly- it makes him want to look away- and he does, after a brief moment, silent. Takao just laughs- it sounds fake.
"Yeah, I get that." The teen grins. Tetsuya catches sight of his forearms- littered with welts from fresh scratches. Takao notices his gaze, and pulls the sleeves of his jacket further down. "Rough life we lead here," he says, lightly, "you get used to it."
Tetsuya purses his lips, and then he opens his mouth. "Have you?"
"Hah," Takao laughs. Dry, high, and strained. "No."
The bitter response lingers in the air. And Tetsuya tries not to think too much about how the glass in the ghost's head looked nothing like windows or that of a windshield, and instead resembled the shattered remains of a wine bottle.
Shintarou feels- exhausted, to say the least, in every sense of the word. When he stumbles through the door of his own home his muscles are sore from the two consecutive matches, but that is nothing compared to that damned ache in his chest. He's soaked to the bone- it was raining again when he got off the bus, but he just couldn't find it in him to run. His lucky item feels heavy in his hand, and with each passing moment, it feels like his grip is slipping, and he can't even tell if it's his imagination or not.
Dead. The space behind his rib cage clenches- and it feels hard to breathe. Kuroko Haruka and Tetsuyo are dead. Shintarou's eyes burn, but they're also dry, like his throat, despite the state he's in.
Rain drips from his hair, as Shintarou stands in the doorway, it soaks into the rug as he slips his shoes off. His movements remain meticulous; he sets down his lucky item on the bench carefully, dropping his duffle bag off to the side. He picks up his shoes and places them back onto the rack. But then he turns and looks towards that single step that leads into the house, and he stops.
It's stupid. It's just one, singular step. There is no reason for him to stand at the doorway like an idiot while drenched with rain. There is no reason for this one single fucking step to feel too much. But his feet stay rooted to the ground, and the rug steadily dampens beneath his soaked, wet socks.
His hands are empty. But his grip still won't stop slipping and his fingertips twitch, and breathing still feels so, damn, hard. Rain trails from his hair and down his face, past his cheeks, and his eyes remain dry.
"Shintarou?"
His name jerks him out of his trance- he hadn't even realised he was in one- and his eyes meet his father's concerned gaze. He inhales, and there's a barely noticeable tremor. "Father." He greets, and hopes that his voice doesn't sound strained.
His father's brows furrow slightly, and Shintarou closes his eyes, knowing that his father heard it. Thankfully, he doesn't ask. "Shintarou, something... came up, recently." His father clears his throat. "It's nothing serious, but you'll have a checkup with a new doctor tomorrow- Anthea Edgarson. She's a specialist."
Shintarou frowns, meeting his father's eyes once more. "A specialist?" He says carefully, as though trying to taste the sound of the word. This is... unusual, to say the least. He's always had annual checkups, and occasionally when concerns arose, a consult with a specialist, but his parents had always specified what kind- after all, he is no stranger to medical terminologies, and they never shied away from using those words around him. It's- strange, for his father to be this vague.
"A specialist." His father simply repeats, not elaborating at all. "There has been an ongoing investigation at Teikou, which is, classified, but, well… This is strictly procedure, and... for peace of mind." He says it like an afterthought, but he doesn't even sound convinced of himself. Shintarou stares.
Teikou is a school. A rather prestigious, private institution, but what could've happened there that requires a classified investigation? He doesn't recall anything happening during his time there that could've garnered this kind of attention, much less something that involves himself. He opens his mouth to ask more, but the only words that came out were- "...Very well."
He agrees without protest.
His father seems to relax, pinched brows unfurling into an expression that is almost relief. "Dr Edgarson will be here tomorrow." He states, straightening up as he turns around, heading back towards the living room, but then he halts, and glances back hesitantly. "And, Shintarou?"
"Yes?"
"You know-" His father's tone is almost... tentative, "even though your mother and I have high expectations for you- you know that you can come to us, right?" Shintarou meets his father's eyes, speechless. "If you're feeling pressured or- don't feel your best. I know we're busy, and your brothers-" His father halts there, and then he sighs, "We just want you to know that we always have time for you." He says at length.
And... Shintarou doesn't know what to say to that. He doesn't know what brought this on, or why his father is saying this, but- his chest feels tight. And the emotions of tonight threaten to boil over. He lowers his gaze, once again landing on that damned step in the doorway- and he loses his voice.
So he nods. Silent. His father gets the hint- and leaves.
It's only after his father's figure disappeared around the corner that he finds it in himself to take the step. And it's so easy that he admonishes himself for ever thinking it's difficult at all. He drags himself up the stairs and into his room, then swiftly into a hot shower.
It doesn't make him feel any better.
He goes through the motions of his nightly routine, trimming his nails and filing the edges. A glass of warm water before flossing and brushing his teeth. Stretches to ease muscle soreness before bed. Hours pass by in a crawl that he doesn't register at all. By the end of all of that he lies in bed, staring at his ceiling, and he-
Can't sleep.
It's 11 pm, an hour and a half past his designated bedtime, but his mind rings and his skin crawls. Something weighs upon his chest.
Dead. Something whispers again. Kuroko Haruka and Tetsuyo are dead. It feels hard to breathe.
Is that why? He closes his eyes, trying to make sense of his own emotions, carding through the messy, tangled threads of his thoughts and logic, his fingers get caught in the knots. They loop and tighten as he pulls back, leaving rashes on his metaphorical skin. Shintarou reaches up, and covers his eyes with his arm. He exhales. It trembles.
The screen of his phone lights up with a notification. There is no chime, no buzz. He always puts it on do not disturb at night, prioritising his sleep, but right now that little sliver of light draws his attention like a beacon and he reaches for it like a drowning man for a rope. He grips it slightly tighter than he would've liked. Sitting up, he slips his glasses on, and squints at the screen.
It's a notification from some app he's since forgotten about, a small pop-up about some kind of update. Shintarou sighs, but doesn't put away his phone. He gazes down at the screen, silent and choked with strings- emotions and knowledge that burns.
And it is in this silence that he moves to text Akashi.
Kazunari draws on his arm.
His muscles are tired enough at this point that they protest even with each stroke, the minute movements enough to strain his overused muscles. The script-marker tickles as it glides across skin. It stinks of alcohol, masking the copper of the trace amounts of blood its ink contains - Script markers are mass manufactured with trace amounts of blood in its ink to replace the more traditional use of blood as ink, tricking magic into acknowledging the runes drawn - The motion is almost habitual now, needing little thought. Like writing his own name on top of exam papers, or filling in his address or phone number. The runes tingle with warmth as they buzz on his skin, and as he draws the final stroke, it pulses, and Kazunari runs a finger over it to activate the spell.
He watches as the welts and scratches on his forearms vanish, fading, his magic following the stokes of the runes, taking form and purpose, doing its work before dissipating. Kazunari sighs, and flops onto his bed.
Healing isn't his strong suit, Kazunari has always had less control over it than any other aspect- and this one spell alone left him more tired than he'd like. The dull sting of pain is completely gone by now, but the drain of the healing spell and exhaustion lingers, and Kazunari still feels like absolute shit.
A shade, a kid- Kazunari recalls the way the ghost sobbed and scratched at him, shadows formed hands and gripped at his arm and Kazunari had to wrench down the memories of dark hands grasping at him while he ran for his life and focus because there's a child crying here and he's not about to re-traumatise him when he already has to exorcise him, dammit.
It was quick work, in the end. He let the ghost cry on his shoulder, picked out the pieces of glass for him (it's useless, anyways, those are concepts and not physical. So long as the ghost thinks that he has glass there, then it's just always going to be there. But Kazunari has never had the heart to refuse little requests like these), and then he exorised him. The ghost still looked lost, when Kazunari slid the rune coin out and activated it. Then he was gone. Quick and painless, like passing out.
Most newer ghosts are like this. Violent, but not malicious. Scars left on the world from those who died suffering, memories of the dead- nothing more, nothing less.
Doesn't mean Kazunari feels less like shit after the whole ordeal.
He sighs again, and reaches blindly towards his bedside table, reaching for his phone. His fingers graze something else instead, the edge of a business card, something that has been lying on his bedside table for- admittedly, quite a while. His hand stills for a brief moment, before hesitantly, he extends a small stream of aura, making it flick up into his hand.
Lying flat on the bed, Kazunari stares up at the business card Esmeray left him. His arm protests as he holds it up in the air over his face. Perhaps it's really not the best decision to- well, make life-changing decisions in this state, but then again, his decision-making skills aren't exactly at it's best right now.
Which is probably even more reason why he shouldn't be doing this, but, honestly? Kazunari is a bit too tired to care. The sleek, grey card is light, and the simple text burns into his mind like a brand. He traces the lines and shapes until it stops making sense in his head, then finally, he lets his hand drop, draping across his face.
(He regrets that move swiftly when the bridge of his nose throbs with pain, as his arm connects with it. But- oh, well.)
Oh, fuck it.
He sits up, grabs his phone and taps in the number, before he could think better of it. The dial tone rings in his ear, then there is a click.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Esmeray-kakka," he greets, almost cheery. He must be delirious, faintly, the thought crosses his mind, "about your offer? I'd like to take it."
"Owowowowowowow-"
"Stay still," Alex mutters as she helps him rub in the pain relief balm along his calves, not at all being gentle with her movements, "I swear to god, I know I said 'give them your all' and shit but for god's sake, Taiga I didn't mean for you to maybe cause yourself bodily harm in the process. Pace yourself a bit, won't you? It would be far more depressing if you peaked in high school."
"But-" Taiga was about to protest, but Alex sends him one of her rare 'looks', and he looks away, he's definitely not sulking. Alex takes one look at him, and instantly comes to the (correct) assumption that he is, in fact, sulking.
There is silence for a while, and then Alex's shoulders droop. She sighs. "Times like these," She says, with a false, almost lighthearted tone in her voice, "you remind me way too much of your mother."
Taiga's throat grows dry, he opens his mouth, maybe to say something, but his brain comes up empty, so he shuts up instead. The air weighs heavy. It has been long enough that mentions of his mother with Alex are usually met with less depressing silence and more bittersweet nostalgia. But today isn't 'usual'. There is a weight in the air since this morning, and it grows thicker by the reminder.
In less than half an hour, an SSRA agent would be here to talk about his mother's case. Someone Mrs Lysandra personally picked, according to her. The ticking of the clock seemed to grow louder, making Taiga restless. Alex shifts, setting down the tub of cooling balm on the coffee table and then plopping onto the sofa with a sigh. Maybe she wanted to say something, maybe she just wanted to break the silence, but neither mattered either way, since she didn't say anything.
It is in this silence that the agent arrives, knocking on their door politely. Alex pulls herself back together into a sensible adult, and goes to open the door.
The man at the door, who introduces himself as Hugo Connors, is almost - frail. Pale and quiet with a muted kind of aura. He's blond, with fine, wavy hair and blue eyes, almost resembling Kise. But where Kise looks sharp, this man is soft. And where Kise is soft, this guy is sharp. He feels dangerous.
He's dressed like some kind of British gentleman - he even sounds like one, greeting them politely, his tone all official and gentle. Alex invites him in, and Connors takes a seat across from them in the living room. He's wearing a white scarf, bundled around his shoulders. It softens him, taking away a bit of his sharpness. He's a far cry from the more stoic, distant agents Taiga recalls as a child, and doesn't hold the same kind of air that Mrs Lysandra does in her uniform. He's dressed like he's cold- and when he sat down in the living room, Taiga could feel a chill in the air that didn't feel like the AC.
Alex seemed to tense as she looked across the room towards the man. Connors simply smiles, as he takes out several files from his bag and sets them on the tabletop. When Taiga moves to open them, he presses them shut.
"Let's leave that for later." Connors says gently. His fingers are bony and ice-cold. He then turns towards Alex, "And you must be Alex Garcia? His guardian?"
"His Aunt." Alex nods, and Connors nods. He flips through a different file, confirming information with Alex. After a brief exchange of IDs and signing of forms and semantics, which Taiga doesn't bother to decipher, Connors finally sets down the cards and forms, and turns to Taiga. "First, let's just confirm what you already know about the case itself, yes?"
"Uh," Taiga doesn't know where to start. Alex places a comforting hand on his shoulder as he racks his brain to look for a way to put his thoughts into words. "What am I supposed to know?" He finally asks, "I know mom died, I know that you guys came afterwards and didn't let me see shit, and no one talks about anything- what am I supposed to say?" Taiga didn't mean to, but his tone edges on accusatory at one point, and Connors' gaze is even and understanding, professional.
"I see." The blonde man says, sitting back. He doesn't offer condolences or words of comfort, and simply moves on. "What do you know about SSRA?"
"What does that have to do with-" Alex gently squeezes his shoulder, and Taiga stops, wilting. He pauses a bit, and then sighs. "You guys are like, some kind of equivalent to the Interpol or something, right? And people think you're Area 51 but paranormal. Some shit to do with ghosts."
"A paranormal equivalent of Interpol," Connors hums, "not the first time I've heard that analogy, but it's an accurate one." Accurate? Taiga mouths vaguely at Alex, who averts her eyes. "SSRA's function and influence is - larger, of course. But."
"To put it simply, sometimes people, and the emotions we feel, leave a... bigger imprint on the world, than most think." Connors says carefully, "much like how certain experiences leave scars you can't see. When they're strong enough, they leave marks on the world as well. And usually, the catalyst for that to happen, is death."
"Memories and emotions take forms- sometimes even minds." Briefly, Connors' eyes flick to the side. Taiga follows his gaze- There's nothing there. He is still processing his words when he slowly turns back to face the man. "Usually, no one sees them. Invisible, intangible to most- practically imperceptible. But there are certain exceptions to the rules- and circumstances under which they become - well - solid."
"Wait. Wait wait wait-" Taiga cuts him off, spluttering, "you're shitting me, are you-" he gathers his scrambled thoughts, trying to connect the dots. He grasps it barely, and loses his words again. "What are you trying to say here? That-"
"The rumours about SSRA are partially true," Alex says, her hand on his shoulder trailing down to grip his wrist. "That- for a lack of a better word- ghosts exist."
"That is the official technical term," Connors says evenly. He looks sympathetic, as he glances over to Alex, his eyes then briefly trailing up to an empty spot behind them. "But they're not what the general public would traditionally understand as ghosts. They're not souls- they're just memories, and emotions." He pauses, and then sighs, "Pain and suffering make real monsters from their victims. One of those monsters-"
"Wait, back up," Taiga blurts, "you're shitting me, right? What are you talking about? Alex- you mean you-"
"I know. It sounds stupid-" Alex stresses her words like she's stressed- she presses a hand against her forehead, looking both conflicted and pained, "and crazy, but it's true. There are ghosts, and magic is real, and the world is so fucked that suffering just makes more suffering and monsters are real." She laughs, incredulous, and then falls silent. Connors just gazes at the two of them quietly, something like sympathy in his gaze. Taiga stares at Alex, spluttering.
"If it helps. I can demonstrate." Connors finally speaks up, and Alex, looking exhausted, waves her hand almost dismissively, a silent, 'do whatever you need to'. Connors nods in response. And then-
He reaches out a hand, and vines breach from his veins, blood feeds into branches and the twisting stem, staining the base with a reddish brown as it grows around his wrist. Small, ghastly white flowers blossom from it, before it wilts away rapidly, and the whole branch dries up and dies, leaving a dry, brittle husk. Connors plucks the branch from his forearm, leaving a small opening caked with dried blood, which rapidly closes afterwards.
"Does this help?" Connors asks, looking up again, meeting Taiga's eyes. Taiga stares, speechless.
It doesn't, his brain feels even more overwhelmed at this point, and nothing makes sense anymore. Taiga's mouth feels dry. "Are you okay?" He jolts as Alex squeezes his shoulder, looking at him, worried.
"Do I look okay?" Taiga retorts almost instinctively, and falls silent. Alex shuts her mouth. The answer is clear. Connors looks between the two of them, silent for a moment, before he looks away, and continues.
"...SSRA is the official organisation in charge of regulating these existences." He says quietly, like nothing happened. Taiga feels a quiet indignance for being almost disregarded, even though that's not the case. "And as for what a GD case is... one of those existences- monsters- is something called ghouls."
There is silence, for a long while, suffocating, heavy silence. Taiga finds that he despises silence.
"And?" Taiga snaps, finally having enough. Alex grabs him by his arm, and only then does he realise he's already halfway out of his seat. His aunt hisses a warning.
"Taiga!"
Taiga disregards the warning- but he sits back down anyways. A flash of something like conflict crosses Connors' face, and a surge of something like dread swells up in him, "Keep going." Nonetheless, Taiga insists.
"...The official code for ghouls within our systems is abbreviated to a G," Connors states at length, "Historically, they were called ghouls for preying on human flesh-" Taiga feels his heart sink, "-but also for being scavengers. But as the world modernised, it quickly became apparent that ghouls are not-" Connors pauses, a difficult expression crossing his face, before he continues, almost tentatively. "...It soon became apparent that ghouls are not scavengers. In fact, they do not care much whether their prey are alive or not."
Alex's grip on his forearm tightens, and Taiga-
Taiga's mind goes blank.
"...So they eat people."
"Yes."
"Actual, living people."
"...Yes."
"A... whatever you called that-"
"A ghoul."
"-Yes, that. Ate... my mom."
Connors falls silent. And then, with a heavy sigh-
"Yes." He confirms.
Taiga feels sick. He can feel Alex's hand on his shoulder, slightly trembling, her voice seems far away, and his ears are ringing.
"'Scuse me." He barely gets the word out of his mouth before he's out the door and down the hallway. He barely hears Alex's cry of alarm when he bends over the toilet bowl and gets violently sick. The acid burns at his throat, and the smell feels like another gut punch as he loses his lunch. Faintly, he becomes aware of someone, wiping away the puke dripping down his chin, holding his shoulders.
Taiga rummages through his memories. Every single time his dad turned him away from the morgue. Every time he was denied the opportunity to see his mom's body. The closed casket, and the misshapen form under the bloodied white cloth they carried out that was never large enough to be a body at all- another surge of bile rises up his throat, but there's no more food inside- so the only thing that spills out of his mouth is the yellow, lurid acid of his stomach, scorching.
"Taiga!"
Alex's voice. The woman soothingly pats his back, sounding panicked as he dry heaves into the toilet. It hurts- feels like burning, and his abdomen is cramping down on itself. Tears come out of pure reflex. He gags- coughing violently. He wants it to stop.
Another set of footsteps, and muffled, rapid conversation. And then another presence approaches. A hand presses to his back.
"...apologies, this might feel weird." Someone murmurs, and then a strange warmth spreads through his core.
The cramping feeling stops entirely, and with it a strange sense of peace and numbness. He gasps for air, coughing to clear the lingering taste in his throat. Someone steadies him by his shoulder. "Try not to move too much," Connors' voice rings, a bit too close for comfort. "I've only stopped the cramping, but it's temporary. For now- breathe."
It took a while. But the coughing stopped. And Alex rushed to get him water. Once his breathing evened out, Connors slowly withdrew his hand, and the strange, numb feeling receded. The nausea returned briefly, and then subsided completely.
Connors leaves to give him and Alex some privacy afterwards. And Taiga took his time washing his face, before returning to the living room.
"Better?" Connors asks, concerned. Taiga, not trusting himself to speak, just nods. He nods and slides a file across the table. The one he bought with him. "This is a copy of your mother's case information- or at least, what you're allowed to keep." Connors sighs, Alex's head snaps up, an apprehensive look on her face. Connors spots it, and elaborates. "Yes- normally you're not allowed to keep this stuff, but L-" he coughs slightly, "Esmeray, pulled some strings. Of course, certain things are still confidential. But everything else is here." He taps lightly on the brown folder. "...whether you take it or not is your choice, but-" before he could finish the sentence, Taiga snatches it up. His movements slow when he realises how rude that would come across, but thankfully, Connors doesn't seem offended at all. "...I'll take that you'll be keeping it." He says, shifting his gaze to face Alex. Taiga stares at her, willing her to understand, and Alex just sighs.
"I'll keep an eye on it." She concedes.
The rest of that conversation, Taiga didn't really pay attention. He spent it gripping the file in his lap, silent as Alex and Connors exchanged more legal jargon. He didn't understand any of it- or maybe he would, if he listened. But he doesn't feel like it.
At least, until something catches his attention.
"Is she still here?" Taiga looks up slowly, as Alex asks. "...I saw you looking around the room earlier. Is she still here?"
Connors pauses. His eyes flicks to the side- there's nothing there. "She is." He says at length. "I won't stop you, but I wouldn't recommend-"
"I know, I won't ask." Alex cuts him off. "...It's not her anyways- you said it yourself. Just... emotions and memories."
Connors' expression softens. "I'm sorry." He sighs. "If it helps- we tend to see ghosts- whisps in particular, as... an extension of a person. Their legacy, in a way." His eyes flick off to the side again. "She was a very loving person," he murmurs, "I can see that."
Taiga does not stop thinking about that conversation, even after Connors leaves. He doesn't stop thinking about it for a long time.
That night, he does not touch his dinner at all.
Sorry for the delay. My grandmother passed. I needed some time.