The bust had been a messy one. The ghost - a vengeful poltergeist tangled up in the ruins of an abandoned theater - had been more violent than expected. It took all four ghostbusters just to get it wrangled, and even then, something had lingered.

At first, it wasn't obvious. The equipment readings returned to normal, the air settled, and the usual cold spots vanished. They had packed up, wiped the dirt off their faces, and headed back to HQ like it was any other night.

Then, Peter started acting off. It wasn't like he was spinning his head around or speaking in tongues, but something about him was just... wrong.

Ray noticed it first. Peter was too quiet, like he was listening to something no one else could hear. Then came the mood swings - one moment cracking jokes, the next brooding in a way that made Ray deeply uncomfortable. Egon had started taking readings, muttering under his breath about residual spectral imprinting, and then there was the physical contact.

Peter, notorious for using touch to annoy, tease, or flirt, was suddenly way too aware of it. His fingertips would graze surfaces longer than necessary, lingering against objects, people.

It hit a boiling point one evening when he trailed his fingers along the rim of his glass at the dining table and muttered, "funny, how something can hold so much in its shape, even after it's empty."

That was when Ray and Egon exchanged a look.

"Okay," Ray said, setting his drink down. "That's it. We're taking you to Marie."

Peter blinked, like shaking off a daze. "Marie?"

"Yes. Our psychic friend. The one who fixes things when they go sideways."

"Oh, c'mon," Peter scoffed, standing up and stretching. "You guys are overreacting. I feel fine."

"You just spent ten minutes staring at the wall like it owed you money," Egon said flatly, holding up the PKE meter, which was still picking something up.

Peter rolled his eyes. "I was thinking , Egon. You should try it sometime."

Ray was already grabbing his coat. "Nope. We're going. Get in the car."

"Fine," Peter relented with a sigh, grabbing his own coat. "But if this is just an excuse to drag me into another late-night rendezvous, you could've just asked."

Ray and Egon herded him toward Ecto-1 without another word and Ray jumped into the driver's seat. Peter smirked as they pulled out onto the street, the city blurring past the windows. He stretched out in the seat, fingers idly tapping against his knee before trailing absently up his arm. He frowned, flexing his hand.

He could still feel something. Something under his skin. Something that didn't feel like him.

Marie opened her door in an oversized sweater, her expression somewhere between curiosity and irritation.

"You know it's past midnight, right?" she said, leaning against the frame, arms crossed.

Ray sighed, already weary. "Yeah, and trust me, we wouldn't be here unless it was important."

Marie flicked her gaze over the group, her eyes landing on Peter. He stood next to Ray, hands in his pockets, smiling - but there was something off about it. Something too smooth, too assured.

"Hey, sweetheart," Peter drawled, looking her up and down, the corner of his mouth curling. "Did you miss me?"

Marie frowned. "You're acting weirder than usual."

Ray sighed. "That's why we're here."

Marie held his gaze for a moment, then stepped aside, motioning for them to enter. "Fine. Get in before my neighbors start thinking I'm running a late-night halfway house."

Peter was the first through the door, brushing just a little too close as he passed her in the narrow entryway. Marie felt the warmth of his body, the ghost of his cologne, the slight drag of fabric against fabric.

He paused, leaning in slightly, voice low and warm in her ear.

"You smell nice."

Marie's brows lifted, unimpressed. She turned her head just enough to meet his gaze and felt the way his presence lingered before he finally moved further inside. Ray followed. He and Marie giving each other a silent look. She shut the door behind them, turning to find Peter already standing in her living room, hands sliding along the back of her couch, fingers pressing into the fabric like he was testing something.

"This is nice," he murmured, glancing around. "Not what I expected from a woman who spends her nights arguing with the dead."

Marie leaned against the wall, arms folded. "You gonna tell me what's wrong with him, or do I have to guess?"

Peter turned to her, his gaze dark with something almost playful. "You like guessing, don't you?"

Ray groaned. "Okay, see? This is what I'm talking about."

Marie's eyes narrowed, flicking over Peter like she was reading something beneath the surface. She stepped forward, slow, deliberate, closing the space between them. Peter didn't back away. Marie stopped when they were almost chest to chest, tilting her head slightly. Peter's smirk faltered - just a fraction. His hands flexed at his sides.

Marie's voice softened, barely above a whisper. "You're touching everything because you don't feel real, do you?"

Something flickered in Peter's eyes. His lips parted slightly, but no sound came.

Marie exhaled. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

Peter's smirk returned, but slower now, like he was pulling it on by force. His hand came up - quick, too quick - and cupped Marie's cheek. His palm was burning.

Marie inhaled sharply, but she didn't pull away. Peter's thumb traced along her cheekbone, slow, deliberate, lingering at the corner of her mouth.

"You're warm," he murmured, almost like he was surprised.

Marie's frowned in concern. "You're burning up."

Peter leaned in, breath grazing her skin. "Maybe I just like the heat."

Marie exhaled, steady. "Or maybe something's wearing you, and you don't even realise it."

Peter's fingers twitched. His body went rigid for a split second and then his grip slackened. Just slightly.

Marie seized the moment. She grabbed his wrist and pressed her other palm flat against his chest. Peter flinched. His entire body jerked like she'd sent a shock through him.

Marie leaned in, her voice a whisper against his lips.

"Get. Out."

Peter's breath hitched. His pupils were blown wide. Then, suddenly, he staggered back, as if something had yanked him away. He stumbled, blinking rapidly, hands shaking. The backs of his knees hit the edge of sofa, sending him down onto it with an oof!

Marie watched him, exhaling slowly, rolling her shoulders like she'd just lifted a weight. "Yeah," she murmured. "That's what I thought."

Peter ran a hand over his face, his breathing uneven. When he looked at her again, it wasn't with that smooth, unreadable gaze. It was something raw, something confused.

He opened his mouth and then shut it.

Ray stepped forward. "Are you-"

"I'm fine," Peter cut in quickly, straightening up on the couch.

Marie rolled her eyes, heading toward the kitchen. "I'm getting a drink. You want one?"

Peter leaned back, grinning. "After all that? Absolutely."

Peter swirled the glass in his hand, watching the way the amber liquid moved. Marie had put on some music, something low and bluesy, filling the room with a hum of warmth. Ray had retreated to a chair, rubbing his temples in exhausted relief, while Peter sat on the couch, still shaken but playing it cool.

Or at least, trying to.

"You sure it's over?" he asked, stretching out his legs. "I mean, I don't feel like choking myself out anymore, so that's promising. But what if it left behind some… I dunno, phantom imprint?"

Marie sipped her drink, considering. "It's possible. You might feel a little… sensitive for a while."

Peter arched an eyebrow. "Sensitive?"

She smirked. "Touch might feel different. A little more electric. Like your nerves are on high alert."

Peter tapped his fingers against his glass. "So what you're saying is… I might get tingly?"

Marie leaned in slightly. "Maybe."

Ray groaned. "Peter, please don't turn this into some kind of kinky ghost thing."

Peter grinned. "Too late, buddy." He turned back to Marie, gaze playful. "Guess I'll just have to run some experiments to see how much 'sensitivity' I'm working with."

Marie tilted her head, considering him for a beat before reaching out and trailing her fingertips over the inside of his wrist. Peter flinched as a sharp, electric zing shot up his arm, the ghost of a touch lingering long after she pulled away.

Peter stared at his arm. "Son of a bitch."

Ray drained the rest of his drink. "I don't even want to know."

Marie grinned, standing up and stretching. "You'll be fine, Peter. Maybe don't go touching anything too haunted for a few days."

Peter stood too, rubbing his arms like he could shake off the lingering sensation. "That's solid advice."

"If it does get too much, you could always come back."

Peter blinked. His usual quick wit faltered for half a second.

Marie just smiled and patted his chest lightly before walking away, leaving Peter to stand there - definitely not thinking about how her touch still lingered.

Ray sighed, standing up and clapping Peter on the back. "C'mon, Romeo. Let's get you outta here before you end up haunted in a whole different way."

Peter let out a breath and shook his head, following Ray to the door.

"Yeah. Good idea."

But as they stepped outside into the night, Peter flexed his fingers absently, still feeling the ghost of her touch, and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to shake it.