insnapewetrust - Tumblr blog

insnapewetrust · 2 days ago

Text

───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────

───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────

Title: The Perils of a Ghostly Roommate

Pairing: Jamie x Fem!Reader || Truly Madly Deeply

Categories: smut | fluff | angst [a little <3]

Song: A Little Death - The Neighbourhood

╰─▸ mentioned: The Carnival of the Animals, R. 125: XIII. The Swan [Le Cygne]

"Darling, your looks can kill / So now you're dead."

Hint: What happens when a mischievous ghost earns a second chance at love?

Word count: 11.3k

───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────

You had only just set foot in your home, late in the evening, as another exhausting day came to an end. As you pushed the door open, you were greeted by the agitating sound of a makeshift orchestra rehearsing a piece that seemed familiar, though it was muffled by the walls that separated the hallway from the living room; you couldn’t tell what piece it was this time. Having just arrived home, soaked through and freezing, the sound which would usually be comforting did nothing but remind you that peace and quiet were not something achievable in your life, not even an option ever since you got a peculiar musician housemate.

The flat was engulfed in a dark gloom that was pierced by a ray of light coming from around the corner, where the living room was. The light was matched by the sound of the instruments – all familiar to you by now. As you stepped forward, quietly, having already discarded your jacket and umbrella, you peeked around the corner. Right as you did, the music concluded with a striking rapidity that was certainly distinctive. You were about to draw back, go to your room to get changed and perhaps head to bed early, when you heard a voice, his voice.

“Let’s have another go! This time, put your hearts into it!” said a man, who you recognised from the start as being your peculiar guest.

You had no idea when he became the heart of the orchestra, seeing how he was one of the cellists, but here he was now, planning to start off another go at the piece. For a moment, you let your eyes wander over the strange, diverse figures in your home, and all you could do was let a soft sigh escape your lips before turning away. You could not tell them to leave, not when they seemed all so joyous to be there. Your gaze was gone from the figures for only a moment, your hand still resting on the wall, when you heard your name called by the same familiar voice.

“Home already?”

You peeked over towards the living room. This time, many pairs of eyes were turned to stare at you and among them that hazel pair that always brought with it the warmth of a summer’s day. His eyes were different, and somehow in the entire room, he stood out. The man set aside his cello with a delicate ease. Once his instrument was aside, he tilted his head, lips scrunching in a displeased manner, and his arms crossing as soon as they had been free.

“…You definitely have to secure those doors better. I heard nothing, did you guys?” The others mumbled a series of ‘no’ followed by the man’s hand wave in their direction.

“See? This is very dangerous. What if it were some stranger and found us rehearsing, oh, you really don’t think about us at all?” The figure pouted, tightening the self-embrace he had, the others nodding approvingly.

Then, just then, the scornful little look turned into a mischievous grin, “What on Earth’s name happened to you? You look like you just showered with your clothes on. You must dry yourself and quick, trust me, an eternity of sneezes is not an eternity you’d like.”

You rolled your eyes at him, his behaviour the same as always, his mischief something you had already grown accustomed to over the previous months.

“It’s raining out there…” You started, and he watched you with a curious look that resembled a golden retriever in that light. The sort of gaze which softened you; as a result, you shook your head and glanced over to the window, “I will get dry, alright. You’ve been going at it for long?” You asked, an arm stretched to point at the cello that currently lay aside.

The man turned to the instrument as if shocked to find it near him and reached out to hold it again, almost as if waiting for it to give him an answer. There was a pause that felt much too long to be comfortable. Then, with his eyes still fixed on the instrument, his curious look gained a nostalgic undertone to it.

“Not long enough,” he replied calmly.

You knew him better, and this was precisely why his reply did not narrow it down. You sensed there was more to it; in that look, you could discern he had been reminiscing again. On any other day, you wouldn’t press the matter, but you had been gone since the morning; you expected to know what happened so you’d know if any neighbours could have become suspicious of the noise.

Being the peculiar guest he was, there were instances when you would not see eye to eye in terms of how long it had been since he began his cello practice. At times, he’d go over the same piece ten, twenty times, other times he’d go for two… and sometimes when you were gone for longer, he’d play for the whole length of the day and into the night some more. That made you turn to one of his friends, brow raised expectantly.

The answer didn’t fail to follow. “Jamie’s been going at it since about the afternoon, Y/N. Not that long, we all took breaks and all.” A murmur of approval came from all of the men at once, and you crossed your arms.

“Will you stay and listen? We perfected this one…” The man himself, Jamie, intervened and continued to observe you. While your attention had been away from him, he had regained his happiness. The cellist smirked, then followed it with that smile full of mischief, “You can’t say no. Come sit, I know you can’t say no.” His eagerness was almost hypnotising, but after months of his company, you just liked to reciprocate his teasing.

You began to get closer, not rushing your pace, but feeling the carpet beneath your feet with each step until you reached the couch. “Oh, what happened to go dry yourself so you don’t get a nasty, eternal cold?” You mocked just as he had lifted his cello excitedly.

That remark toned down his excitement temporarily. Those were his words you used against him! Jamie’s eyes narrowed a little, and his lips scrunched in a small, sulky shape as he arranged the cello between his legs, resting it on his shoulder.

You caught it better now than ever; he had changed since the first time you met. That day when he came into your life, he was not as sparkly, not as full of mischief. These moments of nostalgia were lengthier and heavier before, but he had known how to put on an act for the most part. With months passing, that nostalgia had shifted into occasional moments when he’d lose himself in thought for a while, or he’d get quieter, but those were shorter and shorter lived. You could only be glad to see he was getting better. As annoying as he could be sometimes, it would be a lie to say he hadn’t grown on you over the past months.

He scoffed, but secretly he eyed you, just as you had observed him only a moment before.

“I am entitled not to answer that.” Luckily, that had caused you to smile, just as he intended. Jamie smiled in return, lifting his bow and signalling his friends that they could start, “I will make sure you get dry after you listen to us–”

His friends snickered as he said that, and one even muttered under his breath something about that being a terrible thing to tell a woman. Jamie had heard and snapped his head in that one’s direction, squinting grumpily.

Even like this, pretending to be upset, he appeared to you as a very warm presence, which contrasted the truth about him quite a bit. Everyone giggled, though, including you… Everyone, but Jamie, who let out a dramatic, exasperated sigh and ushered everyone to start playing.

You had not doubted for a second that their performance would be short of incredible, knowing they had plenty of time to rehearse, yet it was more than that. You had got comfortable on one side of the couch, head resting on your hand, elbow propped against the armrest, watching them play. That in itself felt very intimate, being allowed this close, to watch the bond between each of them and their instruments; you didn’t even notice you would hold your breath at times. From all, Jamie stood out to you the most. With your eyes lingering on his figure, you saw the way his fingers caressed the strings, his bow gliding across them with that impeccable precision; it slowly became a trance, and your mind drifted away.

How did you get yourself into this situation to begin with? How did Jamie come to be in your life?

𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎟𓎟𓎠𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎟𓎟𓎠𓎡

You had only just bought an apartment from a sweet lady who referred to herself as Nina; she had moved out with her current husband after her ex-lover, a cellist, had passed away. Tragic story, a sore throat on his part had led to an insurmountable amount of sorrow in that woman. Once you learnt about it, you were glad she appeared happy now, although you did not want to imagine what she must have gone through.

You received a good deal for the place. At the time, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, other than perhaps the rush with which she was attempting to sell it to you when you showed interest in buying it; you motivated that with the fact that the place must have harboured the tragedy to it and Nina could not stay there without feeling the weight of what had happened. She was grateful you showed up. She seemingly had tried for nearly two decades to rid herself of it, but she said, ‘The right one is yet to come. ’ You thought that was somewhat strange, but assumed people were too picky over the location or interior. That did not lessen your excitement about having your own place.

The day you set foot in your new home was… rainy, just as today, a frighteningly rough storm that soaked you through. Most of the afternoon and part of the evening, you had spent attempting to dry yourself, ironically, when your eyes fell on an object that was almost haunting the corner of your eye. A cello case propped almost defiantly against the wall, facing you.

There was something eerie about it. You spent some time warming yourself up and watching the case, drawn to it like a moth to the flame. At first, the story did not come to you, but as you sat with your eyes on it, Nina’s words resonated in your mind, “Before he passed? He was a cellist. A very good one... the cello, well, he was the cello.”

Your breath had been stuck in your throat then, too, the case facing you, as if it was staring back. How long had it been abandoned there? Nearly two decades… That’s when Nina said her partner had passed.

You knew Nina had told you his name, but you could not remember it. The sight of the case was almost frightening, but not in a horrific way. It hurt in a personally tragic way. It must have belonged to him then… It took you nearly another hour until you earned the courage to get up from your spot on the floor, wrapped up in a blanket, to walk up to the cello.

It was still, completely still, just like a normal cello case should be. You blamed yourself at the time for being so foolishly intimidated by something so trivial; your hand reached out, but before your fingers could touch the case, something stopped you. Your own fear; it felt sacred; Nina had said the man was the cello… so maybe moving it was not right. Your hand drew back, and for a time, you did not dare to make a move other than sit on the floor watching the case.

You felt silly, and yet your rationality would not prevail, and you settled for merely watching it.

That day, you did not touch the case.

Another day passed the same way, and then another, and then another.

You grew used to the place.

You suspected now why people did not buy it before. The heating system was faulty, but it was summer after all, and you would not have to worry about that anytime soon. Then there was the fridge, an old one that you replaced right the following day after settling in. And, the worst of all, the rats. The first day you came there, the rats were audible, squeaking and running about, but that very evening, the noise ceased, and they had not come back since. You didn’t foolishly believe they all just vanished into thin air, but assumed they must have felt a new tenant and lowered their activity a tad, even though for unlikely rats.

It was about the third day after moving in, and you had finished most of the unpacking and cleaning by now. You would need to replace a few things, but the majority of the work was completed.

Yet there was one thing that you still had not touched, and that was the cello case. It had stayed there, right against the wall with its imposing presence; it was time.

You rose to your feet and this time approached it with more confidence, staring down at it, “You know,” you couldn’t believe you were speaking to yourself like that, out loud, “I don’t know many things about cellos, but I know you must have gathered dust. It’s not right, is it?” And so, you closed your eyes and reached forward.

You gasped, perhaps because the tension built in you made you feel something was coming, yet nothing happened; all there was to feel was the cold fibreglass texture under your fingers and the dust that immediately stained them. You pulled your hand away, looked at your fingers, then grunted at yourself, before picking up the case and lowering it onto the floor. There was gentleness in your action that not even you believed yourself capable of.

When the case was finally laid down, you felt that sensation of sacrality again. This time, you pushed it aside and, as silently as you could, opened the case to reveal the cello within.

You would be lying if you said you were not expecting something to jump at you from the case, maybe a rat, or perhaps find out something horrific like a pile of bones – the story Nina told you had apparently scared you to some extent. Now, with an ordinary cello in front of you and no horrific things striking, you laughed at yourself and lifted it up.

“Oh, you are heavier than I expected…”, you whispered to yourself, letting it rest against you while you traced your pinky over the surface. Strange, there was no dust. It means the case had done its job nicely. Nonetheless, you got a piece of fabric and began to stroke the surface, to make sure you rid it of all the potential dust; that sense of intimacy crept up your spine again, and this time it was so intense, it caused you to feel watched, yet as you turned around, you were met by nothing other than those familiar walls.

“My heart won’t let me sell you, or put you in the attic… or worse, throw you away.” You told the instrument as you continued to clean it, “Maybe I will just let you stay where you were? Clean you from time to time…” You laughed softly at the situation you were in, talking with an inanimate object. “You don’t seem to need cleaning, though, but… it does not feel fair to just leave you forgotten in that case.”

The feeling of being watched had become so pressing that you snapped your head around again. Just as before, there was nothing other than the eerie sensation that you were not alone. In that moment, a sense of nostalgia, of ennui, engulfed you, and you rested your head against the cello’s neck for a moment. You could not put it into words, but at that moment, your eyes filled with tears, “Before he passed? He was a cellist. A very good one... the cello, well, he was the cello.”

You had not even met the man, and yet you could feel that Nina was right, that the cello was bonded to its owner.

You wiped your eyes, and once you finished cleaning it and the case, you put everything back as it used to be and left it propped against the wall. Your eyes were fixed on it again, but after a few minutes, you left it there and tried to busy yourself with other thoughts.

It was then that the feeling of being watched had gradually disappeared.

The night came. You had just showered and slipped into bed, under the covers. You were drained from having been working alone on the arrangements in the flat when you were slowly falling into slumber. However, just as you were in that state between wakefulness and dream, you started to hear a faint… sound.

At first, it was so faint you thought it had to be a neighbour or some noise from outside. But it became clearer and clearer until, in that half-asleep state, you discerned a song… music. You did not recognise the piece then, but as you lay there hearing it grow more and more evident, a sort of dull ache nested itself in your heart, and you opened your eyes sharply.

Cello music.

It could not be. You rose to your feet only to realise the music had stopped.

Frustrated, you sat back down, ‘and now I’m imagining things,’ you told yourself, lying back down. You tried to sleep again, and once more, when you were nearly asleep, the music started, with even more passion… the pain behind the song so much rawer than before.

This time, you did not raise, only listened until sleep took over, and you fell into a deep slumber.

That repeated throughout many nights after that one.

Each time, the same song would be played, and you would fall asleep to it, and every morning, your first stop would be at the cello. It was intact, still frozen against the wall, still frozen in time.

Until one morning, you walked into a change.

The case was there, but it was not closed against the wall. Instead, it was on the floor, open, and the cello was on a chair. You were full-on frightened and had spent the whole day checking if you had been robbed, but nothing had gone missing; everything was exactly the same, besides… the cello. You had approached it then and noticed it for the first time, his bow. You did not know much about string instruments; you heard that bows had to be rosined, and this one clearly had gone about two decades without it. You checked the case for a rosin recipient, and when you found none, you stood there, arms crossed, glancing down at it.

And that’s how you bought rosin.

You had no experience whatsoever, and so you just got whatever had been recommended to you by the cashier at the store. That night, you stored the cello back in its case, but this time left the rosin container by the case.

“Either I’m losing my mind – either…” You didn’t continue that thought because this time that feeling you were being watched became so acute it was as if you could feel a whole person a few centimetres behind you.

When you turned, there was nothing.

That night had been different; you expected the music to begin again, but it didn’t. That almost scared you. Did you imagine all those previous nights? Were you genuinely losing your mind? Maybe it had been a neighbour all along. You got off the bed and made your way to the living room to check.

That was when you saw him.

That was also simultaneously nearly the moment you joined him [in afterlife] from the scare.

In your living room, on a chair, was a man looking straight in your direction.

You froze.

He stood up.

You were paralysed from fear, when suddenly...

“This is not the right one, come on, and I left plenty of hints!”

What.

“I even dragged that nearly withered plant of yours over to suggest I wanted a darker rosin! Do you know how hard it was to move that pot without waking you up? Oh, and you should thank me; if I weren’t watering the plant extra, it would be drier than the desert. And the rats, they don’t like me around one bit.”

What.

You watched him, unsure of what to do in that situation. There was a man you didn’t know in your living room with a cello. Nothing could prepare someone for a situation like this, so you watched him suspiciously.

“Will you not say something? I made an effort to be here, and now I’m being ignored!” The figure sulked, with his arms crossed. “And I made an effort to play every night with a bow that wasn’t rosined. I figured the place is new to you and you will have a hard time sleeping, so I got a genius idea.” He rambled, coming closer.

You only just then noticed how tall he was.

“I guessed, since you were so lovely to take care of my cello, I will take care of your sleep! Oh- no, scrap that, that makes me sound like a stalker.” He turned and looked to the side with a half-displeased look at what he said himself.

His cello?

“Excuse me, Mr., but you are a creep. You are in my house at night. Please leave.”

The man did not like that, his sulkiness exacerbating, “I was here first; if someone has to leave, you leave.” He sat down again, arms crossed grumpily. In this angle, he seemed inoffensive, if a bit childish in behaviour. In general, he did not make you feel threatened.

You could not really make a scene and scream.

What were his intentions? What if he became aggressive? Unlikely but a possibility.

“I’ve been here since the 90s; you just moved in.”

Oh, now you got it.

The man was impersonating the dead lover; it all clicked! Nina was a con artist who was selling the apartment repeatedly to people who then got scared off by the story of the dead cellist and sold it back to her, and a profit was made. You felt brilliant in that moment and crossed your arms as if you pulled the most Scooby Doo investigation on this scam couple.

The man suspected you were thinking of something. The way you smirked, though, made him feel you were not actually getting closer to the truth, “… something tells me we are not on the same page.”

“Of course not, oh, Mr. Ghost who will now haunt me out of the house…” You were brilliant. Genius.

“Jamie, first of all.” He started, tilting his head, “and what are you on about, second of all?”

“Oh, I know I know, ooooh I’m so frightened oh.” You dramatically played along with your own imagined scenario.

Jamie was staring at you like he was the one seeing a ghost. He was so stunned; he was not even sure what exactly it was you were thinking he was. It took you about 30 seconds of staring directly at Jamie, who was staring back at you with a disappointed look, to figure that maybe it was not the way you thought it was.

Proving that he was a ghost had been a lengthy trial; he willingly accepted. After a series of ‘walk through this wall’ and ‘make yourself invisible’ sort of commands, you eventually came to believe he was that dead lover. The most influential part of it was played by the forgotten framed old photo of Jamie in black and white, supposedly for his memorial, which you found.

That’s how he came into your life.

He was an added boon to the house when you bought it. Ever since, he has lingered.

He was a real pain in the ass for the first few weeks until you got used to the fact that he was bothering you to check your limits. After you figured that out, staying with him became rather fun. Boundaries were set, such as ‘don’t walk on me when I am in the bathroom, changing or sleeping’.

From being a sulky sod, he turned out to be entertaining, sometimes he’d play tricks, change the TV channels to annoy you or swap books around or turn picture frames upside down to see how long it took you to notice, and when you did, he’d grin and let you chase him around the living room for a little.

You never got annoyed; no matter how hard he tried to get you to be upset with him, it was always just compassion you showed him. He would do good things, too. A few times, you found the place cleaner. He just motivated it, saying he was bored and needed an occupation. You suspected he must have felt a bit guilty staying over without contributing.

One time, out of nowhere, he told you the name of the song he used to play while you were trying to fall asleep, The Swan, was the piece, and he promised he’d one day show you a full play at it.

As the weeks turned into months, you’d let him hang out with you while watching TV, and he’d always be grumpy about some poor staging of shows or the low quality of them.

You’d laugh; he’d secretly smile. That was Jamie; he was a complainer, but sometimes those criticisms had an additional role.

It was about that time he began to wait for you around the door and surprise-hug you when you came. The first time he did that, your heart nearly jumped out of your chest, and you’d accused him of trying to drag you to the afterlife. He sulked and just squeezed you, arguing that he was ‘terribly cold’. You had your doubts about that, but you let him do it since he was delighted about it.

Then more time passed.

He was bolder.

One day, you found him rehearsing with a group of strangers. You discovered that those were his ghost companions, who were very happy you had so kindly let them hang out at your place. You didn’t. Jamie again… This was a little more challenging to get used to, but after some time, you even knew the men’s names, ages and causes of death.

You really were lonely, hm?

That you and Jamie shared, and it was a silent agreement between you. You both knew about it but would never bring it up. It was in the way your eyes met at times, without words, just filling the silence with whatever silly stunt Jamie pulled or event that had happened to you during the day. Jamie was surprisingly a good listener when he wanted to, even if sometimes he acted too rashly.

𓎢𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎟𓎟𓎠𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎟𓎟𓎠𓎠𓎟𓎠𓎟𓎟𓎠𓎡

“The Swan,” you caught yourself whispering as you raised your eyes from the ground, coming back from your small moment of reverie.

The music had come to an end.

“That’s what you played when I moved in, you promised back then you’ll show me a full performance. Thought you’d forgotten.” You smiled up at him, wiping your eyes.

In those moments when he played, all the months you’ve been living there had crossed your mind, like a movie tape. You began to clap for them and stood up from the couch. Jamie proudly jumped up with a grin on his face, and his friends joined him and bowed playfully to match Jamie’s dramatics.

Jamie caught your eyes, like he often would, and noticed in them a sort of pain he did not understand.

When he decided to surprise you with this piece, he expected something else, maybe your own complaints about how he used to ‘scare’ you while playing in the living room when you slept.

This longing that he sensed was foreign.

Not to him, he longed, many nights when he stayed to rehearse. It was this very longing that led him to put his heart into the cello, but why – he wondered – why could he see it in you now? To him, the reasoning was not hard to understand. He was longing for life and love, for everything he had lost when that sore throat tore him away from the world; he was longing to feel alive, and some nights it was such an acute desperation that his strings would be the only solace.

But why did he see it in you?

Jamie never revealed the truth to you about how he felt; he always joked that being a ghost was more fun and all, so why… why did his own agony reflect now in your eyes? He was still, observant, until one of his ghost buddies suggested they continue now with something a little livelier. A cover of a modern song, or something along those lines, and he absent-mindedly agreed to play along.

You stayed and listened to them for a while longer, despite being tired; it was always warming your heart to see him play.

It was foolish, so foolish.

There you were, watching Jamie, and at the same time trying to conceal what had been a secret of your own. You had grown fond of him long ago, and with the time that fondness – you did not want to admit – but it turned into love, one that you would never be able to voice.

Who would dare, when this man had been loyal even in death to Nina, despite being the one to push her into living – even if it was away from him. So, you listened, and watched, and your heart was breaking a little more with each string he played.

Soon, however, it had become too much for you to bear, and you stood up and excused yourself to go to bed. All of his friends complained jokingly about losing their best audience, but Jamie said nothing.

For once, he was the one to tease you least.

He studied your eyes, and without any protest, wished that you would have a good sleep in a tone you had never heard him use. He spoke lowly with a calm that surprised you and with a depth that tried to penetrate the riddle in your eyes. The way he glanced at you almost made you feel ashamed of your own feelings, and for once, you avoided his gaze and left, using the excuse of a bath to turn away from him.

His heart broke when you did that.

Had he done something? Was there something you had been hiding from him? What changed… And most importantly, why did it hurt him so terribly to see you pull away from him?

It reminded him of the pain he felt when he had to drive Nina away to make her live. He swallowed back the knot that had formed in his throat.

You were not gone, so why did it hurt this much?

His eyes remained on the direction you had left to, and he was so lost in his questions that his musician buddies had all put their instruments down quietly. It was not the first time they saw this in him, not the first time they saw him break despite swearing he would not love again since he passed. But this was Jamie, this was his curse… He had so much love to give, and having been torn away from life so early, he carried that capacity to love with him to the afterlife.

One of the ghosts came over and put their hand over Jamie’s shoulder. He did not say anything at first, just looked in the direction Jamie was looking, giving him time. “Will you tell her?”.

Jamie’s eyes filled with tears the second he heard his friend, and he moved his coat sleeve to wipe away his tears.

“…You ought to tell her. It’s doing neither of you good keeping it secret.”

Jamie let out a breath he didn’t even realise he had been holding. He looked at his friend, eyes in tears, but still somewhat composed, “…I can’t tell her. I can’t do this to her.” Then he had to sit down, burying his face in his hands, tears streaming down his cheeks, breaking.

His friends understood it perfectly. He did not want to guilt you into returning the sentiment; he did not want you to sacrifice your own chance at living, to split your life with him. He loved you too much to damn you this way, and so he broke into tears, shielded by his friends.

“What if she feels the same, Jamie? We all see the way you look at each other, what if – ”

“What if what? What if what? I will not do this to her. I know the pain I cause. I can’t do this to someone else. Not when I…”

“When you love them?”

There was silence, and his answer was just his quiet tears.

His friends stayed there with him for a while, rubbing his back and trying to make sure he was alright before they all had to leave, promising they’d return in the morning. He assured them he was okay. He really was not, but what could he do? He saw his friends off, one by one, then stayed there on the living room’s floor until there were no more sounds.

You must’ve been sleeping by now…

What did you want from your life?

He had tried to observe you before, to learn what it was that would make you happy. Nina had wanted children, something he could not provide.

But what about you?

He could understand why a woman would be reluctant to ramble about men around a man. You never told him anything; it was as if you were intentionally avoiding everything about the topic. He knew you had no lover, only because you were either gone with work or back home with him. Frankly, he joked a few times with you before that the only difference between you and him was that you had utilities to pay.

He remembered the laugh, but you also gave him a look… hopeful? But it was gone in seconds, and he could not tell at the time what it meant. But now, reminiscing on the floor in the dark, he was beginning to understand. Was it because of him that all of your free time was spent in his company?

Was he the reason for that longing he saw in your eyes tonight?

He got up without a sound and went to your bedroom, standing in front of the door.

“Rule no. 1, you don’t come into my bedroom uninvited.”

He stared at the door.

He did break that rule a couple of times if he were to be honest. Mostly, it was out of wanting to protect you. A few times, he came because he heard you had a nightmare, and he secretly soothed you back to sleep. Luckily, you didn’t seem to recall what happened when morning came.

There was also that one time, when he thought you had a nightmare, but you did not. You… were very much awake, and the noise he heard was… not a nightmare. Not even close. The second he realised what he was witnessing, he vanished so fast he beat the speed of light. His face had been bright red the whole night; luckily again, you hadn’t sensed him being in the room.

But now? Now, he had no reason other than wanting to see you.

He slowly pushed the door open, peeking inside. All the lights were turned off; other than a lamp you kept on to read, and that you almost always forgot to turn off.

He squinted and could see you were definitely asleep, so he got a little braver and took a few steps inside, slowly closing the door behind him. Jamie’s steps were calculated as he tried to move without making any creaking noise and alerting you, which frankly was not that hard, seeing how he was a ghost. When he reached your bed, he stood by it, arms crossed around his chest, head tilted to the side to watch you. There was really no reason for him to do this. He could not explain to himself why he felt that pressing urge to come, or why he was there… all he knew was that seeing you sleep so peacefully was putting him at ease.

He leaned closer instinctively, then closer, until his head was only a few inches away. To do so, he had to squat on the floor near the bed, elbows on it… and a smile slowly grew on his face seeing you this close when –

Your eyes opened.

His smile died instantly. “Uh-oh…”

The banshee scream you let out in that moment was sure to wake up the dead. Jamie fell on his butt on the floor; you jumped up so fast, your foot got caught up in the blanket, and you landed off the bed too with a thud that caused Jamie to bite the inside of his cheek to refrain from laughing when hearing it. For about ten seconds, there was silence, and he had just about enough time to prepare emotionally for the scolding he was going to get.

He knew it was coming. He scared you half to death and broke a rule.

But then another ten seconds passed… nothing?

Jamie got worried and looked over the bed to the other side, where you landed, now frightened, you had knocked your head or something. But you hadn’t. You were right there, staring at him, expecting an explanation first before you’d send him back to the grave a second time.

“… I was cold.” His eyes were all big and apologetic, “…I mean... It’s cold. It’s terribly cold! I was wondering if it’s a little less freezing in here. It would be a real shame if you froze yourself to death.” He tried to be as believable as possible. “AchoOo!” He sneezed. “Uh-oh, no, Y/N, look at this! Now I will be stuck with a cold for the rest of eternity. I told you to do something about that awful heating, this flat is terrible!”

Given the fact that you were groggy, and you never caught him misbehaving this way before, you nearly actually believed him. “… hm, you might be right, I wonder if I left a window open –”

You rose up to your feet and held your head that was still throbbing slightly from the fall. You walked to the window and indeed found it was not properly shut – lucky for him – and then you returned and sat on the edge of the bed.

“I was? I was, I mean obviously, I was, even the freezer is warmer than this!” Jamie quickly added to make his complaint more believable, arms wrapped around himself after he rose to his feet, too.

You did not question why his way of assessing the room temperature was unconventional, like that. He was in fact about to leave, humbled, when he heard you speak.

“Hey, Jamie.”

He froze and slowly turned to you.

“Uh… I have two blankets here. If you want to warm up.” You sounded embarrassed, almost shy to suggest it, but Jamie was the one in absolute shock. “There’s one right now on the bed, but if you’re kind enough, there’s one over there,” you pointed to a chair where a second blanket was folded neatly. “Could you bring it over? You can also stay with me until you warm up.”

He did not need to be told twice.

He quickly fetched the blanket with the eagerness of a puppy who had a treat offered to him, and even went to the extent of tucking you in with a large grin; you just rolled your eyes and made room for him to join you.

Once he was under the blanket with you, he felt at ease again; this time, for once, he felt warm, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. You did not seem to mind him being there as much as he worried you would, and in fact, you fell asleep pretty quickly. Jamie, on the other hand, was awake, and once you fell asleep, he rolled onto his side to watch you.

He spent a long time just watching you, perfectly awake, when you began to stir. He reached out, placed his hand against your cheek and chirped, “Shh – you’re fine. You’re fine. It’s fine… you’re dreaming. It’s a dream, shh, I love you, go back to sleep.”

You did fall asleep again, but not too long passed until Jamie’s mischievous side kicked in.

He was not silly to miss a perfect chance like this to tease you; he had started getting bored, even though just the sight of you was enough to put him at peace; to him, peace was never an option. You were sleeping just fine when that agitating ghost started speaking again.

“Hey… hey – pssst!”

You groaned something nonsensical in your sleepy haze.

“Psst.”

Your eyes slowly opened, although just barely, squinting at him.

“It suits you… This dishevelled, groggy creature style, what is it called?” Jamie was grinning.

You rolled your eyes and rolled onto your side, away from him. But he scooted closer.

“You know I meant it as a compliment!”

“I have no doubt about it,” you said, unfazed and somewhat grumpy, he woke you up again.

You closed your eyes again, praying at least this time you would be able to sleep when you felt his arm slither around you. Before you could scold him, there came his voice. This time it wasn’t mischievous, just low, and sleepy, and warm…

“I can go; do you want me to go?”

You did not answer for a while, but then, with a deep sigh, your hand moved onto his, “Let me sleep this time, okay?”

══════════ SMUT START ═══════════

For a while, Jamie listened and was grateful you let him have this moment alongside you.

He lay there, obediently, not making a noise, but there was something that was warming up in him. You had always been so kind to him, and he had accepted deep down that he had feelings for you, so now he yearned to have you. After all, when he was with you, he would forget he was even dead to begin with. You made him feel alive, and it was such a profound feeling that Jamie felt the need to squeeze you into him when he realised it. If only you’d feel the same, and had he been alive, he would be sure to tell you what he felt. He would do anything to be yours, but you had so much ahead to live for, you might want a family, children, a man who could be there to support you, but all Jamie could give you was his love, something any other man better than him – and alive – could.

While holding you, he felt you might not be asleep… You were breathing, but not the way you had when you were sleeping before; it was as if you were pretending to be asleep.

He was so caught up with reminiscing over the way you made him feel that his hand had mindlessly begun to slide across your body. No longer stationed just on your stomach, it began to roam over your side. It was not a lustful kind of movement or anything to cause you worry. His movement was slow, languid, almost lazy as his nails slowly grazed over the fabric of your pyjama top.

Jamie sighed deeply, his head pressing against the back of your shoulder, and in a moment of untamed yearning, his hand wrapped around you. He pulled you in so tightly, so urgently, his nose nuzzled into the side of your neck.

“I always thought…” he started, voice low, raspy… it came straight from his chest, and yet despite its depth, it was warm and sweet as honey. “Dying will make me forget what this feels like…” he was nearly breathless. “That it will make me stop wanting it.”

You heard everything, felt everything, but did not interrupt him. You chose to move your hand above his once again, to confirm you were listening.

“But I was so wrong. It isn’t kind… It’s so cruel. You never stop craving it. The love, the affection… the warmth… You never stop being human in that way.” He was so vulnerable, you could not believe you were hearing these words coming from the mouth of the man who had been the agitating ghost fellow that nagged you for months. “You stop being alive, and that’s when you lose the privilege. You keep loving… There are times when someone loves you back. It hurts just the same, watching, yearning and… having to stay away for their good. Because you love them… You love them so truly, so deeply, so madly, so passionately, and yet you know they have to keep on living, and you’d be selfish to linger.”

You listened, a knot forming in your own throat, and tears welling up in your eyes. How much pain had he been in for these decades? Had he loved Nina since?

“Sometimes you let go, and it gets easier. It took me a long time after Nina went with that funny fellow… the guy with that terrible haircut.” – There was the Jamie you knew – “The pain was unbearable at first, and then after years passed, I knew she was happy and the pain was replaced by pride. I loved her so much at the time that seeing her happy made me proud of her strength. I was not as strong as she was, and all these years… I just craved to come back into the world, to have more time, to love again.” His nails dug ever so gently into your skin, and his face nuzzled into the back of your neck.

“I still remember when you came, you know? I saw you were staring at my cello. God knows I wanted to scare you off so you won’t sell it or something. But I did not have to do that. You just watched it, and… well, I watched you. Then you did that nice thing, you cleaned it. I sat next to you then, and I did want to smack your hand away once when you were too close to the strings, you know…” he chuckled, and you squeezed his hand.

“I thought then maybe you wouldn’t be that bad to have around. I saw you got frightened by those rats the first night. I noticed you had a hard time falling asleep, so I wanted to repay your kindness. Plus, I could do with a bit of practice…” He laughed into your neck, the sound so deep it echoed into your own body. “You were so distracted back then, you did not even notice I was moving things about, woman! I moved an entire flowerpot, and you did not notice. Not to mention I even watered your plants for a few days before I let you see me.”

You started laughing too, nudging your elbow back and hitting him in the tummy. It was a playful hit.

He bit his lip excitedly and squeezed you to secure you and stop you from nagging him like that. “Don’t hit me, silly girl, it’s not nice! That’s how you repay my kindness?”

Then… after a silence that lasted a few moments, he placed a kiss on your neck. It was so unexpected, yet so sincere; so pure that you froze… And he froze too, nervous. After everything he had revealed, surely you must have understood what he was getting at, and the kiss… You had to know now.

For the first time, you spoke, “… why did you not tell me before?”

“I couldn’t have. And even now, I am frightened I made a selfish mistake…” His excitement was replaced by a nostalgic, pained voice. “But you deserved to know.”

You turned, so you were no longer spooning, but instead, your chest was pressed against his.

Although it was dark, the lamp provided enough light that you could see those hazel eyes you could have recognised from a thousand. You were not sure what to tell him. Or how? How could you inform him that he embodied everything you wanted from someone? His wit, his kindness, his humour, his smile… You could go on forever, and yet… how could you ever tell him that you needed nothing else other than him, just as he was.

So what if he was a ghost?

You could feel his touch, and that was all you would need. The idea of children never crossed your mind… and what else could there be that he was worried he could not give you? Money? You would always pick love over that… so then, what would there be to keep you apart from him?

You did not give him words, at least not the kind he would expect. You just gazed into his eyes, a soft smile now on your lips, “Are you still cold?” you asked, and that seemed to be the last thing Jamie expected to hear.

He stuttered, almost, looking at himself for a second. “Yes, terribly cold…”

Then, as if per queue, he understood what you meant. His face relaxed, then shifted into a grin, his forehead resting against yours. “Are you cold?”

“Terribly cold.” You replied, your hand reaching out for his cheek, thumb stroking the skin on his cheek, a little rough, stubbly almost.

You leaned in, and your lips met.

It was so soft, so gentle, that both you and Jamie smiled into it, and had to break it because you were both chuckling, but then his hand moved to the back of your head, fingers raking through your hair lovingly as he pulled you into a proper kiss this time, tilting his head to get a better angle and a little more depth. You did not know how long you kissed; when you did break it to catch your breath, both of you seemed to want to continue, so you did the most appropriate thing you could think of in that moment, and you pushed him back slightly and climbed on him.

Jamie let out a little groan in surprise, his resolve weakening as he felt your body pressed against his, and above him, of all places. His hands reached for your hips, gripping them tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh, eyes up to admire you, he did not take you for the kind to like to be on top... as for him, anyway, it was great, but like this was especially perfect since he could get to feel everything better.

“Well... hello.” He gave you an almost innocent look, but you could tell he was playing it to make you tease him. He ran his tongue over his lips, then pushed himself up slightly on his elbows, shifting to adjust himself under you, “I quite like this, I can get used to this.”

You scoffed and, with your hands pressed against his chest, pushed him down and hovered over him, until your noses touched, your hands moved to support yourself above him, on the bed, either side of his head, while his hands held your hips. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Not at all, I was just caught up thinking...”

“Of what?”

“Of how to get the best sounds out of you... Like I do with my cello?” He smirked.

“... please don’t flirt again, that was terrible.” You laughed, and after sulking for a second, he joined you in laughing, using that distraction as an opportunity to let his hands wander to your butt and squeeze it.

You leaned down and captured his lips into another kiss whilst feeling his hands grope your butt, kneading it, which caused soft, satisfied grunts to escape his lips and be muffled into your kiss. As soon as he thought he had assessed your butt properly, he roamed again, up to your hips, then to your front, reaching up to cup the soft mounds that your breasts were, his thumbs gently teasing your hardened nipples.

You sensed he might want to make a remark about them being hard already, but he was too busy pulling away and leaning in.

Displeased by the fact that the fabric was in the way, he slipped his hands swiftly to the hem of your pyjama shirt and pulled it over your head. He pressed his face up between them, then swirled his tongue around the sensitive bud of your right breast, before sucking hard, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. His hand came up to squeeze and knead the soft flesh of your left breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers.

You only now noticed that even as a ghost, he had kept features from life; you could feel the slight roughness of his finger pads from playing the cello.

Jamie’s other hand slid down to your hip, gripping it tightly.

You had begun to grind into him almost reflexively, and sensing it, he too began to grind up against you. Even through layers of clothing, you could feel he was aroused. Made you question how ghost anatomy worked, but that was something to think about another time. For now, you continued to grind into him while his face was occupied with your breasts. He appeared to have a good time because when you tried to pull back slightly to readjust on top of him, he huffed and pressed his face further up into them, to make sure he was not losing them.

Jamie could feel your arousal too, not directly, but he sensed it from the way you rode him, that you must be ready to take it another step.

He released your nipple with a soft sound before switching to the other. He repeated the process, teasing the flesh whilst he released your hip for a moment and tried blindly to undo his belt.

Jamie could have stopped for one moment to do it properly; he was so determined not to lose a second of your breasts in his face, that he coordinated himself as well as he could, face on your left breast now, hand on the right one to not let it unattended, and his left hand down to his crotch between your bodies, trying to unbuckle it.

You felt what he was up to and lifted yourself slightly, giving him just enough time to quickly push his trousers down to his knees alongside his boxers.

“Do you need a second...?” you asked teasingly; he grunted into your chest, struggling yet eventually managing to rid himself of his trousers and boxers.

You tried to do the same, pushing your pyjama shorts down alongside your knickers, which caused Jamie to finally part with your breasts. You were naked fully now, so he had to stop and admire that, even if his sight was only as much as the dim light from the lamp permitted.

He, on the other hand, was only naked waist down, so you helped him shrug off his coat and shirt.

“If you plan on complaining you are cold...” you started, moving the clothes aside so you would not get tangled in them, while he leaned up and kissed your neck like a man starved, hands still very much on you. Jamie did not seem to hear that, because his hands had already moved down to your butt again, helping you move, guiding you into grinding harder against him, now your cunt moving against his cock. You were dripping.

Feeling that caused Jamie to throw his head back, letting out the softest whine, “Can I? Please... please, can I?”

You nearly chuckled, placing a peck on his lips while he bucked his hips up against you, begging to be inside you. “If you say those three words out loud, I may say yes.”

Jamie’s eyes looked up at you, all wide and innocent and pleading as he squeezed your butt in desperation. He knew what you meant, even in this needy state; and being as desperate as he was, he wasted no time in panting and chanting those words like a prayer, “I love you... I love you, please let me...” and you did.

He did ask nicely after all, and you were also quite eager yourself to have him.

He adjusted himself again under you, but this time, as you lifted and lowered yourself back onto him just enough for his tip to feel your heat, he let out the neediest sounding gasp, hands moving down to your hips, gripping the flesh. He was already twitching, and you sensed it was about time you started to ride him properly.

Jamie eagerly thrusted his hips upwards, burying himself to the hilt inside you. Under different circumstances, he probably would have taken his time. He had not done this in decades, so patience was not his strong suit at this point.

A guttural moan came from his throat as soon as he felt you clenching around him. He started to move, setting a slow, deep rhythm at first. Jamie leaned up, and you met him halfway, having your mouth captured in a passionate kiss. His hips never stuttered, driving into you with a pace that gradually quickened, soft but precise thrusts that hit just the right spot inside you, causing sweet cries of pleasure to be torn away from you.

You pushed your back straight, hands on his chest, keeping him down on the bed while he thrust up into you; he seemed to have an ace up his sleeve, because seeing from the best angle your breasts bouncing, and face twisting in pleasure, he moved one hand between your bodies and used his fingers to reach your clit. He rubbed it in quick circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.

Jamie could feel your walls starting to flutter around him, your body tensing as your climax approached... but unfortunately so was his, and to his shame, he could not hold back, and he came before you did.

His climax hit him hard, suddenly and a little too early. [like his death]

His back arched, hands gripping your thighs in an attempt to secure you on him, nails digging into your flesh as rapid, pathetic gasps left his lips.

His tensed muscles began to relax after a while, and his eyes opened to look at you with a guilty pout, massaging the flesh he had so roughly handled. “That...” he panted, still recovering, “I shouldn’t have done that...”

You were catching your breath yourself and found the absolute disappointment in his eyes endearing.

He squinted and rolled you over, getting on top of you.

Jamie was not going to let you go to sleep without making you feel good, so he placed a kiss on your lips. Seeing him above made you sink into the bed; yes, he suited the spot under you better, but seeing him above did not disappoint.

He placed kisses down across your jaw, neck and shoulder, between your breasts and chest, down to your stomach. He got on his knees between your legs, hooking his arms under your thighs. He threw them over his shoulders while burying his face in your cunt. He did not seem to mind the fact that you were dripping with his release.

You had no idea what went through his mind, but you found that quite erotic.

He placed a soft kiss just above your mound, moustache tickling you slightly, his lips brushing against the skin. Then, without warning, he licked a long, slow stripe up your slit, his tongue delving between your folds to taste you. He was not patient still, and had you the possibility you would have loved to see him do it, licking his cum off of your cunt.

He groaned at the swipe of his own tongue, the sensation causing your hips to jerk instinctively, almost as if trying to escape him. Jamie gripped your thighs harder, groaning again, “no,” holding you still and exposed to him as he followed that first lick with a second, and then another.

Jamie focused on your clit, suckling and twirling his tongue over the sensitive spot. Then, with you already arching and writhing, he made another move. He slid two fingers inside you and started pumping in and out in time with the movements of his tongue. He curled them just right, not that you expected anything else of a cellist. If he could play that damned instrument for over an hour, you had no chance.

His fingers found your sweet spot just as fast as his cock had, and he began using that to his advantage, and you were definitely going to lose it before his trained fingers would.

He could feel your body tensing, your hips rocking against his face as your climax approached.

“That’s it, baby,” Jamie mumbled against your cunt. “Come for me. I know I’m hitting the right string.”

He rubbed your sweet spot, your thighs shaking as your orgasm crashed over you before you could even bark at him for using one of those stupid cello innuendos. You came too hard to think of complaining, thighs locking around his head, heat clenching around his fingers; he insisted, keeping the pace going, gradually slowing down as he guided you through your orgasm.

When you were done, he pulled himself up from between your legs, resting his chin on your knees, which he hugged with a dumb, sleepy grin plastered on his face. “... see, you liked it. I made you cum with my dirty talk.”

You were still catching your breath, and all you could do was roll your eyes at him, to which he chuckled and slid over next to you, kissing you lovingly and getting up to get dressed. You fell asleep almost right away, but you woke up briefly when he rejoined you in bed.

He had made sure to give you aftercare, but you were too deep into sleep to feel he had cleaned you and helped you back into a pair of clean knickers.

He had been your housemate ghost for long enough to know where you kept them, plus the rule of not coming into your room only applied when you were asleep, so he had explored it before.

All you felt was him spooning you, and when you stirred, he whispered into your ear. “Shh – you’re fine. You’re fine. It’s fine… you’re safe, I’m here. It’s alright, shh, I love you, go back to sleep.”

══════════ SMUT END ═══════════

When you woke up, it was late into the morning and… Jamie was not next to you.

The whole last night had been so strange that you would not be surprised if you found out you dreamed it happened. The issue was, if that was indeed a dream, then it would be terrible to face him with the memory of what you saw in your dream in your mind. As you lie on the bed, on your back, looking at the ceiling, you suddenly caught the smell of food, then a sudden loud banging noise as if something had fallen. By the sound of the metallic click, you guessed it had to be a pan or something alike it.

With a groan, you pushed yourself up and got dressed for the day, the noise persisting. No more banging noise, but there was clinking and a frizzling sound at one point.

Once your clothes were on, you pushed the bedroom door open and walked to the living room, which was empty, and then into the kitchen. You let out an audible sigh. In front of you, Jamie and another four ghosts were arguing in front of the oven.

You rubbed your eyes, clearing your throat loudly. Alerted by the new sound, the five pairs of eyes turned to you. Jamie’s sulk turned into a grin, and he came over, urging you to sit at the table whilst the rest of his friends were left attempting to manoeuvre the stove on their own.

Your attention was mostly on them, since you really hoped they would not set your flat ablaze. Jamie thought you must be interested in what they were doing, so he cleared his throat, “Oh, they offered to make you breakfast, because you are always such an incredible host and let them come here and rehearse with me,” his grin was wide, cheeky.

You just sighed, but there was the start of a smile on your face, “I think you mean I tolerate it when you invite a whole orchestra into my flat.”

“Same thing, really.”

You chuckled as the ghosts came over and put a plate in front of you and one in front of Jamie, “He’s lying.” One of them said. “Lying like a bastard!” Another chirped in laughing, causing Jamie to pout. “He whined at us to make something because he did not want to get off the bed this morning when we came! He shooed us off the bastard!” All of them laughed, including you.

Jamie was sulking at them for outing him like that.

“We didn’t say no, miss. He told us he came clean with you, and we tried to talk him into doing it many weeks before. Now he did it, so we said, he earned a little treat, and how he got us cooking for him, the rascal!”

You turned to Jamie with a teasing look, but he looked away with his face slightly redder than before.

“Oh, is that so? You’ve been keeping your feelings a secret, Mr Cellist”

He grumbled, “I was going to tell you the truth… at one point.” “No, you weren’t.” “In any case, could we just focus on dinner? She must be starving after last night.” He added proudly, suggestively even.

You could not deny that you were pretty hungry, so you began to eat while Jamie’s friends left you to talk. Jamie mostly just watched you eat, clearing his throat.

“So what did you tell them happened last night?” you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

He blushed, visibly so. “…Not too much! I just mentioned a thing or two, I’m not that vulgar! Oh, not that look! I… I just told them last night… felt very alive.” He stared down at his plate in shame. “…being with you made me feel alive. I promise, no details were shared.”

You laughed, rubbing your eyes.

The ridiculousness of the situation was catching up to you after months, but it was a bit late for that, huh? You really were in love with a ghost and… made love to him too. You did not regret it; never in a million years would you change anything about it. In that moment, Nina’s words came to you, like a sort of silly prophecy that had just been fulfilled, ‘the right one is yet to come’. Looking now at Jamie’s grin, that innocent heartwarming smile… the way he excitedly dove into his breakfast… unknowing of everything.

But you understood it now.

Nina had done for Jamie what he had done for her decades ago. After all, even a ghost deserved a chance to move on.

───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────

45 notes · View notes