Ghost of You

It was all so sudden. A freak accident. The kind of thing you’d read about in a story and think,

“There’s no way something like this could actually happen.”

Genet was there one moment, talking to Kato on the phone, telling him that he would be home soon. And the next, all Kato can hear is the crunching of metal and a cut-off curse from his husband. Then... static. Just... just static.

When officers came to tell him what happened, Kato just felt... numb. He knew what'd happened, he’d heard it after all. But... perhaps it was a small, childish part hidden deep in his chest that hoped that some how, some how, Genet made it out okay. Maybe banged up with a few broken bones, but alive.

How was Kato supposed to move on? He’d called Genet his for thirteen years, and had been married for seven. And now that he was gone, Kato was supposed to just... move on? How could anyone move on when their heart had been ripped from their chest like this?

He had Genet’s wedding band on a cord around his neck. It’d been damaged in the accident, the metal’s surface scratched and discoloured, and the ring itself warped. And Kato wore it close to his heart, because it felt like the only real thing he had left of Genet. The only physical, tangible proof he had left that Genet was once his, and he was Genet’s.

It was all he had.

Grief had a funny effect on some people. And perhaps Kato should’ve been alarmed when he first noticed Genet in the reflection of the mirror. But all he felt was relief, longing, and a desperate, choking desire to reach out and hold tightly to hiss hand. Like, if he held on tight enough, then he might wake up and this was all just some horrible, haunting dream.

But every time, it was cold glass, and Genet’s sad eyes.

It didn’t stop at mirrors. It was any reflective surface really. Shop windows, cars, even a dull looking spoon. Kato could see glimpses of Genet, always just a little bit out of his reach, but always there. Always so tantalizingly close.

And every time, that sad look in his eyes.

Such a look made Kato want to reach out and pull him close, wanted to comfort him and tell him that all would be okay.

But every time, it was a cold, unforgiving surface, and Genet’s sad eyes.

Realistically, Kato should’ve gone to bed. He should’ve switched off the bathroom lights and went to bed to try and get some sleep.

But instead, he stood in front of the mirror, watching Genet through the glass.

And while there was now the ever familiar look of sadness in hiss eyes, there was something else. Genet’s mouth opened and closed, like he was trying to speak, trying to communicate in some way. Alas, the glass had rendered him mute, and Kato could only make guesses as to what he was trying to convey.

“I miss you too, love,” Kato whispered, reaching up to place his hand against Genet’s on the glass. “The house just feels... empty without you in it. Just... cold... and lonely.”

Again, Genet was trying to say something. What, Kato couldn’t even begin to guess.

“It’s hard to sleep right now. I should be holding you in my arms... I should be squeezing you tight in the night. Pillows are a poor replacement... but holding nothing at all feels even worse.”

Genet’s mouth moved, but only silence rang out.

“I know, I should get some rest,” Kato said with a watery smile. “I mean, life stops for no man, and I’ve got work in the morning.”

He pressed the palm of his hand against the glass just a little bit harder, as though doing so would somehow be enough to push through the cold barrier and reach Genet.

“I’ll see you in the morning, my love.”

Somewhere, there was a god mocking Genet. That was the only explanation he could think of. The only explanation as to why he lingered, rather than going up to the great pearly gates or before the ferry man or... whatever it is that happens when you die.

Instead of passing on, he was here, stuck in a sort of hellish limbo, watching as Kato slowly lost himself day by day, little by little.

And he felt completely powerless to help him.

Not that Genet didn’t try. By god, did he try.

But it seemed that death had rendered him mute, unable to whisper comfort or tell Kato that he was okay. All he wanted to do was tell him it’s okay, and instead he’s left trying to figure out how to pantomime such feelings through a reflection.

“The house just feels... empty without you in it. Just... cold... and lonely,” Kato said, his voice sounding distant, like he was speaking through one of those playground speakers.

“It’ll pass. It’ll pass, Kato,” Genet tried to say, but he knew the words would never pass through that damnable glass barrier.

“It’s hard to sleep right now. I should be holding you in my arms... I should be squeezing you tight in the night. Pillows are a poor replacement... but holding nothing at all feels even worse.”

“I know, but everything will be okay,” Genet tried. “Kato, please, this isn’t healthy.”

“I know, I should get some rest,” a watery smile that made Genet want to cry in turn, the suffocating feeling of helplessness threatening to choke a dead man. “I mean, life stops for no man, and I’ve got work in the morning.”

Genet could almost swear he could feel Kato’s warmth through the glass as he pressed his palm against it jut that little bit harder. It was all in his head, but it... it just felt so real.

“I’ll see you in the morning, my love.”

“Kato, Kato this isn’t healthy! Kato, you can’t keep doing this! Kato!” Genet cried, his voice rising in pitch and volume, in the ever futile hope that somehow Kato might actually hear him.

But he didn’t. He never did.

Three years. It’d been three years since that stupid freak accident. And still, Kato could see Genet out of the corner of his eye, see him lingering in reflections. Always there, just out of reach.

From a logical standpoint, he knew full well that this wasn’t a good thing, that this was likely a serious sign that he needed help. But Kato felt like he was drowning, and seeing these fleeting glimpses of his love were the only thing keeping him afloat. And he was terrified to risk that desperate comfort, as flimsy as it was.

If he went to a professional, he ran the risk of losing Genet forever. Losing the small comfort he had every time he glanced at his reflection or noticed movement in his peripheral. And Kato was fairly certain that if this were to happen, it would leave him shattered, a pile of broken shards upon the floor.