Chapter Text
He is beautiful.
Of that, you have no doubt.
You long to reach out…
To stroke his crown of soft golden waves in a gesture of comfort. To be lost in the frigid Arctic blue waters of his eyes and press kisses against the sensual curve of his lips and hard line of his jaw…
All in good time, you think, taking the tray of chocolate chip cookies from the oven. You hum to yourself while your mind is abuzz with thoughts.
His tears broke your heart.
His desperation, tearing at the frayed ends of your restless soul, made you ache from the inside out.
You can't understand it. What was it about the broken boys that sent your heart a pitter-patter?
Unfortunately, you still couldn't find the answer even when you were plating the cookies, cooled but still warm and gooey, and carrying them to Ben Harmon's office as an offering to the sad, gorgeous boy who claimed to be a 'monster'.
The chunky heels of your leather boots clunk against the worn wood floors. Some days, you preferred moving about in silence. But today, with the house in chaos over the new arrival, you want to be heard. To be seen.
You catch a flash of blue pass by the foyer ahead, a ghostly trail of smoke disappearing into the living room.
A chuckle rattles in the back of your throat. You expect to encounter her in the near future. Already you can feel her disapproval poisoning the air around you.
Ah, just like old times.
Except now, you are stuck with her bitter ass permanently.
You stop before the stained glass doors, slowly drawing in a breath and exhaling. Trembling digits smooth at the skirts of your dress, the printed faces of celestial bodies--suns, moons and stars-- encouraging you to relax with their tranquil expressions. Balancing the cookies in one hand, you open one half of the double doors without knocking.
Your unannounced visit startles the two males within. A hush falls over them, their attention zeroing in on you. Ben takes one look at your cookies and raises an eyebrow, setting his clipboard down on his lap.
In his experience, you had never shown yourself unless you wanted something. Whether it was just something simple as a talk… or a fuck, there was always some kind of 'catch' with you. He had never given in, though the temptation has been there just as it had always been for him in his days of living.
But there was something off about you. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. Like whatever it was… it was beyond the human mind. Ben never wanted to investigate further. Now he was afraid of what kind of influence you would have over his young 'son'.
"I made these for you," you coo to the boy, walking to the side of the leather couch where he's seated and holding out the plate to him, "I know it's… not much when your grandma just--uh… you know. But, I just wanted to do something nice for you."
You smile, a sheepish lift of your glossed lips.
"Oh! Um… thanks. I guess," he replies, gingerly plucking a cookie from the top, "...Who are you again?" The way he cocks his head to the side in bewilderment makes you want to squeeze his cute little cheeks together.
You let out a nervous giggle.
"Sorry!" you apologize and introduce yourself, setting the plate on the coffee table, "I didn't mean to interrupt. I… saw what happened earlier. Just know that if you need to talk, I'm here too. Just say my name and I'll--"
"So you're a ghost too," he says. A statement. He assesses you with his eyes and for some reason, you feel that he knows, has known since you waltzed right in. Any normal person would have turn tail, but he seems pretty comfortable considering the circumstances. You like him already. You were always one for the 'abnormal'.
"Well… yeah. No getting around that, I'm afraid. I took a spill down the stairs in '96…" you sigh. You're still pretty damn mad about that. Go figure, you die in a house full of murdering ghosts and ill-intent, but not by the hand of anything evil. Your demise came from your own two clumsy feet.
At least you have less to worry about as a ghost. "Broke my neck and everything. Good news is I'll never have to worry about wrinkles." Forever nineteen… with this body, you weren't exactly complaining much.
To prove your point, you step back and produce a cigarette from the pocket of your denim jacket, lighting it with the flame of a scuffed zippo. "Or lung cancer."
"I see," The boy stops to take a bite of cookie, still unsure of your presence until the flavor of his treat truly sinks in, "These are really good, how did you even make them?" His mouth is full, but it's endearing. You see the warmth beginning to flow into the icy pools of his optics.
Oh, there you are, beautiful creature.
A bit of chocolate is smeared at the edge of his mouth and you fight the impulse to jump on him and lick it off.
He's like a puppy, you can't help but think, He'd be real fucking adorable on a leash…
"All the ingredients are fresh, don't you worry about that, sweetheart," you assure, "We have a friend who comes over often. She's a medium. And in exchange for the company, I make her some killer desserts with the stuff she brings in. I can cook other things too. If you're hungry for lunch I could--"
"I think cookies are enough for now, thanks," Ben clips and you shoot him a brief look of disdain. You exhale a plume of smoke in his direction and he waves it away with a huff.
"Now remember, Ben, he's human. And a growing boy's got to eat, doesn't he? He can't live on sweets alone. He's gotta have his flesh, right?" Your words are pure, saccharine honey dripping from your sinful tongue.
At the word 'flesh', Dr. Harmon's eyes grow colder. He wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. The young man opposite him catches your eye again, interest piqued. There's a certain… glint in his stare.
Got 'im.
"Y'know, lunch sounds pretty good right now. If I bring some stuff over from-" he pauses, his breath hitching in his throat before he recovers, "-my h-house… do you think you can make something for me?"
He's all puppy eyes now.
You were willing to make him lunch and kill for him all in the same hour if he kept that up.
It's confusing.
Your face lights up.
"Of course, honey, I'll make you anything your little heart desires! Oh, before I forget, what's your name again? I can't believe how rude I've been prattling on without even asking!"
His lips quirk into a smile and you could swear his boyishness gave way to something much older and knowing.
"Michael. Michael Langdon."
Oh those Langdons… you could tell this one would spell trouble for you too.
You knew his name. Had witnessed his birth.
And now, you would welcome him home with open arms.