𝖉𝖔𝖌𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖜𝖆𝖗

She wasn’t searching for the comfort, wasn’t yearning, greedily reaching out for him. He gave this to her. He came to her. Willow wonders if her tears will soak through him. She supposes she’ll find out soon. She holds on to him tightly.

          “ You can always come talk to me if you need, ”     He resist the urge to lean down, to kiss her forehead, her cheeks — he elects to smile down at her instead,     “ I’ll listen — ”

He didn’t feel the tears seeping into him, but they do. They fall right through him, hitting the sheets below. He sees them glistening in her eyes and on her cheeks when he looks down, a concern falling over him — he pulls back, if only to wipe those tears away with careful, cool hands. 

“I thought that maybe she left something behind, that’s all.” It isn’t all, but she doesn’t need to make him feel any worse for her. Willow goes quiet for a little while, letting herself be comforted by the breeze, the warm glow of her bedside lamp. She isn’t crying but the deep sadness seems to pour out of her anyway.

           “ I don’t mind. You don’t have to apologize. ”     

He feels the sadness welling, it almost smells like incense, almost tastes like sea water. Tears may not be welling in her eyes but they are welling in his; thick, vision clouding droplets that fall from his lashes, dashing across his cheeks. She may not be crying but he is, because he feels her sadness quite literally. 

          “ It’s probably nice to talk to someone who at least somewhat understands, not that I’m implying you don’t already have people — I know you do. ”

“I was at a party and there was this boy there that wouldn’t leave me alone. He… So anyway, I… I beat him up really bad and ran off to this house I knew was nearby. Everybody was scared of it, boarded up for years, hardly standing up. I thought it’d be a good place to, y’know. Wait everything out. But I wasn’t alone there… she was there.

           The implications are horrifying, all of the spaces she left out in her stammering paint a very clear picture, one that makes his stomach churn and his blood boil. Maybe it’s not the best time, maybe they don’t know her well enough for it, but he doesn’t really think of that before — he acts, gentle but swift, pulling her up against his body in an embrace. Ghosts can manipulate the vibes in the room right? Well, he hopes that he can do it, because he does everything in his power to be comforting, warm, inviting. 

It’s a dark memory, no matter how many years she has had to romanticize it. An extra light turns on in the corner of the room, the window unlatches and slowly swings open, letting in that cool ocean breeze. 

As for it being like the movies, that really depends on who you ask. Willow's family either didn't notice or were sure that she was out of her mind. Which may have been very much like the movies. She became a stranger, someone else, and she liked it that way. Willow was only young when it happened. Sometimes, she swears she never left the spot that she met her ghost.

           “ Fifteen, ”     Conrad’s face pulls to a frown, maybe the first one that she’s ever seen from him. It’s unnatural, given just how much he smiles, but the idea of someone so young subjected to that —

           “ Sounds terrifying. I couldn’t… I couldn’t imagine. But, uhm… you talk about it like you… liked it? ”     He doesn’t really understand that, and he doesn’t think he would be able to understand that either. To feel empty is something he has never really had to grapple with, and that all sounds just so… bleak. He turns onto his back, eyes scanning the details of the ceiling, reaching out a tender hand to touch Willow reassuringly. And she’s warm — warm, a feeling he hasn’t felt in a long time. He didn’t feel her warmth when they were in that old, falling apart shack, only now… and he fights with himself not to pull her closer for more of it. 

AUSTIN BUTLER as BENNY

She hasn't felt relaxed in a long time when it comes to Salem. Trying to move past the initial possession was hard enough, then he stabbed himself in front of her that time and she's been on high alert ever since. If it were up to Willow, she might've barred him from ghost hunting for life... But she knows it's hard when you've got a gift. When you feel the pull.

           He feels the thrum of her heartbeat within him, hears it in his inner ears, and for a moment it’s as though he can feel his own. It’s incredibly soothing, soothing — enough for him to stop being so tense with his past embarrassment, tossing his bag off the edge of the bed to join her, laying down on his side so that he can still peer at her. 

           “ Oh, that? It’s whatever. ”     he’s so nonchalant, relaxed, eyes still closed and head tilted back just barely. This is the closest he has felt to being sleepy in a long while — he thinks he misses that, too. The little things, ones that are so often taken for granted… Those are things that he misses the most.

          “ I’m not gonna ask you about it — you didn’t know who I was and were protecting Salem, nothing wrong with that. ”     he knows what she is now — the same thing that Hunter and Adríel and Hawk are, and he has heard and seen plenty from them. A fly on the wall for conversations that he shouldn’t have been a part of. He knows all he needs to, so he won’t press her for details — anything she wants to tell him will be her choice to divulge, in her own time. They have all the time in the world, after all. 

"I'm sorry that happened to you..." Willow sighs this out, hurting for him. Betrayed by someone he loves. Burned and hidden out in the fields. It's how she wanted to go out, really. It seems less romantic now.

           He’s appreciative of the tone change — maybe one day he can go into more detail without the ache that forms in his chest, but for today… Maybe this was enough for now. His eyes close as he allows himself to relish in Willow’s soft, tender touches. She’s so much gentler that he is used to — he likes it. Maybe he should let her hold his skull more often. 

Willow holds the head up to Conrad’s for reference, imagining what her own skull would look like in her hands. It begins to feel less strange to hold - but she still holds it so carefully in her hands, you would think it might shatter.

           He never really understood why, but he knows the reasoning. He knows where to find the answers he seeks, if he were brave enough to do so. Conrad likes to consider himself a brave man, but not about this. He doesn’t know if he can see her face again without serious repercussions.

           “ “Ritual sacrifice”, or at least, that’s the reason I was given before it happened, ”     there is a tremble in his voice, his eyes cast to the ground,     “ Though I think that’s not entirely true. I think I was killed as proof of loyalty. She always felt like she had to impress him. ”

This is harder than he thought it would be. He hoped for catharsis, and maybe it’s still to come, but even scratching the surface is…

“ASMR is like, a response to stimuli that makes your scalp tingle. But since you actually feel this, I dunno. I think you just had a mini orgasm right in front of me ‘cause I touched your scalp.”

          Maybe it’s determination, maybe he has gotten used to it, or maybe he is telling himself anything to stay in control — but at the very least, he’s able to stifle any unwanted noises that threaten to escape, though at the cost of goosebumps up and down his body. He wipes a hand over his face in a failed attempt to ground himself. 

          “ I-I don’t want to hear it. I whispered in your ear and you fell down stairs ‘cause you were so horny. ”

Deflection, nice! No she totally won’t make fun of him for this later! Now it will super be swept under the rug! He’s still smiling, always smiling, because despite the mortification he’s still having fun. 

          “ What…!? I — ”     He sits bolt upright now, his bag now placed in an ever so convenient spot. He's not making eye contact — he’s smiling still but it’s not the same cocky, self-assured one he normally wears. It’s nervous, shy — and though he can’t feel it, his cheeks appear flushed. 

          “ N-no, I just — ”     he clears his throat, laughing at himself, his nerves — and the mounting mortification,     “ You gotta understand, I feel all of that, like you’re touching me but… more. Like how it used to feel, before I died. Just gave me the shivers. Like, t-tingles I guess… What the fuck is ASMR? ”

With such a delicate hold on the skull, she traces her fingertip over one of the markings, the hand supporting his jaw is delicate, soft. Willow listens to his explanation and leans close, examining the carvings. Her breath brushes against her fingertips.

          Her dainty, graceful fingers feel much different than those rough hands of the Dogs, or of Zero’s strong and hungry grasp. He feels cradled instead of clutched, soft and safe and warm. Warm is something nearly unfamiliar to him at his point — despite the fire, this side is so, so cold.           “ Well, Uh… I — I don’t actually know, ”     He watches her, so tender in her approach. His face softens,     “ I had this friend once, really soon after I first died, she found my skull and she took it to someone — ”

Willow’s fingers graze the back of his skull, soft and gentle, sending waterfalls of shivers down his spine. Eyes flutter shut, his head thumping back onto the mattress. 

And let the record reflect that the noise he made was completely involuntary. 

So she tries to stifle how amazed she is at the offer, but sort of fails to contain the amazed gasp at the sight of it. Willow quickly attempts to tone it down. Is he going to let her hold it? It seems that way... Willow holds out her palms, soft and careful as she sits beside him on the bed and waits for him to actually hand it over.

Willow wouldn't dream of being too rough - she isn't aware of how sensitive it is, but she can't imagine that it's not important to take care with such an artefact. She looks at him, her large eyes doubled in size and her lower lip a little pouted.

          Conrad would imagine that most in Willow’s situation — obsessed with ghosts, presented with one hell of a ghost artifact — would have taken the opportunity to snatch it up already, to turn it around in their hands to hungrily discern just what it is. Push the limits, all for the sake of curiosity or whatever — Conrad looks on at Willow with a sort of wonder, maybe even confusion. Maybe she is just scared? He doesn’t really understand, but he is grateful. He holds it out further for her, an invitation.