#520 words

And the man did stick around. Even after his acquaintances disappeared with an ‘early shift tomorrow’ or, in some cases ‘I’ve got late shift. Sure you wanna stay?”

The stranger stayed. Until the bouncers brought the last ones out. Even eyed the stranger for a moment.

Trevor thanked them and left. Only the stranger and him.

“Still there, now,” the stranger said after the door closed for the last time. He still drank from the almost-full glass.

“Mh. Yes”

“But no for long, it is terribly late,” he yawned.

“I- what? I… it was clear we would talk and… okay, lets make this short. Why do you have clones of me?” Trevor was… not in the best mood after hours of scribbling.

“Because it was interesting?” He made a face as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

“Yes, but how did you do it?”

“I took your genetic material, polished it and made clones? It’s really not that complicated. Now I just want to know if you can provide any info’s that are relevant to you,” he pointed the pen towards him. It somehow made everything worse.

“H- How in the world did you get my genetic material. I can’t be cloned,” Trevor didn’t want to hear that.

“Well, my results beg to differ. But it’s no matter. How? I got delivered, of course. Like everything,” he shrugged

“… no one can clone me, that’s ridiculous,” everything in him spoke against it, the hairs on the back of his neck raised. “And what do you mean delivered, who delivered it. Who the hell are you?!”

“Uh. Frederick. Smith. Born and raised. And… got them from clean-up crews. Fresher samples from personal encounters? MUCH easier now, certainly,” he yawned again, looking around. It was rather silent, “… you do shed skin averywhere”

“That’s just my corporation! The human half! The uninteresting part!”

‘Frederik’ smiled: “Heeeh… ‘s what you say… as if all ‘high and mighty’ has anything of value. Very straightforward, that one,” he supported his head on a hand.

“You cloned my human part” a deadpan question.

“Nooooo. That would be dead by now. But actually mixing. N Personality,” eyes drooped-

“You made them immortal?!”

“Noooo…. Jus…. yanno… energy… n new life… and cloning,” Frederik made a matter-of-fact gesture.

“There are immortal clones of me out there?!”

…

There was no answer… just a heap of unkempt hair and a hand still sticking up.

What.

Trevor shock him… just to get bapped away.

And curled further in the hoodie. Where that came from was probably not a question,

With a frown, he brought the creature in the guest room.

This… would not do.

Who the hell knows what did him in, and it isn’t as if it matters anymore. He’s dead. Now, being dead is all fine and dandy until one realizes that one is unable to move onto the next world or whatever happens when someone dies. Now this former high school boy floats around the Kerria campus with absolutely nothing to do. 

There’s all these stories where ghosts can interact with the physical world in some ways or another, but those are all lies. Hidenori cannot do anything but pass through objects and people; it’s as if he doesn’t exist. 

Now this is fine and dandy at first because, being a ghost, one can learn everything without consequence, but after a while it becomes a bore. There’s also a bad side in being able to see everything without consequence.

He wants to tell whatever people who are mourning over him to just stop and forget already because he isn’t an important enough person to be remembered like that. It feels nice to be remembered and cared for after death, but such things just don’t suit his character. Plus, he doesn’t want himself holding anyone back.

He’s mostly talking about one particular person when he says he wants everyone to move on. It’s Kouha. Even as a ghost, he can feel the agitation in the air around the prince, the feelings of sadness and disappointment and self blame. He wants to say it’s no one’s fault and the car driving by 30 over the speed limit couldn’t be stopped no matter what. 

And he wants to say his death is justified because he used it to save that shorty prince, someone infinitely more important than some high school boy. He can imagine Kouha saying otherwise, but it’s true; Hidenori would’ve grown up to be some normal businessperson or another and be generally unremarkable while Kouha has the chance to change the world in his position.

So, Hidenori wants to say ‘move on’. Of course, his ghostly voice doesn’t reach the ears of those alive no matter how much he screams or shouts. He even tries to write on the walls, but, again, those fictional ghost stories are lies. 

At this point, all the ghostly form of Hidenori does is follow Kouha around and commentate on what’s going on around the other. Sometimes, he thinks, the prince can actually hear him; sometimes when he warns of an oncoming danger, Kouha is able to react. That’s probably wishful thinking on his own part though. Kouha has great senses and reflexes. 

One day, Hidenori can’t take it anymore, Kouha blaming himself for what occurred. He touches down onto the ground from his floating perch and stands in front of the prince. His hands grab onto those smaller shoulders and he connects their lips for a brief moment before yelling, “Stop.” 

In that instance, he swears that Kouha’s eyes, the ones that always looked past his translucent form, fixed onto him, as if Hidenori existed for that moment.