#alt4

For the first sixteen years of his life, he'd been living every day as it came, taking whatever came with it, good or bad (It was usually bad).

But this year was different. This year, he had something to look forward to.

His and Pony's one-year anniversary.

They had started dating back when they were in that abandoned church in Windrixville, and they've been going strong ever since.

Johnny's not sure how he'd survived sixteen years without Pony's soft, sweet kisses, but after a whole year of them, he sure as hell isn't going to stop.

The morning of their anniversary, Johnny woke up earlier than he ever had before. The sun wasn't even up yet, which was exactly what Johnny wanted.

He got up from the old mattress that he slept on in the abandoned lot, and made his way to the Curtis residence.

It was early October, and early mornings were freezing, so Johnny was glad to have one of Pony's sweatshirts on, along with his jean jacket like always.

When he arrived at the Curtis residence, he had a choice to make.

Option 1: Go in through the front door and risk waking up the other Curtises.

Option 2: Climb in through Pony's bedroom window to wake him up. (This would only work if his bedroom window was unlocked)

Being the considerate person he is, Johnny decided to try his luck, and see if Pony's window was unlocked, and well, Johnny must have had some angel looking out for him, because not only was the window unlocked, it was already opened just wide enough that Johnny's small frame could squeeze through.

So, he carefully wiggled through the open window, out of the cold October air, and into the warmth of Ponyboy's bedroom.

And well, the sight that greeted him was angelic.

Pony's brown hair, with its blond tips, was messy in a way that was utterly adorable, his face was peaceful in a way it hadn't been in a while, and his eyelashes fluttered softly as he dreamed.

Johnny stood there for a moment, watching as his boyfriend slept, free from all the worries that plagued him when he was awake.

It almost felt like a crime to wake him up from his peaceful state, but the sun wasn't going to wait for them, so Johnny padded towards the bed, and gently shook Pony to wake him up.

Pony's eyelids fluttered open, revealing his bright green eyes, which were hazy from sleep. He rubbed his eyes with a fist, looking every bit the sleepy fifteen-year-old he was.

"Hey baby... Good morning..." He whispered, so as to not startle the boy.

"Hey love... Why're you wakin' me up so early...?" Pony asked, his southern accent thick in his sleepy state, and his voice still rough from sleep. He glanced over at the alarm clock on his nightstand, "Baby, it's not even seven yet, why'd you wake me up so- oh."

The innocent realization on Pony's face as he realized the date was adorable, and Johnny wanted to just scoop the younger boy up and put him in his pocket.

"Happy Anniversary, Pony." Johnny said.

A small smile spread across Pony's face, and he reached out, taking Johnny's hand in his own.

"Your hands are freezing." He said, staring up at Johnny with genuine concern in his wide green eyes.

Johnny laughed softly. Of course Ponyboy would be concerned that his hands were cold, because he's Ponyboy, and if that wasn't Ponyboy Curtis in a nutshell, he didn't know what was.

"Well, it is October. You know how cold it gets here once we're past the summer months." Johnny replied, gently squeezing Pony's hand, which was warm against his own.

Pony laughed quietly, running a hand through his messy locks in an attempt to tame them, which only resulted in making his hair even messier.

"I have a surprise for you." Johnny said, carefully tugging Ponyboy out of bed. "Get dressed, we're gonna go to the park."

Pony nods. He's never questioned Johnny when he asked him to do something. If Johnny told him to do something, there was a good reason for it.

Five minutes later, Pony is dressed in a crewneck sweatshirt, a pair of Soda's old jeans, and his black converse, and they're headed out of the Curtis residence, (Through the door this time), and towards Pershing Park.

As they walk, Pony's hand finds Johnny's, and he holds it tightly.

When they arrive at the park, they waste no time in climbing up to the top of the metal play structure on the left side of the park.

From the top, they get a perfect view of the sunrise, and as they sit there, hands intertwined, Johnny knows this is it. He's finally found his person.

"Hey Pones...?" He asks softly.

"Yeah?"

"I love you." He says, before kissing Pony like it was their first, back in the church, a whole year ago.

"Happy Anniversary, Johnny." Pony whispers when they pull apart for air.

"Happy Anniversary, Pony."

It's been a couple of months since you moved into this house. The house you now call home. You didn’t get many visitors, and when you wanted to see someone, they’d convince you to go to their house. Even the movers didn’t step foot inside, and most delivery services, if they knew, wouldn’t go further than the front lawn. And it was all because you moved into a house where someone committed suicide.

The day you bought the house, you didn’t even bother to look into its history. Your eyes only saw the unbeatable mortgage and pricing. I mean, of course, you looked at the interior and whatnot, but you thought people stayed away from it due to how long it’d been up. You thought they were scared of vintage houses. But, you were wrong. They didn’t like the house because it was haunted. At least that’s what the locals told you. They swore up and down you’d be running out of that house in no time, but it never came.

You assumed they were trying to have you leave because they despised the new people. Which made sense since they were a very small community of people and didn't have many visitors. And because of everything, you couldn't bring yourself to believe in the ghost. Because you’d been living there for months with nothing ghost-like occurring. And the only scary thing was how many teenagers came around to chant the name "Jonathan Blake". You always have to tell them off. You didn’t know what a sick and twisted high they got out of that. For fucks sake, let the dead be dead. You couldn't imagine how unbearable they'd be on Halloween night. Or maybe they'd leave you alone, believing this would be the height of the haunting.

Last night had been unbelievably rough. You had those kids come back, and you had a nightmare. A dark and gruesome nightmare. A nightmare about the suicide of Jonathan Blake. You felt terrible, but it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t control what you dreamed about. Even so, you'd hoped you'd forget it more quickly. You needed to stop talking to the locals so much. They were getting to you. You forced yourself up, feeling the apparent sweat that had formed on your forehead. Your current bedroom was cold as you grudgingly got up. You came into contact with the wooden flooring as you yawned. You changed into some sweats and a shirt. You had no intention of doing anything. It was the weekend, after all. All you wanted to do was binge on scary movies and sleep some more. You walked through the house and you could hear your breath and steps echo. You then made it to the kitchen. The sun was fairly out due to it still being early in the morning. So you didn't need to turn on the light as you made your coffee, eagerly waiting for it to be done.

You stood there for a moment, waiting for your coffee to dispense as the doorbell rang vigorously. The disorienting noise rang throughout the house as it hurt your ears. Your hands jolted as you made your way to the door as fast as you could. You were going to snap if it was those kids again. As you cautiously opened the door, you were met with a pale man with short dark brown locks framing his face. And with that, he was adorning stereotypical mailman's attire, even adding a blue baseball cap on top. He held out a brown package. It must have been something that you ordered a while back.

"I believe this is for you." At first, he didn’t look at you but then turned to you. His face changed after staring at you for an uncomfortable moment. "Oh, good morning," he said cheerfully as he leaned against the doorframe. "I didn't expect to see an angel." his teeth were whiter than him. You’ve never heard someone unironically use such an internet pickup line.  "Um, thanks for the package," you said as you slowly shut the door in his face as he took the privilege of forcing it back open. "You know, it’s pretty rude to do that, but I'll let it slide." he looked at you for way too long, making sure to take you all in as you gave him a vile side-eye. The man stepped a foot into your house as you stared at him harshly. You didn’t know how many hints you had to give this man before; you’d have to slap him. You could feel yourself cringe. You would've preferred the angsty teens over this any day. He then took a step into your house as you backed away. "What are you doing?" you asked him as he tried to make his way into your house. "I'm making sure the package is delivered," he reassured. You could right-hook this man. He wasn't much taller than you. You could tear him apart. You told yourself. You weren't going to be the next death in this house. He then made his way completely into the house. He was making you uncomfortable, and you didn’t know what to do. You had to put your foot down.

"Hey, I’m not into you like that and I also don't feel comfortable with this, so please get out of my house." you were about to snap out on this man. He frowned harshly, his face tense a good amount. "I'm just doing my job, so why are you like that?" he raised his tone and acted as if he was in the right. This guy had the nerve to intrude into your house and then say that. You cussed him out. "It's my house and because you're fucking weird," you told the mailman, as he was taken aback for a second. "Oh, you're with that emo over there?' 'Is that why you won't give me a chance?" he asked, squinting in your living room. Who was he talking about? It was just you and you alone in that house. You had no roommate or partner. You knew right then that this guy was mental and you needed him out. You were going to go call the cops on the man as he started to cuss at whatever was behind you.

"Who?-" you stuttered as you heard loud footsteps marching their way toward the both of you. You heard them right behind you as they got closer to you. You felt a sudden cold surge go right through you as there was now a solid figure right in front of you.  Someone just walked through you completely, and you could still feel their touch. You could still feel the shivers that had run up your spine. The feeling was so ethereal but so unnatural, yet you wanted to feel it again. "Boo." The figure tilted his head as the mailman screamed violently. He fell to the floor as the figure towered above him. "Jonathan Blake?" he whispered as he picked himself up and ran out the door. The mailman screamed "Puppeteer" as he stuttered. He managed to cuss the both of you out as he ran for his truck. As soon as it was just you and the spirit. You could feel yourself swallowing. Fear injected itself into your system, but you couldn't manage to run. You were enchanted by whatever that past feeling was and now by the unhuman man in front of you.

The figure wore a gray beanie on top of his jet-black hair. His skin was an irregular gray, but that wasn’t the most out-of-place thing. It was his glowing yellow eyes. His golden eyes radiated toward your normal ones. He had no pupils or whites. It was all yellow. You couldn't stop staring in awe. You should have been terrified, and you were, but your fascination with him had overcome your fear. "Boo," he muttered again, getting even closer to your face. You could tell he didn't have his shoes on the ground. Instead, he was floating a couple of inches off of the hardwood floor. He looked into your eyes, tilting his head. He appeared to be questioning you more than you were questioning him. You didn't move or run. You just couldn't. You were mesmerized by him. And even so, you could feel your heart pounding out of your chest. You didn't even feel like you were there. You were just lost in his gaze as sweat fell to the floor. "Interesting," he said, raising his eyebrows as he put himself back onto the ground. You could feel his gaze burn into your trembling frame. He was still taller than you. It didn't even make a difference if he was in the air or not. He still stood strong. The room only seemed to get colder with him in it. You could smell coffee coming from the kitchen as you looked at the transparent man in front of you.

"There's an actual ghost in my house." the words came out shaky as you felt your lips tremble violently. "Sounds like a you problem." he stood strong in front of you. You reached out to his torso. You wanted to know if he was real. If he was a ghost or if you were going insane. You didn't know what this would solve, but you were going to try it anyway. You placed your hand on his chest, pushing it against it. Your hand didn’t go through. You could feel a chill run up your fingertips on contact. "You can’t just do that." he grabbed your wrist harshly as you attempted to pull back. But his hold was just too strong. A million thoughts were running through your mind, but you couldn’t seem to organize one of them. "Huh?" you wanted to say so much more. Was he a ghost or not? He made no sense. He felt solid, but seconds ago he walked straight through you. And seconds ago, he was floating. You had so many questions and yet no answer. For example, why did the guy who committed suicide, Jonathan Blake, go emo?

"Yes, I’m real, and yes I'm a spirit," he answered two of your questions as his hold on you went away, but his hand was still very much gripping onto you. He quickly slipped his hand through your arm to demonstrate it to you. In the legend, the people spoke of Jonathan Blake. They said he’d drive you to suicide just like the world did to him. They said he was violent. They said he would string you up and take your organs out one by one. But, here he was playing into your antics. He even saved you from that bitch of a mailman. Was he just playing with his food? You didn't know if you would be able to answer that. You were way too deep in the cold, soft feelings that he brought you. And every time you felt his hand phase, it was pure ecstasy. "I was hoping to make my appearance later, but, you know." he exhaled, waiting for you to relax and get over the initial hype of seeing a dead person.

Even with all of this. He was still a rumored spirit that fed off of suicide, and you weren't ready for it. You didn't want him to do that to you. You liked whatever was going on currently. You wanted to be his friend. "I don't want to die." your eyes widened softly as you gazed at him. You didn't want him to drag you into that dark place. You had a prime question in mind. One that stuck out. Was he gonna end you today or was he going to take his sweet time with you?  He chuckled and even laughed at your misery. "Oh, I love hearing that line’ ‘But, I’m not going to hurt you.’ ``Only cause you to live here, and it's making it easier to find people," he told you blankly, but you didn’t believe him. He wasn't actually going to leave you alone. You weren't going to be the one he chose to spare. You didn't even notice your hands violently shaking. You were so confused. You had way too many emotions coming at you at once. You were getting stressed and overwhelmed. It was too much for you. You could feel yourself hyperventilating as your vision went dizzy. Your legs turned to jelly as you started to wobble backward. You didn’t know what to say or do. You fell against the wall. The puppeteer quickly made his way to you.

As you backed even further into the wall, he pressed his hands on either side of your frame. "Shouldn’t have bought a house off Craigslist." he tilted his head down to you. He was much larger than you. He practically caged you, and the worst part was he didn’t even have to try. Tears pricked in the corner of your eyes as they ran down your face effortlessly. "Hey, it's okay." his yellow mouth laughed as he brought you in for a hug. He was alarmingly cold but still alluring. He probably didn't even know he was pulling at your heartstrings. You knew he wasn’t actually trying to comfort you, but it felt like he was. He wasn’t even trying to lie, but he already had you falling for it. He was being so sadistic toward you, but you couldn't help but completely indulge. Was he just capable of manipulating your feelings, or were you just like that? Were you playing checkers while he was playing chess?

But, for some reason, it felt good to be special. It felt good to be the only one excluded from his murder. It felt good to be the only one he had mercy on. But knowing how you were feeling about it made it so much worse. You liked being special to him. Even if he was lying to you. But, even with all of this, he had your mind spinning. You hated that you could even feel that for someone like him. You could feel the tinge of disgust coursing through you. You didn't understand why he wasn't trying to kill you. You didn't want to be excluded, but, at the end of the day, you had no choice. It wasn't up to you, was it? He grabbed your tear-stained face, wiping away your tears with his freezing hands. You could feel yourself involuntarily embracing him. It felt so good, but it was terrible. He still had a grin even after his fingers were stained with your tears.

He placed one of his digits that had been immersed in your tears and licked it. His finger popped out of his mouth as he smiled at you, taking your expression all in. He thrived in sorrow, and you were directly giving it to him. You could feel your stomach coil as red dusted your face. You wanted to listen to your impulsive thoughts. You wanted to run with it. You felt fluttering in your stomach. According to his legend, the only thing he could sense was depression. He probably didn’t know what you were about to do. But you did. This was going to get you killed.

"Now back to the deadly ghost in my house shock era," he muttered, expecting you to go back to freaking out. But you didn’t. Instead, you made sure he was in his solid state as you pulled him in by the collar and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. His golden smile immensely went away in pure shock. As his cold lips come into contact with your warm ones. For the second you two were connected, you swore you would have felt a faint shock. His lips were rough and harsh against your soft ones. You remembered the details by looking at his face. He stood still, mouth agape.

"I- I didn’t think that was a part of being scared of a spirit." he froze in place, blinking at you while tilting his head. You could see his gray cheeks had a darker gray sprinkled on them. He came back to you, pressing you back against the wall. He was much more curious than before. Maybe it was because you two were at vastly different temperatures. But, you wanted more, and you could sense he wanted more too by the way he stared at you. You didn’t know how to describe it other than with a hungry gaze. He dipped down again, about to connect your lips. You two heard blaring police sirens again. As soon as you turned to find the source and turned back, he vanished. After that morning, you were never alone. After that morning you had a poltergeist boyfriend. And now no one has ever fucked with you again after the mailman ran into town screaming that he’d seen him.

Orym's eyes flicked around the room searching for whatever hints might be found in the long-abandoned space. “I don't know. Someone or someones cleared this place out and everything else... I wonder what those statues used to be.”

“Do you want to take a closer look?”

“I don't-”

The brush of something cold across the back of Orym's neck immediately stopped the words in his throat. His hand jumped to the hilt of his sword, but he never got the chance to pull it free of his scabbard. That cold sensation on the back of his neck moved seemingly instantaneously to cover his hand. He expected the cold to grow in intensity and try to force its way into him the same way the other ghosts did, but nothing more happened. It just held on.

“Orym.” His heart stopped in his chest at the familiar voice that whispered in his ear-one that he hadn't heard in years. “Orym?”

“This isn't real. It's just in my head.”

“I know why you would think that. I promise you it isn't. She needs me to talk to you.”

“Who?”

“The Raven Queen. This used to be her temple. She knew you were here the moment you walked in.”

“Why now? Why you?”

The hold on his hand disappeared, then for the first time in six years he found himself looking up into the eyes of his late husband. His cold hands cupped Orym's jaw just like he always used to do when he arrived home from a long day's work and would pull Orym in for a kiss. While he wanted nothing more than to lean into it, the rational part of his brain continued to fight against it. He looked like him-except for the completely white eyes-but that didn't mean it was him. Plenty of things could take his face to use it.

“Hey, I know what's going on in that brain of yours. It's me. I can't stay long, and I'm sorry for that. I know this is hard, but I'm so proud of you. You've done so much. It's incredible. You're incredible, Orym.”

“There were so many nights-so many nights I dreamt you were alive. You would come home, and it was like nothing happened, then I'd wake up alone. I missed you so much. I still do. Every single day I miss you. My heart will always have a hole in it because you're gone.”

“I'm sorry. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“And you have so much love to give. That's one of my favorite things about you.”

“Riegel,” For the first time, Orym let himself reach up to loosely hold a cool wrist. “I... what do I need to do?”

“What she needs from you is important. All of you. I'm sorry to be the one to put this weight on your shoulders. I wish I could be there to carry it with you.”

“You were always a smooth talker.”

A soft laugh that used to fill their home and his heart with joy bubbled out of Riegel's mouth. “Only with you. These undead creatures you've been facing are suffering. They're being puppeted against their will when they should be at rest. You're on the trail to who's doing this. Put an end to it. Let them have their peace.”

“We will.”

“I know you'll take care of them. Make sure you take care of yourself, too.”

“I'll do my best.”

“I mean it. Be safe.” A hint of a smile vanished from view when Riegel dipped his head down to press a kiss to Orym's forehead. “Don't be afraid to open yourself up to love again. I might be a hole in your heart, but I know how big it is. There's plenty of space for another. Let yourself fall in love again, Orym.”

He knew even at a whisper his voice would crack from the emotion welling in his throat, threatening to constrict it. “But I don't want to let you go.”

“That wouldn't be letting me go. It's continuing to live. You have so much of your life left. Don't stop it because of me. I don't want to be a ghost haunting you.”

“Never. You could never.”

“I love you. I will always love you.”

“I love you so much.”

“I'll see you in your dreams.” The gentle brush of a thumb across his cheek spirited away the tear that slipped from his face as the cold around him faded.

For a moment, he could still feel the phantom of hands on his face and a wrist clutched in his hand, then the tingles on his jaw faded and his fingers tightened around nothing. Without anything there to hold him up, the weight of everything brought him to his knees and curled his shoulders in. Through the blur of tears clouding his eyes, the outline of six people in the distance watching him was barely visible. Before he had time to consider what that meant, something blocked everything from view. Or someone.

Gentle hands guided him into a hug that prevented him from tipping forward from the weight continuing to crush him. The tears flowed freely as he desperately held onto whatever his hands found purchase on. A slow humming lulled him through the sobbing, until he was left breathing heavily into damp fabric. Even though the tears stopped and his hands loosened, the humming didn't stop, not even when he pulled away to look Dorian in the eye.

“Did you hear all of that?”

The melody faded to an end that almost made him regret asking the question. “Not all of it, but enough. I'm so sorry, Orym.”

“It happened a long time ago.”

“That doesn't mean anything when you love someone.”

“Yeah.” After taking a moment to scrub at his eyes, Orym straightened up so Dorian no longer held all of his weight. “How bad do I look?”

“Hold on, you've got something in your hair.”

“What?”

He curiously watched Dorian open the small front pocket of his bag and pull something blue out of it that he slid behind Orym's ear. “There. They won't even notice.”

“Is that why they're staring at us? Because they don't notice.”

“I don't know what you're talking about. Now, come on. We should keep moving. I'd prefer not to get possessed again.”

“I'll protect you.”

“I know.” Just like Riegel, Dorian tenderly brushed away a stray tear, then rose to his feet with a smile. “Let's go. The longer we wait, the more time they have to think of questions.”