Suga had always wondered how he'd passed away.

He didn't seem like the non-religious type, so the thought of him not ascending to some afterlife or afterworld and being stuck on Earth instead baffled him, unless anything transcending death didn’t exist in the first place. He refused to believe that, though. Something had to exist after death - there had to be some sort of purpose for his soul, and he would not rest until he found it.

Yes, he didn't have any clear memories of his life. They were very vague, almost as if someone had put a hazy, warped piece of glass over them that only hurt his head when he tried to remember. All he knew for sure was his name, the fact that he was dead, and that he was very much alone in the world.

That's when Suga met you - the sole daughter of proud parents in the police force. Being silent and much more fond of a normal job sans the action that actively serving police officers had to go through, you had rejected being a policewoman and moved out of your parents' home in Seoul to a more secluded town on the outskirts of the bustling city. In a shabby but cheap one-bedroom apartment, you had met the being that would begin to change your personality, spark your motivation, and most of all, ignite your courage.

Despite being terribly frightened and in denial at first - as anyone would instinctively react - Suga gave you space and patience until you realized he was telling the truth - he was a ghost, he was real, and he had a motive: to find out how he died.

In fact, Suga still remembered the words you had said to him after the truth had sunken in:

"I'll help you find out the reason why you died, but when this case is solved, you'd better leave my home."

And you both adhered to that contract - one that was made between the dead and the living.

After years of investigation and convincing your parents to use their officer connections to find the body of your missing "friend," you and Suga had argued and misunderstood each other, gradually inching closer to one another without even acknowledging it in more ways than one.

And by the time arguments had turned into affection, it was already too late - the day you'd been waiting for had come all too soon.

*

D-Day was a late, breezy evening - a stark contrast to the stuffy, linoleum-filled building the both of you were sitting in now.

You hadn't even made dinner yet, not that Suga could eat anyway, but he always liked the scent of fresh rice - especially when you made it. It made him feel nostalgic for some reason, and he realized that he missed that scent. Instead of being at home, though, the both of you were at a morgue, sitting uncomfortably while your leg bounced in anxiety.

The scent of your freshly-made rice seemed so far away now.

Suga sat in the seat beside you, sea-green eyes tenderly gazing upon your tense expression. Throughout these years, he'd learned to trust you and could read you better than anyone else.

"You don't have to come inside if you don't want to," he murmured.

You jolted at the sound of him, eyes darting with uncertainty before landing on his facial features. Somehow, the sight of him calmed you down, even though he was supposed to be the one with butterflies in his stomach. A foreign emotion warmed your heart as you reminded yourself why you had agreed to come in the first place. You didn't come all the way back to the city for nothing.

"No, I'm coming."

There was a look of fondness in his eyes that you couldn't explain, but you knew that inside, he was silently thankful for your presence.

A shadow cast over you as you tore your gaze away from the ghost and up at the women facing you - your mother and her colleague, a well-known detective.

“It’s time,” your mother nodded.

You bit your lip and rose to your feet, trying your best not to stare at Suga's face as he caught up from beside you. As the both of you followed her down the halls of the morgue, you couldn't help but think about what would come next, if the body inside the double-doors was indeed his.

Before you knew it, you were already standing inside the cold warehouse-like hall, eyes darting at the hundreds of numbered cells. Suga's body was in here somewhere.

A worker who seemed to be waiting for them nodded in solemn greeting.

"You may want to brace yourself. As you know, the body was one of many found in the Han River, so it may be... decomposed."

"Is it still recognizable?" The detective asked. "It's useless if it's not."

You slightly winced at the biting tone, but Suga stayed as still as a statue.

"Luckily, the face is for the most part, intact. Feel free to see for yourself, though."

His grip tightened on the handle of the freezer, and in one sweep, a lumpy outline of a body was revealed underneath a white sheet. The worker pulled down the sheet, and you pressed your lips together, eyes staring at the remains of what used to be a pale-skinned man with sharp facial features. Parts of his cheeks were rotting.

You wanted to throw up, but you couldn't tear your gaze away so quickly. You already knew the answer - you were staring at what once used to be Suga.

At once, you grabbed your mom's arm. She said nothing, but the detective spoke up instead, staring at you inquisitively.

"Is this him?"

It only took one word of response, but you felt like it was the hardest thing to do in the world. Suga was someone who made you realize the importance of living. He was the one who stood by you through all your ordeals; he understood your circumstances through and through, and yet, nobody could see the anguish on his face but you.

Nobody else could see him… but you.

Before you could say yes, Suga's ghost had vanished from the hall.

*

Ever since that horrid day, Suga never returned. Whether it was upon action of the contract or not, it was as if he had never existed.

You were an emotional wreck up until the day of his funeral, which you had made in order to properly send him off. Other than your parents, who seemed to be pretty upset. You constantly demanded them to give you some space, and they promised to take you home afterwards.

Though people you knew came and went, not one person showed up to the procession and talked to you directly about Suga. They had simply paid their respects without much more than a comforting hug or a wary glance. Who were all these people? Why did they show up to Suga's funeral? Where was his family?

You were beginning to lose all hope as his only mourner, and like a neverending nightmare that you couldn't shake yourself out from, you moved in and out of teary consciousness.

You were alone.

I'm sorry I failed you, Suga. I'm sorry I couldn't find out why you threw yourself off that bridge in the first place, you thought, burying your head into your hands.

"You didn't fail me."

Your heart stopped at those four words. Swallowing your tears back down, you raised your puffy eyes to see Suga sitting beside you. Was it just a hallucination?

"You never failed me," Suga murmured softly as he turned his head towards you. You were held captive by his sea-green eyes, unable to escape. "I'm forever grateful for everything you did, and I always will be."

Your lip trembled as you hugged your arms around your frail body. Really?

"Really," Suga responded, reading your mind. You couldn't understand how he knew everything you were thinking, but to you, that didn't matter. You began to panic as Suga rose to his feet, uttering your first words in a while.

“S-Suga—w-wait—"

The ghost stopped in his tracks and smiled hauntingly, eyes downcast. His death picture, the one in the frame above his casket, mimicked his exact expression. Chills rushed down your spine. Wordlessly, he advanced towards you before lowering down to the ground and pressing his lips softly against your forehead.

You didn't know how, but you swore you could feel them - his warmth, all the way down to the flesh of his lips on your skin. The spot in which he kissed stayed warm.

Suga was never a man of many words. He was sarcastic, slightly intimidating, and silly at times. But up until his last actions, you knew that every gaze, every touch, and every attempt to kiss you was his own way of saying that he loved you.

As he moved his gaze over to his dead, limp body in the casket over to your tear-stained face, the sheer happiness in his eyes conveyed all the gratitude and affection in the world. When he smiled, you smiled back, letting him go wherever his soul needed to rest.

That night, you dreamed a lovely dream.

*

"I'm beginning to think that we should cancel our contract,” you hummed. “You know, the one where I help you find out how you died and you leave the house forever in return so I can finally get some peace and quiet.”

Suga, who was sitting in front of you on the floor, showed you sea-green eyes full of confusion.

“Why…?” he began slowly, having a slight hunch of what you'd say next.

"It's just... I don't want you to leave."

The abrupt confession made Suga blink at first, then chuckle. He seated himself beside you, mere inches away from your body.

“Truthfully… I don't want to leave either," his voice faded into a low whisper. "I want to stay with you forever."

"Then stay," you blurted, earning a look of incredulousness from the ghost. Clear beads dotted the corners of your eyes as you struggled to compose yourself. It took you a few minutes filled with muffled breaths until you became stable again.

"Just stay... Please."

It took less than a second for him to cup your face with a distant look in his eyes.

You couldn't feel anything, of course, and despite it all, your tears continued to fall, slipping right through his transparent fingers. He seemed crestfallen for a second before his face relaxed into acceptance, almost as if he accepted the fact that living and the dead could never be together - they were separated by an insurmountable wall that Suga didn't know if he could cross.

"These are the moments when I wish I was still alive," he murmured in deep thought. "If I were still alive, I could wipe your tears away..."

He attempted - and once again failed - to graze your eyelids with his fingers.

"...hold your hand until you feel better..."

He slipped his hand over yours, but it went right through you.

"...and kiss you."

Your breathing faltered upon realizing that Suga's head was right in front of yours, plush lips so close, yet so far. His bangs fell over his glowing green eyes, shining bright with adoration that you'd never seen before.

And in them, you were the only person reflected in it.

"So, kiss me,” you said.

"But--"

You didn't bother to hear excuses, and closed your eyes instead. Suga leaned in to press his lips against yours, feeling absolutely nothing, but knowing deep down in his heart that your lips were indeed touching his.

*

In a brightly-lit office, an elderly couple waited anxiously for someone to enter the room.

Moments later, an old, scruffy man came inside, closing the door behind him. The couple immediately rose to their feet, brows furrowed with worry and confusion.

"Is she all right?"

"Is she—"

But the man shook his head and motioned for them to take a seat. As they did, the man pulled out a file from a cabinet beside him and flipped through the pages, wiggling a pen through his fingers. The couple held their breath in anticipation.

"I've found something most odd about your daughter," the man finally spoke. "It seems that she's under the impression that she knew a man she's never met before."

The woman drew her eyebrows together. "I don't quite understand what you mean--"

"He is a man named Suga. Do you recall his name?"

"Who?" Your mother spoke.

Your father shook his head. "I've never heard of him."

The man cleared his throat. "Yes. There are a few things wrong here. First, she seems to believe that she's a twenty-four year old woman, which is, of course, wrong, as she is forty-five. Second, she says that her mom and dad are police officers, which you are obviously not. Third, she says that she met a ghost by the same name I've mentioned and had… well, certain affectionate relations with this being, helping him find the reason as to how he died thanks to her parents' jobs of being police officers."

The couple looked baffled. "That's insane - we're not - I mean, the only police officer in our house is—"

"Her husband," the psychiatrist replied. "I'll get to that in a second."

"By my examinations, it's apparent that her mind still believes she is twenty-four, which is the same age at which her husband passed away."

Your parents nodded.

The psychiatrist continued. ”And how did her husband pass away, exactly?”

"During a late-night shift on a case. It was after midnight, and he wasn’t picking up his phone, not even when our daughter was up waiting for him. They married early. His body was found a week later at the bottom of the Han River. We still don't know how or why."

"And did you ever go with her to check if the body was his?"

"Yes," your mom replied. "I went with her, along with a detective that was on the case. We identified his body together."

"Exactly," the psychiatrist snapped his fingers, "according to her, the body of the dead ghost, ‘Suga,’ was found at the bottom of the Han River, too."

Your parents exchanged wary looks.

"Due to the trauma of her husband's death, your daughter's mind reverted back to being twenty-four - when she was at her prime. I'd like to think that because of the frustration she had with not knowing the real reason behind his death, she tried to substitute Suga's story as her husband's, and in an attempt to feel as if she accomplished something heroic, she believed that you, her parents, were the police officers helping her investigate this murder mystery."

"When I asked her what she regretted the most," the psychiatrist continued, "she said it was the fact that she didn't understand how someone she loved had died so quickly before she did. Sound familiar?"

"So she made the story of this Suga to be similar to her husband," your father began, "because she was so shocked with her husband's sudden death?"

"Early deaths of a significant other can impact a person's mental health tremendously. Especially if both husband and wife were young and loved each other very much. Forgive me for asking, but did they have a good relationship?"

"T-They were high school sweethearts, absolutely in love," your mother had already begun to cry silent tears, and your father handed her a tissue. "I'd never seen her so h-happy before..."

The man gave the couple an empathetic look. "It's understandable, to have married so young and have passed on so early. Of course It'd have an impact on a young bride."

"Doctor, if I can ask," your father began warily. "Did this Suga person really exist, or was it someone she imagined?"

"There's no way to know for certain. Suga could've been just a nickname. She never mentioned him having a last name at all, so we can't even track him down, even if he did exist," the psychatrist said. "But I doubt it was a stranger that nobody knew of. When asked to describe this man, she didn't say much, but she did point him out in a picture."

Sifting through your file, he pulled out a photo and held it up, making your mother's weeps grow louder.

The picture was a funeral portrait of your husband - a fine-looking twenty-something year old, with bangs that fell over his eyes and a rare, small smile. His skin was as white as porcelain, and he had eyes full of adoration.

"She said that this man was undoubtedly Suga," the doctor sighed, "but what she doesn't realize is that this man is not the ghost she mentioned, but instead was once her beloved husband - Min Yoongi."