“Can’t sleep?”

Jessica looks up from the photo album open on her lap. She’s no longer shocked to see Tiffany, but it does make her start, and she almost questions if she’s dreaming for a second but her dreams are usually of a darker variety.

She shrugs. “Not really.”

Tiffany frowns in concern. “Are you having nightmares again?”

Jessica gives a short chuckle. “Again implies I stopped.”

Tiffany sits down on the corner of her bed, and even though it’s just a single it feels like there’s a thousand miles between them. Jessica wants to reach for her, even though she knows it’d be a futile gesture.

“I thought you lost that photo album when you moved,” Tiffany says conversationally.

“I thought so too, but it turns out it got mixed with some of Krystal’s things. She gave it back to me after you—after.”

Tiffany’s eyes scan the photo Jessica has in front of her: a picture of the two of them at Disneyland, Tiffany with a Mickey Mouse headband, a deep fried Mars bar in one hand while making rabbit ears behind Jessica’s head with the other. She smiles. “We were really young back then, weren’t we?”

“We were,” Jessica murmurs, “and we promised we’d grow old together.”

Tiffany’s smile fades. “I’m sorry I broke that promise.”

“No. Don’t say that. It’s not like you could help it.” Jessica closes her eyes and bows her head. Her lashes feel stiff but not wet. She feels like she’s run out of tears after all these months, but she doesn’t want to put it to the test.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Tiffany says suddenly, and Jessica is seized by a burst of panic.

“Don’t leave,” she says, pleads, words that she never got to say last time. “Don’t leave me.”

“Jessi.” Tiffany gives her a sad smile. “How can I leave you when I’m not really with you?”

But Tiffany does leave her, every time. And just when Jessica thinks she’s recovering, when her wound is starting to heal, Tiffany returns again to haunt her, to pick at the scab. Jessica doesn’t begrudge her for it; she misses Tiffany like a constant ache and her dreams are always filled with fire and falling, smoke and darkness. She much prefers seeing her in person, if it can be called that.

Jessica eyes the sleeping pills on her bedside, the ones her doctor prescribed her two months ago and she hasn’t touched. She doesn’t like them; they leave her groggy and lethargic, but then again that’s probably just her natural state these days. Sometimes she thinks about having one; sometimes she thinks about having the whole bottle.

Once, she had gotten as far as pouring a handful out, and Tiffany had appeared, had looked at her with dark, reproachful eyes and said, “Don’t.” Jessica wondered why she hadn’t just knocked the bottle out of Jessica’s hands, but then she realized that Tiffany couldn’t touch her. Couldn’t touch anything.

Jessica traces a finger over Tiffany’s smile in the photo, bright and warm the way she would never be again. She’s always dull now, a bit faded around the edges, and sometimes Jessica can see through her. And even though neither of them can touch each other, when she gets close, Jessica always feels a chill like an errant blast of air conditioning.

It doesn’t stop Jessica from reaching for her, even though all she’s left with is emptiness and coldness, in every sense.

“You should go to sleep,” Tiffany says. She had been so quiet that Jessica thought she had left. It wouldn’t be the first time. It’s absurd, that she can feel abandoned by a ghost, but then again she passed the realm of absurdity quite a while ago. She thinks about seeing a therapist sometimes, but what would she say to them? I see dead people. Well, just one. My girlfriend. Might have been fiancée if her plane hadn’t crashed before I could propose. Maybe wife by now. I guess we’ll never know.

No, they’ll never know, and that’s what hurts the most. Jessica misses their past and she misses the future they would never have. She misses Tiffany. She eyes the pill bottle again, and Tiffany tracks her gaze.

“Maybe you should take one.”

“Maybe I should take them all.”

Tiffany frowns. “Jessica.”

Jessica swallows. “I just want to see you again.”

Tiffany’s eyes turn soft, sad. “You can see me just fine now.”

“I want to touch you. I want to hold you.” Jessica reaches out her hand, a futile gesture, one that she’s made in her dreams when she follows Tiffany to the airport and tries to convince her to turn back. Tries to save her. Even in her dreams, she fails. She loses Tiffany, again and again, and she wonders how many more losses she can survive. There were no survivors on Tiffany’s plane. Sometimes (many times), Jessica wishes she were on it. Wishes Tiffany could have turned to her and they could have held each other. Wishes they could have been together at the end. “I want—you. I want you back.”

And then she realizes that she’s crying. Tears trickling soundlessly down her cheeks. Shoulders heaving. Chest constricting. She can’t breathe. She wonders if this is how Tiffany felt.

“Jessi,” Tiffany says softly. “I’m sorry.”

Jessica shakes her head blindly. This time, she’s the one who says, “Don’t,” her voice thick, hoarse.

“I should leave. I should stop coming to see you. It hurts you. I’m sorry.” Tiffany is biting her lip so hard it’d no doubt bleed if she were alive. “I’ve tried staying away from you. I’ve tried going—elsewhere. I can’t do it. I always find myself back here.”

“That’s because this is where you belong,” Jessica says. With me. “Don’t be sorry. I want you here.”

Tiffany reaches out like she wants to brush Jessica’s tears away, but her fingers sink right through Jessica’s face. Jessica shivers, feeling that chill again, but she leans into that phantom touch, knowing it’s the closest thing she can have.

“You should go to sleep,” Tiffany says again. “I’ll still be here in the morning.”

“Promise?” Jessica asks, knowing she can’t hold her to it.

Tiffany gives her the ghost of a smile. “Promise.”

Jessica drifts off to an uneasy sleep, photo album cradled to her chest like a hard, square teddy bear, and wakes up in the middle of the night, breathing hard and reaching out for someone who isn’t there. She fumbles for the lamp and, in the light, looks around but it only confirms what she already knows.

She’s alone.

A/N: Somewhat inspired by there's something we're missing, darling.

I was going to give a warning for major character death but I decided I didn't want to spoil it. Question - at what point did you know or guess Tiffany was a ghost? Hope I managed to take you by surprise~