𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓯𝓸𝓾𝓻
— 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚎 —

𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 in the way Clayton smiled at Briar; unlike many others that filled their sympathetic glances with pity as they passed, he didn't look to her with the same sorrow. Instead, his honey-colored eyes lit up with compassion as he spoke to her, and no trace of a commiserated frown graced his features. And as his hand gently brushed hers as they simultaneously reached for the chocolate chips, the girl couldn't help the smile that slowly, but surely, tugged at the corners of her lips. Because for some time, she had felt an emptiness that she felt was impossible to refill— and although the boy in front of her had hardly known of her existence for two days, he had the impeccable ability to make her feel like the most significant person in the world. For a moment, she almost forgot that her parents wouldn't come home to find the two teenagers attempting to tame a sticky handful of dough, or that there was a ghost lurking in her new safe haven with unknown intentions.

She almost forgot.

"I think I used too much brown sugar," Clayton recoils as he shoves a spoonful of the batter into his mouth. "Definitely too much. Are you having any luck?"

Chuckling, Briar shakes her head, "I, unlike certain people, genuinely follow recipes. I'm assuming you didn't."

"If I'm being honest, I thought the brown sugar would make them sweeter," the boy laughs, hesitating as he rubs the back of his neck, "I have the tendency to not follow directions. On the bright side, if your batter tastes as amazing as I think it will—"

"I will not be responsible for you getting salmonella," Briar warns the boy, holding out her spoon to stop him, "so you'll have to wait until I'm finished baking them."

Clayton holds his hands up in defeat, taking a step back. "Okay, you win."

But as the girl grins to herself in success and averts her attention to focus once again on the cookies, Clayton swipes his hand through a pile of flour on the counter and wipes it across her face. With wide eyes of shock and surprise, Briar places the bowl of batter back down on the table and narrows her eyes at the boy. "You didn't."

"I did," he shrugs, holding up his flour-covered palms. "But what are you going to do about it?"

Grabbing a handful of her own flour, Briar rubs her hands together, "You know, Clayton, I'm so glad that I have a friend that I can actually spend time with, and really just allow myself to relieve all of this suppressed violence on."

As Clayton furrows his eyebrows, he begins to speak. "Suppressed violence? What are you—"

He didn't have the opportunity to finish before Briar moved forward and ran her hands down his face, leaving his skin covered in the powder. Her giggles could no longer be contained, and she burst into a fit of them— just before moving in the opposite direction to avoid his endless attempts to reach for her. It was quite possible that this was her first genuine laugh since the death of her parents, and it felt indescribably breathtaking. And although she was fully conscious of her surroundings, Briar had the feeling that she was somewhere farther away from the overwhelmingly eerie manor; it was as though her body was here, and her heart was somewhere in the distance. But as Clayton gripped her one last time and pulled her forward, staring down at her as if he was planning something devious, she found that her heart was still remaining in her chest. It was beating quickly, too quickly to be normal, but she ignored the voice in her head that relentlessly reminded her that happiness was merely a passing emotion that would occasionally make an appearance.

Something as beautiful as the moments between her and the boy she had just met was doomed to be short-lived. Briar had to painstakingly admit to herself, as her smile faded, that the fullness of her heart wouldn't last.

The maniacal glare in Clayton's eyes disappeared, and was replaced with something much more meaningful. But as soon as it appeared, Briar cleared her throat, and took a cautious step away from the boy with a laugh devoid of amusement.

"We should probably hurry up and put these in the oven," Briar suggests, gesturing to the rolled dough that was not yet cut out. "You can wash your hands, I'll finish them up."

"I should probably get going anyway," Clayton's voice is drained of the previous enjoyment that it once held, and is replaced with a sense of disappointment. He understood why she was pulling away, and in no means wanted to make her feel uncomfortable. "But I'll definitely be stopping by before school tomorrow to see how the cookies turn out."

As he winks at her, Briar is relieved, and relaxes with a soft chuckle; he was being gentle with her emotions, and the care behind his actions meant more to her than what he knew. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

Dusting his flour-covered hands into his pants, the boy retreats to the ballroom with a grin and retrieves his jacket, "I'll see you later, Briar."

"Goodbye," she bids, slightly leaning against the countertop. As the door closes behind him, she releases a deep breath, and touches her forehead with the back of her hand. "Why am I acting this way?"

"Maybe it's because I scared you earlier," Casper appears on the opposite side of the room, hesitating as he rubs his hands together.

Shaking in her spot, Briar points an accusing finger at the ghost, "Stop doing that!"

Apologetically, he slumps, "I know it's not kind of me, but I promise not to pry. I don't really have anywhere else to go, and it gets awfully lonely around here without a single soul to talk to."

Briar stands cautiously still in her place, clutching her chest as if her life depended on it. "I still can't believe this, the manor is haunted." Her tone was so implying that Casper assumed she was trying to assure herself of that very fact— she felt as though she was going crazy, and convincing herself that he was truly there was the only thing keeping her from it.

"My uncles used to live here," Casper continues, hoping to sooth her nerves in the most calming voice that he can attain. "They were quite the troublemakers— luckily, they passed on after this incident with a family a while back. It's possible you remember them on the news, Kathleen Harvey and her father."

They had moved away years ago, Briar remembered the documentary of the famous Dr. Harvey. He was credited as one of the most successful ghost-hunters that the world had ever seen, and up until this very moment he had traveled the world with his daughter. But, to Briar's shock, she had not known that he, himself, had once lived in this very house.

"Why did they move?" Briar questions, her shoulders moving from their stiff position. "If this house is haunted, why didn't he stay?"

Casper didn't like to speak of his time with the Harvey duo. Although it was more than a few years, the absence of their presence was enough to make him endlessly think of possible alternative endings; those in which the lovely Kat would have stayed with him for the remainder of her life, because he wanted to be with her. Unfortunately, she found that there, too, was an outside world that offered just as much compassion as Casper had to offer. And so she chose to venture the globe with her father, and was continuing her life as if their kiss had ceased to exist— but Casper remembered.

He will always remember.

"Because everyone moves on eventually," he shrugs, as if admitting that very fact didn't affect the heart that he no longer had. But I'm all reality, he would never truly be the same again. I'm so many ways, he was doomed to forever repeat the realization that was his forever truth; despite the hopes he desperately held onto, he would never find a person upon the face of the earth that would stay.

Briar found the pain laced within his translucent features, and concluded that he, like her, had feelings. Although he was completely the opposite of her being, it was possible that he felt just as lonely and heartbroken as she felt.

Leaving behind the cookie dough, Briar takes a seat at the dining room table, deciding that she would help the isolated boy in front of her; after all, he was just that . . . a boy.

"Why did your uncles leave you behind?" The girl questions, gesturing to the seat across from her.

Casper was taken aback by her sudden interest and the lack of fear in her eyes. But beyond that, he could see the exhaustion that she was holding in— she was tired. But perhaps she was tired of more than what she would admit.

"They are ghosts like me," he explains, slowly making his way to the table. As the distance between them closes, he realizes how much more beautiful she is; her cheeks dotted with freckles, flushed cheeks, and button nose. "But when Dr. Harvey decided to leave, they chose to follow. But I . . . I can't leave this place, this town— my home. I can't leave it behind like they did."

Briar knew the exact feeling that he felt in that very moment, and knew it well. She nearly reached out to touch his hand, to assure him that he wasn't alone.

But she didn't.

The instilled hesitation in her limbs kept her from giving him a warming touch, and although she felt bad, she knew nothing more that she could do.

"I know how you feel," Briar tells the ghost, giving him a broken smile. "You're not alone. And if it makes you feel any better, I don't intend on going anywhere."

Casper smiles at her, wishing that it could be true. That she would stay, even if it was for the boy that she met the day before— he just wanted her to stay. But he knew that she wouldn't.

History would always be doomed to repeat itself.

_______

❝ no one is currently reading this
book, but it's okay because one day
i'll actually update on time and finally
finish this thing :)) ❞