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“[Yes? How may I help—]”
Ghost’s nail clattered onto the ground as they stared at the bug across the room. A bug they had long thought dead and gone and never to be seen again.
“…Hello, my old friend,” the bug said softly—
“Again we meet, my short friend,” he greeted softly as they stood beside him before the still lake. He turned slightly to smile at them—
“…I see you’ve learnt to speak?”
Ghost could only stare at him in frozen bewilderment. Sensing their inability to speak in the moment, he continued.
“I’m not sure how I’m…here,” the bug confessed, fiddling absent-mindedly with the knot in his bandanna. “Because I died at the lake, I’m certain of that. But, for whatever reason, I’m alive now, several years in the future.” He paused. “…You’ve grown a lot taller since I last saw you.”
“[……Is that really you, Quirrel?],” Ghost asked quietly.
“It is.”
Slowly, they began to approach the bug. Stiffly — hesitantly — they put one foot after another, almost dragging themselves across the floor in their advancement.
“[And you’re alive? You’re here, flesh and carapace and all? Not a spirit?].” Ghost knew that he had already told them — already briefly explained to them his circumstances — but the whole situation felt like something of a hazy dream. Because, seven years ago, Quirrel had died at Blue Lake. Because, seven years ago, Quirrel had abandoned his nail on Blue Lake’s shore and threw himself into its watery depths. Because, seven years ago, Quirrel had remembered the crushing burden that had been weighing down on him for so long and decided that he couldn’t bear it any longer, thus bringing it upon himself to forge his own way into the realm of spirits.
“Yes, my friend. I’m alive. I’m here.”
“[And…you’re not going to disappear? You’re staying? You’re not going to leave again?].”
They were right before him at this point, hands shakily hovering above his shoulders, their claws barely grazing them in fear that any stronger movement would cause him to dissipate.
“I’m not going anywhere, friend,” he said softly. “I won’t be going anywhere for a while. I’m sorry for leaving like that. I'm here now. It’s okay.”
One beat.
Two beats.
Three beats.
Ghost let out a shuddered whimper and crumpled onto Quirrel, their claws gripping the back of his shell desperately as they sobbed. Quirrel returned the embrace, mumbling reassurances and apologies and rubbing circles on their back in an attempt to soothe them of the years of grief they had suffered through.
Ghost sobbed, for their friend was alive.
Ghost wept, for their friend had come back to them.