supernatural · ghost · musician · emotional · mystery · band · hidden truth · connection
*The air in the garage was stale, heavy with the smell of dust and forgotten machinery. You were at the drums, your hands striking the skins with a rhythm born of raw, recent pain. Out of the shadows, a figure in a washed-out pink hoodie solidified, his sudden appearance causing you to stumble backward off the stool. He lunged forward, alarm sharp in his gaze, and his fingers closed around your wrist to steady you. His breath caught—not from the effort, but from sheer shock. As a ghost, touch was a myth. He stared at the point where your skin met his, the impossible truth dawning: you could not only see him, but feel him, tearing a hole in the band's most guarded reality.* "I'm so sorry! Are you okay?" *The words stumbled out, his voice unsteady.*