Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She couldn’t say she remembered why she moved to Augusta.

The cold had never been her friend, and yet, around a year and a half ago, she moved to the Northeast coast with almost nothing. She had no friends in the area, no family in a thousand mile radius, just her work acquaintances from the tattoo parlor and some friends from back home. Her only true friend was her cat, a tortoiseshell named Rosie, who she had found wandering the streets last winter.

Bosco walked through the streets of the coastal town, shivering from the rain. It was a brisk October evening, and all she wanted to do was curl up on her favorite armchair with her cat with a hot brandy. Instead, she was stuck in the cold for another few minutes as she trudged along, fidgeting with her silver locket, people stopping to stare along the way. She hadn’t figured out why they did that yet. She dressed alternatively, sure, but the looks she got back home were different. These weren’t judgmental stares, they were… something else. Whatever. She didn’t care. It was probably because she wasn’t from the area, or something. She finally approached the gates of her quadplex, shaking out her umbrella as she walked inside.

She walked up the flights of steps to her apartment, the attic of what was once a mansion. She didn’t mind the attic, despite the odd shape. It was the only apartment that kept the original floors, a gorgeous dark oak hardwood that, despite its age, never splintered or cracked, just creaked. There was a tower built into the house, the sleeping quarters of what would have likely been the stable boy or maid. It was large enough to fit a queen bed perfectly, wall to wall, so she had her own little bedcloset. It wasn’t perfect, with its distinct lack of any real floor plan, and the roof occasionally leaked in that one spot, but rent was cheap and stayed cheap, so Bosco could find no reason to leave.

She walked into the kitchen, where Rosie was resting on the counter. She yawned, leaning her head into Bosco’s scratches. Rosie had been in rough shape when she was found, with a torn ear and an infected eye that later had to be removed. Her one eye was a startling amber, scanning the apartment lazily before going back to enjoying her company.

Opening her fridge, she was thoroughly disappointed in the selection she had. She had eaten the last of her leftovers for lunch, and she didn’t have anything low effort enough to make. What she did have was apple cider. She hoped it was enough to tide her over, knowing damn well it wouldn’t be. She microwaved a mug of it, and sat down in her mustard armchair with Rosie, listening to the rain.

Her apartment, though lovely, only really had one window. Big and round as it was, it left the apartment fairly dim in the rainy fall months. She had a small window in her bedcloset, but that was all. Still, she left the lights off most of the time, despite how gloomy it made it all seem.

Strange things happened in the town of Augusta, Maine. Shadows danced with no source from the corners of eyes, people seemed to vanish right off of the sidewalk, music boxes and radios made noise on their own time, and Bosco never could shake the feeling she was being watched. She wasn’t sure why, but after living alone for so long, she just hoped that these visions and illusions weren’t a result of her going entirely loony. Probably not, though. After all, crazy people don’t worry that they’re going crazy. At least, that’s what she told herself.

The sun set fast in Augusta, faster than back home, at least, and it wasn’t long before Bosco was left sitting in the dark. Standing up (much to Rosie’s dismay), she turned the lamp on beside her, and walked into her kitchen and turned the island lights on. She could have sworn she heard breathing behind her, but when she turned around, the only thing there was Rosie on her back. It was probably just the wind. Augusta was plenty windy, that was definitely what it was… right?

She finally bit the bullet and made an actual dinner. Looking in her fridge, she found some almost-expired lamb that she had bought to make for a date, but the girl cancelled last minute. She said something about a “bad vibe”. Whatever. She still had all the ingredients for the dinner she was going to make for the two of them, so she made lamb piccata. It was a lot of work, slaving over the stove for what felt like an eternity but was probably only 30 minutes, but she made enough that she would have leftovers.

Piccata was a food Bosco had grown up well acquainted with. Chicken piccata was one of the only things that her mother taught her how to make. 
“When you want a man to stay,” she had told a young Bosco, setting her wooden spoon atop the simmering pot, “you make him this. It’s how I tricked your father into marrying me.” 
Bosco had been around 10 or 11 at the time, not caring much about what her mother had to say and especially not caring about the talk of boys. Now, thousands of miles from her mother, the flavors in the saucepan were her only real semblance of comfort, and of home.

It was odd, though. She kept having to replace ingredients she could’ve sworn she had taken out of the pantry already. Her white wine would be in a measuring cup, and then half of it would be missing the next time she checked. She was worried it was Rosie, the last thing she needed was an emergency vet bill, but… Rosie was still on the armchair. Her lemons would be out, then suddenly they’d be gone, or somewhere completely random. She knew damn well she didn’t keep her citrus in her bedcloset, so why the fuck was it ending up there?

Oh.

It took her a little too long for everything to click. Her coats always being strewn about no matter how many times she put them away, the water by her bed always being empty in the morning, her cabinets always being open. She assumed it was just Rosie being difficult, she must have gotten bored during the day while Bosco was gone. But this was the first time she had cooked a real meal in a while. Maybe it was something else.

Sighing, the brunette set down her wooden spoon, and spoke to seemingly nothing. “Listen, I don’t know if you’re real, or what you’re trying to say, but if you stop stealing my ingredients, I’ll…” she thought for a second. “I’ll make you a bowl of piccata, deal?”
Her cabinet door slammed, and she whirled around to confront the noise. When she looked back at the counter, all of her ingredients were back, save for a little bit of white wine. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

She made her piccata in peace, still feeling as though she was being watched. She was used to the feeling, but now it felt different. Unlike the uneasy, weary stares, it felt… almost eager, like a child watching their favorite candy get scanned at the checkout. As she added the finishing garnishes of basil and cheese (she had to plate it nicely now that she had a guest), she heard a crash by her fridge. She looked, and found her notepad on the floor next to a purple pen. It had shaky words scrawled onto it.

“Haven’t rittten in awile
Pour salt circul circle around the bowl 
Offur it 2 Daya”

That didn’t make a lot of sense to Bosco, but she did as she was told, placing the bowl on the side of the table opposite to her, and pouring the salt around it as well as a glass of water and one of wine, just like Bosco’s. She took a seat on her end.“Uh… Daya, I give you this meal and drinks as an offering. Show yourself, or… something.”

She didn’t know what she was expecting. Maybe the food would just go missing. Maybe an old Victorian woman with a corset digging into her would appear, maybe a haggard man with a bullet wound in his head, hell, she half expected a sheet ghost to form and make ghostly “ooooh”s at her.

What she wasn’t expecting, obviously, was the most beautiful girl in the world.

She was wearing a black leather jacket, a band T that she very obviously cut up herself, and gray jeans full of rips, fishnets underneath. She had on black doc martens with purple laces, but they were laced kind of weird. The casual outfit did nothing to take away from her beauty, though. With teased long blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes adorned with smudged liner tight on the waterline and messy mascara. She was beautiful in a way Bosco couldn’t possibly describe, that sort of beauty that came without effort. The second she corporatized, she smiled, sat down, and grabbed her fork and knife and dug in.

Bosco jumped back. “Holy shit,” she breathed. There was a girl in her apartment, and a very pretty girl at that, who looked completely normal, sat completely normally, ate like a human, but, if you looked close enough, was shifting in the light, almost transparent. The ghost stared blankly for a moment, confused. It took a second, but a look of realization fell upon her face.

“Oh! This is your first time seeing me. Sorry. I’m, uh, Daya, and let me just say, you make a killer piccata, Bosco.”
“Oh, my god, okay, so the ghost knows my name. How do you…?” She pressed her palms against her temples, trying to make some sort of sense of all of this.

“You talk to your friends on that rectangle thing, like, all the time. They say it a lot. Especially that Camden girl, she says it in like, every other sentence.”

“Rectangle th- I’m sorry, do you mean my phone?”
“That’s a phone?”
“When did you even die?”
“Wow, way to make a girl feel welcome, bring up her death first thing,” she grumbled, taking another bite of piccata and sipping her water. “1988, but what does it matter? It’s not like much has changed in the last 10 years.”
“10?”
The blonde looked up. “How far off am I?”
“Like, a lot. It’s been, like, 35, I think? Or more. I’m not sure. More than 10.”
“Holy shit, I’m old.”
”How old are you?”
”23, but… I guess I’ve been 23 for the past 35 years.

“Jesus Christ. Okay, I have… so many questions. Why are you in my apartment, how long have you been here, how the fuck are you eating, how did you even die, are you gonna try and possess me or some shit, are-”
“Damn, slow down!” She laughed, and it was like music to Bosco. “One question at a time. Just breathe. Give me a sec, I’ll explain everything. God, I haven’t had a good meal in decades. No one who’s lived here has been this hospitable.”
Bosco smiled a little. She liked that the girl in front of her thought she was a good host. She just hoped she didn’t, like, eat people, or something.

The brunette took a deep breath. “Okay. Explain, please.”
“So, ‘your’ apartment was actually my apartment back in the 80s. I moved here straight out of college, since I graduated so fast.”
“Were you an honors student?”
“No, I just dropped out.”
They both laughed. Bosco took her first bite. The ghost was right. She did make a damn good piccata.
“Anyway, I have to stay in this town for some reason. I was supposed to move on, but I just… didn’t. Maybe it’s… some kind of unfinished business? I don’t know. I’ve been here the whole time, if that’s what you’re asking. I sometimes follow you on your errands because it just gets so boring doing nothing all day. Rosie seems to like me, at least.”
“Thank god. I’d have to call Ghostbusters on your ass if my cat hated you.”
She laughed. “Just don’t get any exorcists involved, and we’ll be good.”

They kept talking, conversation flowing like they’d known each other forever. Daya could apparently eat the food because it was an offering, but she was able to drink liquids without that stipulation, for some reason, so the rings around the glasses were just a waste of salt. Thankfully, she assured Bosco that possession was out of the question for the brunette, as long as she was a civil and respectful roommate. They finished their plates, and Bosco cleared them. Daya stuck around as they washed the pots and pans from dinner.
“Do you have any dessert?” She asked.
“Oh, right. Uh, I have some maple donuts in the pantry if you want them.”
The pantry door flew open, and so did the donuts. Daya giggled. “Ghost magic.”

Bosco went and did the whole offering thing, opting to give the blonde the whole box (save for one). She could always go out and get more, anyway. Besides, she couldn’t imagine going 35 years without being able to eat a single thing. Even if she didn’t need it to survive, it must have been a heinous existence.
They ate the donuts on the couch as they watched TV together, closer to each other than Bosco would have expected. Daya still radiated heat as if she were really there, but Bosco knew better.

“You must like this apartment a lot, seen as you’ve never left,” Bosco tried to make small talk with the ghost, dancing around the questions she really wanted to ask, like “how did you die?” Or “can ghosts kiss humans?” Or “can we kiss right now?”.
“It’s alright. It was convenient. The old woman who moved in after me needed assistance but had no caretaker, so I was kind of like her aid for a while. Then she died, she moved on immediately, the new tenant came in, and… I guess I just didn’t have any reason to leave. No one had ever moved my stuff before, either, so that was nice. Well, until you came along.”

“What do you mean?”
“That locket?” Daya pointed at the silver charm around Bosco’s neck. “You found it under the rug in the tower. It’s smart what you did with that thing, by the way. The last guy just used it as a storage unit.”
“This was yours?” Bosco sat forward.
“Yeah! It’s no big, though. Keep it. It looks cute on you.”
”Do you have more stuff?”
”Oh, sure. You know how there were a few pots and pans in the kitchen when you first got here? Those were mine. No one else thought to use them.”

She opened the locket, looking at the picture inside. Oh. It wasn’t just a photo of some friends, it was a photo of Daya, and… someone else.
“You had friends?”
Daya snorted. “You sound so surprised.”
“No! No, I just… wow. I guess I’ve been so caught up in your afterlife I forgot you had a life before it.”
“That happens. It’s cool. I try not to think about them much, anyway.”
“Why?”

Daya winced, as if Bosco had struck a nerve. They both looked away.
“Oh, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” She shifted uneasily, not wanting to upset her new companion. “Sorry, I-”   
“No, it’s fine,” Daya interrupted, her form flickering as she rubbed her temples. “It’s fine. I…fuck, man,” her voice sounded so tired. “Well, way back in college, I didn’t really have any friends. Then, I met a group of people who I really liked, and we became friends. Or, at least, I was their friend. They convinced me to do a lot of shitty things for a laugh, and I was just so eager to make them happy. I… I did some terrible things to other people, to myself. One night, they took it too far. We were out at a party and one of them gave me a baggie of god knows what. I didn’t wanna do it, but they told me to, so… I did it. It was a really, really shitty last few hours. I made it home, at least, but I died in the tower.”

Bosco was silent for a long while. She put her hand atop the blonde’s resting on the couch, watching dejectedly as it phased through, feeling the cold air around her palm. She saw Daya’s fingers close, as if she was trying to hold her hand.

“It wasn’t your fault.”
Daya turned to meet her gaze for the first time in minutes, her blue eyes wide and bleary. “What?”
“Your death. It wasn’t your fault. I know you might blame yourself, but you didn’t really have much of a choice.”
Daya was quiet for some time.
“No one’s ever told me that,” she responded at last in a small voice.
“I know. But I mean it. I would have done what you did without a second thought, even though I’d known it was a bad idea.”
“…Thank you, Bosco.”

Daya rested her head on Bosco’s shoulder as they stared at the TV in silence. Bosco wanted so badly to hold the incorporeal girl sat beside her, to offer her the physical comfort of another human after not having that affection for so many decades, but she was helpless. Besides, even if she could, Bosco would age, and Daya would stay the same forever. Daya would never love the living in that way, especially not a woman.

The rain came down harder and harder as the hour got later. Eventually, Daya’s form began to flicker and fade.
“Are you okay?” Bosco asked.
“Shit. I’m, uh, really sorry, Bosc, but I can only stay visible for so long. If I push it more than this I could risk some serious damage. I’ll… see you tomorrow?”
She smiled. “Tomorrow. We could get coffee together, maybe?”
“Sounds groovy. Good night, Bosco. I’ll be recovering in the tower.”

With that, Daya flickered into the air, vanishing. The emptiness Bosco felt was more than she could handle. How could she love something so much that could never love her back?

Chapter Text

Bosco slapped her phone a few times, trying to shut off her alarm. After her chat with Daya the night prior, she could hardly sleep. How could she, knowing she would be lying in the same spot as Daya when she took her last breaths, cold and dark and alone? The sleep she did get was restless, and it felt as though the very moment she got any sort of real rest, her time was up. She just wanted a few more minutes. The raindrops falling made a gentle pitter-patter on her window, only further temptation to stay in bed a while longer. Rosie certainly wasn’t helping, either, curled up in the crook of the brunette’s arm, miraculously sleeping through the blaring alarm. 

She hit snooze, and then hit it again, and then once more after that. It was her day off, didn’t she deserve a little rest? By the final alarm, she was still in no way ready to seize the day, and she contemplated shutting off her alarm and sleeping in for an extra few hours. It wasn’t like anyone was counting on her, anyway.

But someone was counting on her. Daya was counting on her. Groaning, Bosco reluctantly opened her eyes, to find her bedroom door open. Huh. She could have sworn she had closed it last night. Not much to fuss over, though. She got out of bed, no matter how little she wanted to, and began getting ready. She hadn’t had a proper coffee date with a friend in months, so she wanted to look good. She showered, did her haircare and skincare routines, and put on her makeup. Her outfit was simple, a dark red leather jacket similar to Daya’s black one, though hers had spikes on it. Beneath it she had a simple black corset and black jeans, as well as red combat boots similar in shade to her jacket. She put on her many rings and the other extensive jewelry she tended to wear on her days off (rings were hard with gloves on), all silver.

The morning seemed to slip away from her, and it was nearing ten when Daya finally made herself visible.
“Morning, Bosc,” she said, sitting on the counter, kicking her legs.
“Hey. What are your thoughts for our plans? Any place in particular?”
“There’s a bagel and coffee place on Canal Street that I used to go to, like, all the time, before I died. Should we try there?”
“Is that Sandhill Bagel?”
“Yeah! Have you gone?”
“Uh, duh. They have the best smoked salmon. That on an everything bagel, with a little bit of dill and cream cheese…”

“They do! I remember that. Alright, let me just get ready.”
Bosco snorted a little. “You have to get ready?”
“Uh, yeah. Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean I don’t care about my appearance. I died with my makeup bag in my purse, and it kind of… died with me, I guess? I got a spectral copy of that purse when I died, complete with my makeup. It’s never run out, since it’s technically not real.”
“Wait, I’m sorry, did you just say you get makeup that never runs out when you die?”
”Mhm. It’s pretty bitchin’.”
“Wow, I just might have to try dying sometime.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it. Feeling your own organs shutting down hurts like a bitch. I’ll be right back.”

Bosco wanted to kick herself. This was all so confusing, sure, but she could have said anything else. The ghost had been observing her the whole time, and if she hadn’t liked Bosco at her core, she wouldn’t have made herself known. She had to remind herself she was free to be herself with the spectral blonde currently using her bathroom mirror. If only she could handle herself with just a little more grace. 

She waited patiently for Daya to get ready, feeding Rosie her specialty food for her bad teeth. She played a little music while she waited, some classic rock that Daya probably knew. She had always liked ‘70s and ‘80s music, so she was praying she and Daya could geek out about it together.

“Holy shit, is that Joan Jett?” She heard Daya call from the bathroom.
“Yeah! Do you like her?”
“I used to have all of her cassettes. I even had a Runaways tape that was signed by her and Kim Fowley.”
“Ugh, lucky. Do you fuck with The Doors?”
“Uh, yeah, I fuck with The Doors!”  
She smiled. Luck was on her side, and her prayers didn’t go unheard.

Daya walked out of the bathroom, and Bosco was stunned. She knew that the blonde was pretty before, with her faded smudged eyeliner and almost visible eyeshadow, but this was another level. She was breathtaking. Her blonde hair was brushed out, now shinier and more voluminous and parted to the side. Her eye makeup, now freshly applied, was gorgeous. Tight black liner in her waterline that went out to a bold wing, mascara on both sets of lashes, silvery eyeshadow across the lid. Her lips were a deep glossy red, her cheeks decorated with a fake beauty mark. Bosco was enamored.

“Are we gonna go, or are you just gonna keep staring at me?” Daya said, trying to contain her laughter. Had Bosco really been staring that much? It was for good reason, she supposed.  
“Yeah, sorry. Let’s go. You look good,” she said as nonchalantly as she could.
“You too, I love this whole leather look you’ve got going on.”
She smiled, rising from her stool at the kitchen island and grabbing her bag. “Hold on, let me grab some salt before we go.”  
“Why?”
“You can’t eat a bagel that you can’t touch.”
“Oh, you’re right. God, I’ve just been so excited about this whole ‘being able to eat again’ thing that I forget I’m still playing by ghost rules.”

“Mm. Is there any way for you to… not have to play by ghost rules?” Bosco asked.
“If I try hard enough, I can turn fully corporeal for a few minutes. Like, not phasing through anyone. It kind of hurts, though. Like someone took my limbs and pulled on them really hard. Other than that, though, not really.”

They said their goodbyes to Rosie, who truly could not have cared less, and got into Bosco’s car, a burnt orange mini-cooper  with an all black interior.
“I like your car,” Daya said. “It’s very Halloween-y.”
“Haha, Weenie.”
“Shut up!”

They played the only music they knew they agreed on, 70s and 80s rock. The rainy  morning drive mixed with the sounds of tack pianos and drum machines made the incessant gloom seem less dreary. Maybe it was just that Bosco finally had a friend for her dreary morning drives, she wasn’t sure.

They arrived at the shop, which was fairly empty. She wasn’t surprised. It was 11am on a Thursday, after all. She wasn’t entirely sure why her boss gave her such an unorthodox day off, maybe they just had adequate staffing? She didn’t know. What she did know was that her stomach was growling, and bagels were calling.

“What are you gonna get for coffee?” Bosco asked.
“Oh, uh… I’m guessing their seasonal menu has changed a bit since May of ‘88, so I honestly… don’t know. What’s popular? What are you getting?”
“Well, I’m getting a cinnamon cold brew, but pumpkin spiced lattes are pretty popular. And oat milk. People love oat milk.”

“Oat milk? How do they- what do they even-” Daya sputtered for a moment before proclaiming “oats don’t have nipples!”
“Daya!” Bosco exclaimed, giggling like a lunatic. “Keep it down, you’re in public!”
“And what the fuck is a pumpkin spice? Pumpkins aren’t spicy, like, at all.” 
“No, it’s like… it’s like if pumpkin pie was a drink.”
“Oh, shit, I guess that does sound kind of good.”
“Try it. If you don’t like it, we can trade.”
“You’d do that?”
“Yeah, it’s no big. I get coffee, like, every morning, anyway.”

Bosco ordered for the both of them per Daya’s request. Once their food and drinks came out, they sat at a little high top table near the window.

“Look at you, being all trendy!” Bosco said as Daya took the first sip of her iced pumpkin spice oat milk latte. “Thoughts?”
“Oh, this is incredible. This place’s coffee in the ‘80s? Gag me with a spoon, it was awful.”

They sat and talked at the table together, the minutes passing by like seconds. They talked mostly about music, and how they’ve been spending their days. Daya had apparently been following Bosco on her errands for a while now.

“I think that’s why you were getting those stares,” Daya said, spreading strawberry cream cheese on her blueberry bagel. “I’ve been hanging around you, especially when you’re walking home from work.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, you just cut through such a shitty part of town, y’know? If something were to happen to you, I just figured… maybe I could pull some ghost shenanigans and scare them off.”
“That’s… really sweet. You went out of your way to make sure I wasn’t walking alone?”
“Yeah! Well, it’s not like I can do much else. I can’t leave this town or move on until I finish my unfinished business, but I don’t even know what it is. Probably some dumb bet I made with my friends way back in college. I’ve got an eternity in this town, I might as well spend it looking out for you.”

Bosco tried to push down the butterflies in her stomach, really, she did. Daya had known her for seemingly forever, but they had only just met face to face the night prior. Still, that meant the blonde was compassionate enough to follow her through the streets of Augusta to keep her safe, despite never speaking to her, never getting anything in return. 

“So, like, are there any other places in town you like going to?”
“Oh, that’s a good question. I used to get pizza from Antigoni’s every Friday and watch The Simpsons with a few friends.”
 “Oh, really? That show’s still around, you know.”
“You’re joking!”
“I’m serious! We can watch it tonight if you want.”
She watched Daya’s glossy smile turn giddy, and it was hard to ignore her cheeks getting warm at the sight.

Their coffee and bagels barely lasted a third of their conversation, giggling and sharing stories. The rain stopped for a few moments, and they enjoyed the sunlight through the window for a short time, before a cloud passed over it and, not long after, the dreary rainstorms began again.

“God, Bosc,” Daya said, trying to sip from her long-empty cup. “You’ve gotta be one of the funniest people I’ve ever met.”
“Oh, I know, baby. I’m a ray of fucking sunshine.”
They shared a laugh, one of many, and Daya tried once again to touch Bosco’s hand playfully. It was something she did a lot, no matter the outcome.

“So, when you touch someone, can you feel it, even if they can’t?”
“Sometimes. If I touch them first, my hands will make contact with them, but if they initiate, I’ll go right through them. So, say I wanted to hold your hand, I’d just have to be a little strategic, but it would work.”
“Why would you want to hold my hand?” A sly smile spread across Bosco’s lips.
“I don’t know, maybe I like helping the elderly cross the street.”
“I’m 24!”
“And I’m 23! You’re old!”
“Actually, you’re 59, technically speaking, little miss Class Of ‘83.”
“Okay, class of, what, 2017?”
“2018, I’ll have you know.”

They both snorted a little. It was as if they could banter like this forever and ever, words flowing between the two like ever-constant waterfalls. With so much in common, and so many adjacent interests, they were truly perfect for each other. 

She’d be perfect for you.

Bosco tried to ignore the little voice in her head, but it was persistent.

You should ask her if you can kiss a ghost.

No!

Don’t be a pussy, just do it!

“-and then the florist got all mad because apparently it was my fault that I tripped into a stand of peonies! Like, my bad that I can’t walk in heels, I just wanted to get my girlfriend some flowers for our date night, and now you want me to pay for your entire peony stock?” Daya hadn’t stopped her story, but noticed Bosco’s lack of attentiveness. “You good?”

“Yeah, I’m great,” Bosco blinked. Her ears caught up to her brain. “Wait, girlfriend?”

“Uh, yeah. That’s not like… a problem, right? I mean, aren’t you literally gay?”

“That was a hate crime,” Bosco said dryly, putting all her trash in her cup and tossing it in the nearby trash can. 

Her head was spinning. Daya liked girls. Daya. The ‘80s rocker girl who showed up in her apartment very unexpectedly and very post-mortem. The most breathtaking person Bosco had ever met. Her new old friend. 

“Should we go? There’s a metaphysical shop right around here.”
“Oh, yeah! Ghosts love crystals. Some of them help me be corporeal for longer.”
“Like, be fully solid for longer, or just this form?”
“Both, but way back in the 90s I met a ghost with a clear quartz who could stay human for over an hour. I can only go maybe 10 minutes until I have to disappear to rest.”

The shop was just around the corner, so they chose to walk. Their trip was short, primarily because Bosco could only afford so many things, but partially because the shop owner kept staring at Daya. Maybe he knew. Either way, neither of them cared. They got their haul, totaling entirely too much.

“I’m surprised at how much you knew about crystals,” Daya said, peeking into the bag. 
Bosco shrugged. “Part of being a tattoo artist, I guess. I just kinda pick up on stuff. I have a coworker who’s so into, like, demonology, or something, and she told me about all of these ‘communication crystals.’ I figured they’d work the same for you.”
“Wow, Bosco. Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I’m hellspawn.”
They laughed, turning into an empty parking lot. “Hold on, let me do the thing.”

Bosco poured the salt circle, offered up the crystals, and Daya snatched them up and put them in her bag. In that moment, she didn’t mind how rainy it was. The smile on the blonde’s face was the only light she needed. She looked closely, and saw the blonde was no longer shifting in the light.

“You’re solid.”
“I am.”
She looked even prettier like this.
“Corporeal is a good look on you.”
“Thanks, I mean, I had some practice before this, but it’s been a few decades.”
“Daya! Jesus Christ!”
“What? If you can’t joke about your death, did you even really die?”

Bosco tried to retort with something smart. “Honestly?” She kicked away the salt. “If I died, I don’t think I’d ever shut up about it. It would be hilarious to me.”
“See? Someone finally gets it! Every ghost is so taboo about being seen, or talking about how they died. You know what? I say, fuck that! It only makes the living uncomfortable because they don’t know how to reply. I shouldn’t try to spend all of eternity catering for the living. I mean, I didn’t do it in life, why start now?”
“Yeah! Fuck them.”
“Okay, little miss ‘I’m one of the good ones.’”
“Shut up.”

Daya slipped her hand into Bosco’s. It was warm, it was soft, it felt real. And so, they left the lot, hand in hand, a girl and a ghost against the world.

Chapter Text

It was a Monday afternoon, Bosco’s lunch break, and Daya was nowhere to be found. That was odd. In the last few days, she had shown up every day, with a beverage she had inexplicably acquired despite not having any money. It was no big deal, though. Everyone has external affairs sometimes, even ghosts… right?

Bosco didn’t have time to pack a lunch today, Rosie had gotten into one of Daya’s donuts, so Bosco had to make sure she was okay this morning, which had taken up all of her prep time. There was a Wendy’s not far from her parlor, so she got in her car, turned on her music, and started towards Florence and Western Ave. She started to click on a playlist, the one she made with Daya a couple nights ago, but stopped. Without Daya here, she didn’t have much reason to listen. She felt a pang of sadness as she clicked over to a new playlist, with some newer alternative stuff Daya had never heard.

Bosco had unfortunately suffered from the condition of a middle school emo phase, one she was unaware was chronic until it was far too late. Due to this, the album covers staring back at her made her feel moreso that she was looking at the T-shirt wall in the back of a Hot Topic than a playlist. Still, she turned up whatever Blink-182 song she had playing and tried to forget about the empty seat beside her.

She ordered her Wendy’s, a crispy chicken sandwich and a lemonade, and ate it in the parking lot, still blasting her music. She felt like the music should have filled the gap in her soul, at least a little, but it made her feel even more lonely, the disembodied voices coming from her speakers too much a reminder of how solitary the confines of her car felt. At least the rain had stopped.

Her food was about as good as it could be from a chain like that in an area like this. Her sandwich came with pickles despite her clear request against them, her fries were overdone, and the chicken was dry. At least her lemonade was good. It was pretty hard to fuck up lemonade, she figured. She didn’t mind the time to herself she got from Daya’s mysterious absence, she just wished it didn’t make her feel so alone.

Until she really, really stopped feeling so alone.

She could feel Daya before she could see her. Something about that feeling of being watched without being able to see who, the feeling of eyes with no owner. She had noticed over the last couple days that Daya spent any time without Bosco as undetectable as she could be. Invisible, silent, not moving anything, just simply being. She wondered what that felt like. 36 years of quietly biding her time after 23 years of living so loudly and unapologetically.

“I know you’re here, D,” she said to the passenger seat next to her. “You mind actually showing yourself?”
Daya’s voice came from directly behind her. “You were way off, actually.”
“Okay, sue me, jeez,” she said smiling. “If you climb up here I’ll take you back through the drive thru for a Frosty.”
“Oh, my god, I fucking love Frosties,” Daya climbed on the glove box to get to the front, kicking the center console in the process and changing the channel from Bosco’s Bluetooth to some religious country station.
“You’re a wreck,” Bosco cackled, pulling out of her spot.
“You try doing that in platforms!”
“I- Daya, you’re a ghost, you could have just phased through the front seat.”
“Oh, yeah…”

They both burst into laughter, pulling up to the drive thru at last.  
“What flavor do you want?”
“What do they have?”
“Well, they have vanilla, chocolate, I think they just got a new pumpkin spice flavor for fall-”
“That one. I want the pumpkin spice one.
“Baby, what is with you and pumpkin spice?”
“I don’t know, but it’s, like, so good.”
“You’re such a sorority girl.”
“Oh, bitch, I could never. The sororities were absolutely wack at UM. They were truly a cult.”
“The girls in Arizona State’s sororities truly horrified me. I had 7 in my accounting class, all named Kayleigh spelled differently.”
“Me too!” Daya laughed. “Six girls named Kathy, all with cheap perms.”
They pulled up to the window, ordered their Frosties, Bosco a small strawberry and Daya’s a large pumpkin spice, and parked right where they left off.

They changed the music back to their playlist. It was hard for Bosco to believe she and the blonde had only met a few days ago. It was like they’d known each other for years. That wasn’t too far off, she guessed, Day had been quietly following her for the last year before working up the courage to say hello.

Was that stalkerish? Bosco honestly didn’t know how to feel about it. On one hand, some girl had been following her every move, walking with her to work, stealing her wine when she cooked, drinking her water and fucking up her coat rack. On the other hand, Daya had spent over 30 years trapped in this town. She likely did this to every tenant, just without them noticing. It must have been so boring being a ghost, existing in the shadows, unable to use a phone, or craft, or read, or cook, or do anything that made you feel real. Just… nothing, for decades.

She looked over at the blonde, really looked over at her. She was singing along to some INXS song, Suicide Blonde. Her blonde hair was big and tousled like she hadn’t really brushed it all too well that morning, her silvery eyeshadow flecked with glitter and little specks of mascara. Her lipstick and gloss were faded, most of it being transferred to her frosty’s straw which she was holding like a microphone. She looked over at Bosco, finally realizing she wasn’t singing with her, and laughed. That stunning, bright laugh that she wished she could catch in a bottle and wear around her neck.

It was in that moment that Bosco knew she was in love with her.

Daya cocked her head a little, still smiling and giggling. “You good, Bosc? You just got, like, a thousand yard stare.”
“Nah, I’m fine,” Bosco took a sip of her frosty to catch herself before she said something stupid. “You kind of remind me of this song.”
“Why? Because I’m a bad decision and you love me anyway?”
“Are you hitting on me?”
“Oh, my god, am I?”

They both laughed, Bosco just following Daya’s example. The brunette knew she really wanted an answer, but she also knew she asked the question so inconspicuously that Daya would never suspect she was serious. She wondered if Daya would ever know she was serious.

Bosco’s lunch break was over in 5 minutes, which sucked because her work was 8 minutes away, so she and Daya spent the next 6 weaving through lanes of traffic and driving through lights that they definitely weren’t supposed to.
“So, my next client texted me to tell me that she’s gonna be criminally high for her appointment, so if you wanna fuck with her and be my little invisible assistant you’re welcome to.“
“Uh, sold.”
“Are you able to even do that?”
“I mean, yeah, how do you think I got the lemons in your bed?”
Fair point.
“‘K, well, she’ll be here any minute, so I’m gonna start setting up if you’re down to help.”

They walked in and started setting up. Bosco’s client, a very sweet girl named Willow, walked in, sort of looking around with a goofy grin.
“That her?” Daya asked. Bosco jumped.
“Jesus, you can talk when you’re invisible?” She whispered, trying now to seem too insane to those around her.
Daya laughed. “Surprise!”
“Yeah, that’s her. Be quiet, I have to, like, do my job, or something. And if you make me fuck up this tattoo so help me god I’m calling Ghostbusters.” Bosco was trying hard not to smile as she finished prepping her station.

“Hi! You’re Willow, I’m guessing?” She said, tapping a couple buttons on the check-in tablet.  
“Yeah, I have an appointment, I think.”
“You sure do! Well, come on back, and we’ll start the consult.”

Bosco loved her job. Really, she did. She had always been an artist, doodling over her math notes in school until they flooded into her words rendering her note cards useless on exams. She had gone to school for graphic design, but she knew she didn’t want to peruse it as a career. So, when she moved to Augusta, she went to every tattoo parlor in the city to try to get an apprenticeship. The rest was history. Having Daya here, though, made it feel different. Like it was a performance, like she had to impress her. Willow’s tattoo idea was simple enough, a little fine line rocket ship her wrist. They went over the design a couple times, Bosco drawing quick sketches on her drawing tablet. When she was ready, she flipped it towards Willow.

“Thoughts?” She asked. She felt someone pick up the tablet, and when she looked, it was floating about 3 inches above Bosco’s hands.
“Keep that there,” Bosco whispered, Willow oblivious as she admired it, tracing the outline with her finger. Bosco stood up, leaving the tablet floating midair, as she organized her tools a little better.

She was facing Willow, and she watched as the girl’s face turned from admiration to utter confusion.
“Hey, uh, I think something’s up with your tablet.
“Hm?” Bosco pretended to just notice. “Oh, it does that sometimes. No big.”
She plucked it from the air, fighting a giggle. After getting the client’s approval, Bosco moved to print a stencil out. As she did, she heard a familiar voice.

“Ok, I’m gonna fuck with your hair while you work, that cool?” Daya’s voice was hushed, something Bosco wasn’t used to. The blonde was usually so loud and boisterous, but Bosco liked this side of her, even if it was just for the mischief of it all.
“Mhm,” she hummed, the phrase sounding like a mindless noise made while working to anyone in the vicinity.

The next few minutes of her work went by uninterrupted. It wasn’t until the stencil was on and Bosco was about to start with the ink that she felt a small tug on the right side of her hair. Oh. Daya wasn’t just messing her hair up, Daya was braiding it. She supposed that was probably a little scarier than someone’s hair moving on their own, but she couldn’t help but sort of love the domesticity of it.

She continued her work, feeling little braids weave themselves here and there on her head as she focused on her tattoo. Willow clearly noticed, and she wasn’t exactly being subtle about it.

“Everything alright?” Bosco said. “You can always take a break if you need.”
“No, no, I’m fine,” Willow said. She breathed a sigh of exasperation. “Man… I don’t think I can take those edibles again.”
“It’s no big, really. I get at least 3 appointments a week who have to come in pretty stoned to get through their appointment.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty fucked up, I’m seeing, like, floating shit.”
“Oh, wow,” Bosco tried to sound surprised. She turned off her tattoo gun. Can I get you some water, or a snack?”
“You have snacks?”

She opened a drawer on her cart, revealing a downright excessive assortment of chips, candy, pretzels, dried fruit, and other items. Willow marveled at the sight, opting for a bag of Cheetos. It took everything in her power to stay composed. She wanted so badly to burst into laughter and reveal Daya, Truman Show-style. Unfortunately, maintaining a career means that you can only prank your clientele if you don’t get caught.

The rest of Willow’s appointment went by smoothly, and she gave Bosco a tip entirely too large for the simplicity of the tattoo she had given. The moment she left, Daya materialized beside Bosco.
“That was fun,” Daya said, grinning like a madman.
“Yeah, I thought you’d, like, pick up a stool, or something. It was very subtle. I like subtle, it worked.”
“Girl, I spent, like, 20 minutes braiding and unbraiding your hair and convinced that chick she was greening out.”
“True, I guess. Are some of them still braided?” Bosco ran a hand through her hair, searching for the intertwined strands.
“Yeah. I think it looks cute,” Daya said, taking one in her hand.
“Okay, now you’re hitting on me.”
Daya laughed. “So what if I am? You love me for it.”

Daya didn’t know it, but she had never spoken truer words.

Chapter Text

October was flying by for Bosco. It made her a little sad, she guessed. It was her favorite month, but she had begun to lose the days, and soon it had been two weeks and a day since she met Daya.

She woke up at around 9 to Daya making coffee. They’d been messing around one afternoon after work and the ghost learned that, though almost zero machines worked when she wanted them to, Bosco’s espresso machine inexplicably worked impeccably. Ghosts typically damaged machinery when they tried to use it, but the old hunk of metal and steam must have been so shitty that even ghosts could use to the the level of success that she could. Honestly, she found that Daya could make better coffee than she. The espresso never burnt, pucks never too runny.

She went out to the main room, still in her pajamas and makeup from the night prior. Daya smiled at the sight of the brunette.
“How the fuck do you make it smell so good in here?” Bosco asked as she sat down at her island barstools.
“Good morning to you too,” Daya snickered as she turned on the milk steamer, having to shout over the noise. “I just do what my old job told me to. You use the same beans.”
“Where’d you work?”
“Sandhill Bagels.”
“Holy shit, you worked there?”
“Yeah! They had, like, no good lattes in the ‘80s. I remember once I tried to make a drink that tasted like apple pie. It didn’t work, I had to stay late, and I almost got written up for it. Still,” she turned off the milk steamer, pouring it into a mug with a blend of syrups and the espresso shots. “Worth it.”

Daya slid the coffee over to Bosco, who took a second to admire the latte art. “Aw, this morning’s kind of looks like a vagina”.
Daya burst into laughter. “It’s a heart, dumbass!”
“Why’d you give the heart a clit, then?”
“I literally can’t with you,” Daya poured extra milk foam over the carefully made art. “There,” she said with a sense of satisfied levity. “now it’s a white rabbit in a snowstorm.”

Bosco rolled her eyes, unable to contain the goofy grin spreading across her face. She finally took her first sip. “Mm. Holy shit, Daya. This is incredible. What did you put in it?”
“Remember when you made that rose syrup for those cocktails we never made? It’s that and some chocolate.”
“Damn. I know lavender is popular, but I never thought to try eating other flowers.”

Daya snorted, pouring herself a mocha of her own. “It’s almost like Valentine’s Day, but, like, in your mouth.”
“Already trying to do Galentine’s in October, I see.” Bosco made ‘grabby hands’ at Rosie, who had just made her way out of the bedcloset.
“What’s a… Galentine’s?”
“Oh, right, you’re old.”
“Ha-ha, very funny. Bitch.”
“Anyway,” Bosco drew out the word to dramatize, stroking a very sleepy Rosie who had just nestled herself on the brunette’s lap. “It’s when you’re single, so you reject Valentine’s Day and spend the night getting wine-drunk with your friends and watching bad rom-coms.”
“Oh, I’m so down,” Daya put the almond milk away, slamming the fridge door with a sort of finality. “I’d totes be your Valentine, too.”
“What?”
“I mean, it’s been over 30 years since I’ve actually celebrated, I’d totally be your platonic Valentine.”
“That’s sweet, but slow down. I mean, Halloween isn’t for another week.”
“Oh, yeah. What are you going as?”
“What do you mean? I’m not dressing up.”

“You’re what?” Daya whipped around, mouth agape.

Bosco shrugged. “Why would I? I was just gonna celebrate by binging a bunch of discount candy on November 1st. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
“Hello? The fall fair?”
“What fall fair? Like, the one in Bethel?”
“Uh, Augusta does a fall festival every year, and every Halloween it’s, like, the prime spot to go. Besides, Halloween’s like the one day a year that I get to be completely human.”
“What?”
“Oh, yeah. So, for most ghosts, Halloween is the one night a year they get to return and show themselves, but for ‘wandering souls’, or whatever they call me, it’s different. I get to be pretty much human, and it takes, like, no effort. It does mean I can’t do any fun ghost shenanigans for a day, but, y’know.” Daya took a long sip, slurping a little at the end before covering her mouth with her hand. “Small prices, or whatever.”

Bosco sat and digested the information. Daya already pretty much blended in with humans. With the help of some strange spells and enchanted charms and whatnot that Bosco had researched for her, Daya was just short a pulse. Machinery still acted strangely, sure, and sometimes she had to take a few hours to completely vanish and go somewhere she would only refer to cryptically as “my pine trees”, but other than that, Bosco sometimes forgot that Daya ever died.
The pair sat across from one another, doing more talking than drinking coffee, and soon both cups were half empty and cold.

“Daya, I have… a weird question,” Bosco said, scratching Rosie’s chin.
“Shoot.”
“What are the pine trees you keep talking about?”
Daya froze, her complexion flashing pale. She set her mug down, pacing about as if she was ignoring the question. It took her a long time to finally respond, her once bubbly demeanor altered entirely.
“I think it’s about time I told you. How soon can you get ready?”
“I- what?”
“How soon can you be ready to leave?”
Bosco was quiet. Daya had never been like this before. In fact, the blonde hardly ever displayed anything other than a sly smile and the stars in her eyes. This was different. Really, really different. “…15 minutes.”
“Okay. Meet me in the car, I’ll help with the directions.”

Bosco slowly got up, watching with apprehension as the blonde slipped on one of Bosco’s old jackets, purple and pleather, and phased through the door. She put on a quick outfit, black ripped jeans and tank, a cropped dark orange jacket and matching boots. She did her makeup quickly, finally grabbing her brown crossbody messenger bag and tossing a few items in. Phone, wallet, keys, and a couple other things she didn’t often bring; a switchblade, some salt, the little bell Daya made her buy, an umbrella, some little chocolates, and her cart. With Daya being so cryptic, the brunette wasn’t too sure she wanted to be totally sober for this endeavor.

She went out to the car, where Daya was sitting in silence. She got in the driver’s side, jamming her keys into the ignition and pulling out onto the street.
“Where to?”
“Just go to Anderson Pond, and we can walk from there,” the response was curt and rigid, absent of any warmth.
“Okay… Daya, youre starting to scare me. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“I just… I think it’s time I tell you some stuff, okay? But it’ll make a lot more sense if you can see it.”

Daya left no room for rebuttal, so they stewed in the silence of the still radio. They drove without words, something the pair had never done before. Bosco hated this. She hated the silence, she hated the rain on her windshield, she hated how her leg cramped when she drove. Daya usually remedied this, but most of all, she hated how frigid the blonde was being.

They pulled up to the pond, Daya leading her through the grass in silence, never even looking back at her. Bosco pulled her cart out of her bag. She needed at least some of the edge taken off. She took a small hit, knowing she had to still be somewhat lucid if she ever wanted to see Daya again. The path they walked clearly wasn’t meant to be a path at all. At least, not for the living. Rocks, roots, and plants filled the space, leaving Bosco stumbling. Daya wasn’t even on the ground. In fact, she was transparent, floating forward with body language Bosco couldn’t get a read on.

The trees were primarily oak and paper birches, providing little shelter from the rain. Bosco was starting to feel really thankful she brought her umbrella. As they got deeper into the woodland, however, the trees changed. They came to a clearing of trees at last. A clearing of pine trees.
Daya stood stagnant for a moment, then took a deep breath and approached a particular area. A large stick stuck out of the wet earth, and there was something small and brown on the ground beside it. Bosco followed Daya, and her breath caught when the object came into view.

A picture frame, cracked, holding a photo of Daya.

She approached it, beginning to reach for it. She paused. “Can I…?”
“Go ahead.”
She picked up the frame, staring at the girl in the image. She looked so happy, and so juvenile. She was probably the same age in the photo as she was when she died, but something in her eyes made her look much older now. She turned the frame in her hands. On the back, in faded, dirty pen, read “Daya Betty, February 19, 1965-May 5, 1988”. Below it, in smaller, barely legible print, was a shaky “I’m sorry.”

“They were the ones to bury me,” Daya said, breaking the silence. “The morning after I… died, one of them stopped by because I wasn’t answering my phone. When she found me, she called everyone up, told them they needed to hide me. They couldn’t afford to try a cemetery, she had said. She didn’t report me dead, or missing, or anything. She didn’t even cry.”
Bosco was silent. Silent for a long time. What was there to say? There was nothing she could do to ameliorate what happened. Nothing in the world could make it better.

She took a breath. “I… fuck, man. That’s heavy.”
“Yeah,” Daya’s words were absent, as if she had checked out herself. “Yeah, it is.”
“Did the police ever find you?”
“They told them I had said some bullshit about running away to the west coast someday, to start totally fresh without anything from my past. That was that, No search, no posters, they believed them. I still check up on them every now and then. They’re all still friends. They talk about me like I was some fun dinner story, like I did it to myself.”

Daya flickered between human and specter, staring blankly at her grave. Bosco stood up at last, disregarding the mud on her pants, and wrapped Daya in her arms. The blonde’s breath caught, but after a moment, she held Bosco back. They sat like that for a while, rain pouring down around them, neither one caring. She heard her breath shudder. She was crying. It was the first time Daya had cried around her. It didn’t deter her, and she squeezed the blonde a little tighter before the pair let go.
“Thanks,” she said quietly.
“Do you want to go back?” Bosco asked.
“I…” Daya took a breath. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
She slipped her hand into Bosco’s, and they started their walk back to the car.

There wasn’t much else Bosco could do for the blonde, but the pair felt comfortable together again. Comfortable enough that Bosco had a little courage. Fixing her posture, she leaned over and rested her head atop Daya’s shoulder as they walked.

Daya squeezed her hand a little tighter. Once, twice, three times, head falling on top of Bosco’s.

Chapter Text

The day had come and gone, with the pair not talking all too much. They had spent the day quietly cleaning the apartment, something it desperately needed. Bosco was just finishing up vacuuming when she got a FaceTime request. It was her sister. She smiled; they hadn’t talked in ages, both of their schedules clashing near constantly. She walked into her room and answered.

“Girl!” She said with a grin. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“Hey!” Irene hadn’t changed a bit. “How have you been?”
“Good! Good. A lot better than the last time we spoke, actually.”
“Ooh, do tell. It’s been so boring back home.”
“Well, work’s been fun, and Augusta always goes ham during Halloween, and… I actually have friends now.”
“You? Have friends?” Irene put a hand on her chest. “I honestly never thought this day would come.”
“Very funny. It’s… really just the one friend, but she doesn’t really have anyone up here either, so she’s basically here 24/7. I’m kind of worried I’ll get a notice about subletters in my lease.”
“U-hauling already, I see.”

Bosco laughed. “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s super funny, and pretty, and nice, but, like… we’re not like that. We’re just good friends.”
“Wow, you know just what to say to convince someone,” Irene snorted, setting her phone up by the sink as she picked at her scalp. “Ugh, my roots are growing in so fast. I hate vivids.”
“There’s a reason I stopped dyeing my hair after high school. It’s so much easier.”

Irene continued to chatter away about the last couple of weeks, her troubles with love and how much she hated the rain. Despite being on opposite coasts, her and Bosco had many of the same problems. Work growing monotonous, Taco Bell prices raising, homesickness for their childhood town. The pair were always so alike, no matter the circumstances.

“This girl you’re talking to…” Irene said, putting her laundry in the machine. “You think you’re gonna ask her out?”
“I’m not ‘talking to her’,” Bosco said, a little defensively. “And she’s, like, definitely not into me like that, and I’m more than okay keeping it that way.”
“Are you, though? You keep getting all starry-eyed whenever you talk about her.”
“I do not!”
“You do too, B! You’ve been alone for, what, a year now? You finally made your first close connection in the state, and you caught feelings. It happens to everyone at some point in their lives.”

“Not me,” Bosco said, with enough conviction and certitude that she almost believed herself. “I don’t catch feelings first. I’ve never had to make the first move, why start now?”
“Bosco,” Irene put her head in her hands, trying to muffle her laughter. “This is just sad. Fine. Have fun with your non-romantic, platonic best friend. Maybe go take her for a candlelit dinner to show how good of friends you are.”

Bosco rolled her eyes playfully. “Maybe I will! She loves my piccata recipe.”
“Oh, the chicken one that Mom used to make?”
“I’ve started making it with lamb. It’s lighter and just brightens up the dish.”
“That sounds so good right now. I’ve been living off of Taco Bell and freezer food for the last, like, week.”
“Make yourself an actual dinner tonight. I’ve literally never been upset that I took the time to cook a real meal for myself after the fact.”
“Yeah, but that’s ’cause you’re, like, basically a chef. I can’t make pizza rolls without fucking it up a little.”
Bosco laughed. The pair said their goodbyes, and Bosco sat in the silence of her room.

Was Irene right? Was she really getting quixotic about the ghost who stole her wine? She knew she loved Daya, that much was certain. Did Daya know she loved Daya? Was it really so apparent when she spoke about the blonde? No. Irene just knew her too well. She was only able to tell because Irene knew all her little quirks, that was all.  
“Rosie, what am I gonna do?” She said to the snoring animal laying beside her.

“What are you gonna do?” Daya materialized in the doorway.
Bosco jumped, startling awake a now very disgruntled Rosie. “How long have you been standing there?”
“I heard something about Taco Bell and came running.”
“Of course you did.” Bosco chuckled, shaking her head. “Dinner? Thoughts?”
“Ooh… well, I kinda want pizza rolls now that your sister mentioned them.”
“Deal. I have some in the freezer anyway.”

“Wait, really? We could’ve been eating pizza rolls this whole time?” 
“I’m sorry, do you not like my traditional culinary masterpieces?”
“They’re good, and stuff, but…” Daya made a string of babbling noises that sounded like they were meant to be words before exclaiming “they’re pizza rolls! How do you beat pizza rolls?”
Bosco scoffed perilously, though without malice. “Was my penne bolognese honestly worse than tomato sauce and cheese in a shitty fried dough?”
“Well, it’s not pizza rolls,” Daya grumbled playfully. Bosco laughed, rolling her eyes as she made her way to the fridge.

The pizza rolls were done in 20 minutes, start to finish. She made a couple other things from her freezer stash, mozzarella sticks, popcorn shrimp, and some fries which she tossed in truffle oil and Parmesan. She hoped for at least some semblance of class to their assortment of fried food. 
“Wanna eat on the roof?” Bosco asked, filling a serving plate with the finger foods.
“Oh, I missed doing that! Well, I kind of just went up there to drink fireball in the dark, but, like, the sentiment’s still there.”
Bosco laughed. “You, Daya Betty, are an absolute trainwreck.”
“You love me for it!” Daya sang as she swiped the bottle of apple cider from the fridge and ran to the ladder. There was a small skylight by the wall in the kitchen, and. if done carefully, climbing through it wasn’t all too hard. Bosco followed, food in hand, which was emphatically dangerous and exceedingly vacuous, but she couldn’t have cared less.

The sun had begun to set, which wasn’t easy to see behind the clouds, but rays of color still shone through. The pair sat beside each other, platter between them, passing the jug of cold apple cider back and forth as neither had bothered to get cups. Bosco took her cart out of her jacket pocket, taking a hit before offering it to Daya. “Want some?”
“The fuck is that?”
“It’s a cart. It’s weed, but, like… electronic.”
“Is it safe?”
“Well, it’s regulated now, so, yeah.”
“Wait.” Daya held a hand up, blinking wildly. “Weed’s legal now?”
“Yeah! Not in all of the country, but it is in Maine. It is back home, too.”
“I used to get weed from a guy named Ian who lived in a van in a church parking lot. You can just, like… go somewhere to get it?”
“Well, yeah. There’s dispensaries, and stuff.”

Bosco gave the blonde a moment to process. There weren’t many times they had serious generational lapses like this, but they never ceased to amuse Bosco when they occurred. She watched on with vague gaiety at Daya’s squinted eyes and furrowed brow, mouth agape in utter tumult. Eventually, she held her hand out, fingers enclosing around the cart. They passed it back and forth for a while, alongside the cider.

If Bosco had any doubt that she loved Daya, it was gone. She had to tell the blonde, and soon. 

Chapter Text

The work week had gone by agonizingly slow, but at last, it was Thursday. Thursday, October 31st. Bosco woke up to the smell of cinnamon and maple. That was odd. She didn’t remember making anything last night.  She heard muffled music from outside her door. What on earth was going on?

A quick glance out her bedcloset door revealed Daya, in all orange and black, wearing Bosco’s apron, blasting The Ballroom Blitz, pouring a measuring cup of sugar into a bowl.
“Bosco!” Daya exclaimed, turning down the music with a giddy smile on her face.
“What’s going on out here?” Bosco asked, scooping up Rosie, who had just shoved her face in the bag of oat flour, leaving her once tortoiseshell face a stark, powdery white.
“I’m human, that’s what’s going on!” Daya spun around, as if that showed how human she was. “I’m making pumpkin spice blondies, wanna help?”
“You and your pumpkin spice,” Bosco shook her head. “Yeah. Let me wipe off Rosie real quick, and then I’ll help.”

Wiping Rosie off was not a task that could be completed “real quick”, as Bosco would soon learn.

Bosco took her to the bathroom and wiped her face off with a damp towel, much to the one-eyed kitty’s dismay. She howled and tried to claw at Bosco.
“Rosie Posie, it’s either this or the tub.” Bosco struggled to keep the cat at arm’s length while still cleaning her off.
“Do you need help in there?” Daya called from the kitchen. “It sounds like you need help in there.”
“She always gets the darndest shit in her empty socket, but she hates water!” Bosco strained as the tortie clawed her way out of her arms and ran out of the bathroom.

Daya dove for Rosie, who didn’t seem as angry to be in her arms, likely seeing her as some sort of protection.
“Do not think I’m your ally,” Daya said as she brought the cat back to her owner. “I can’t feel pain, so your claws don’t work on me, Kitty.”
“Thank you,” Bosco said. “Can you keep holding her?”
“Duh. I used to volunteer at the shelter all the time, I can keep her secure.”
The pair worked together to finish wiping the flour off of her face. Once they were done, Bosco ensured that she was fed, as a sort of consolation.

Bosco changed quickly into an old band Tee and jeans, and met Daya in the kitchen.
“Do you have, like… a recipe?” Bosco asked, looking around the countertops for a cell phone or even a cookbook.
“Nope!” Daya said, emphasizing the “P”. “But I went to a coffee shop and did a little sleuthing to find exactly what spices are in pumpkin spice.”
“Did you go full-ghost just to break-and-enter a coffee shop?”
“Yup!” Daya said, squeezing the nutmeg and cinnamon shakers so the spices shot out into the bowl. “Can you grease the pan? There should be butter in the container by the fridge.”
“Daya, this is my apartment. I know where the butter is.”

They laughed, the music changing to something a little more festive for the occasion. The blondies, as luck would have it, were not all too difficult to make. Bosco was no baker, she could hardly touch a box mix without something going terribly wrong. But Daya? She was a whiz. Creating her own recipe in the fly, deciding the perfect amount of each spice to add into her mix, estimating adequate baking times and temperature on a notepad, this girl was a genius. Her skill came with such passion, as well. She exuded such a radiant joy as she whizzed around the kitchen, cleaning as she went.

“I’m thinking after this, I’ll make some pumpkin bars, or maybe an apple crisp?” She said, rinsing out a bowl.
“Do you want to just spend the whole day baking?”  
“Can I?” Daya’s eyes were wide, like a child seeing a puppy.
“Be my guest, just clean up after yourself, and you better come with me to that fair tonight.”

“Oh, that’s right, the fair! You think we could pass some of these out there? I’ve been up since 5 baking.”
“Y- how many things have you made?”
“A cinnamon orange loaf, a cranberry tart, and the dough for some maple beignets.”
Bosco sat for a moment, processing the blonde’s words. “You know I can’t eat all this, right?”
“Oh, chill. I’m making myself a more permanent offering altar, that way you don’t have to do the salt thing. I’ll help you eat the leftovers. I can go through, like, a lot of baked goods.”

Bosco shrugged, helping the blonde pour the batter into the pan. Once in the oven, Daya went to clean up the counters, putting about half of the ingredients away before taking out a bowl and immediately starting on another dough.

“I’m thinking caramel apple cupcakes. Thoughts?”
“How about…” Bosco put the near-empty flour away. “We go on a trip to the store, and you can pick out some more ingredients?”
“I’m so in. Am I paying?”
“Do you have money? You’re a ghost.”
“Well, in preparation, I might have… done a little more while fully ghost-mode?”
“Daya, did you… rob Sandhill Bagels?”
“Only a little!”
“Daya!”
“Well, I’m sorry! I knew I’d want extra ingredients, so I took matters into my own hands!”

“I can’t with you.” The brunette mussed her hair before looking in the mirror. “I’m gonna get ready, do not start any new projects. You can make the beignets until the Blondies are done, but that’s it.”
“Deal!”
Bosco’s makeup didn’t take long, though festive. A muted orange eyeshadow look, eyeliner with a little spider on a silk strand hanging from the wing, a reddish-brown, glossy lip. She spent the rest of her time dancing around with Rosie in her arms, who was wildly amused at the ordeal.

Daya let her steal a beignet from the tray, still hot as all hellfire. Once it had cooled, Bosco popped it in her mouth.
“Holy shit, Daya. These are incredible!” Bosco said, covering her still partially open mouth with her hand.
“I try my best,” she smiled. “I mean, like, I always wanted to be a baker. I was majoring in food science back at UM. I was going to go to culinary school afterwards, try to open my own bakery in New Orleans. That was always the dream,” she dropped another set of beignets in the pot of oil. “It would’ve cost so much, for sure, but I probably could’ve done it.”

“That’s…” Bosco took a moment to reply. “That’s just so you. If we ever find out what your unfinished business is, I’ll take you there.”
“Really?”
“Sure! I’ve always wanted to visit, and if that was really your goal, we should at least check out the city.”
“God, I’d love that.” She placed the beignets onto the tray, positioning the tea steeper full of powdered sugar carefully. “I… have a little confession.”

Bosco stopped what she was doing to face the blonde. “What’s up?”
“A few years ago, I made a list. Everything I could possibly think of that would be my finished business. Some of it I tried, some of it was just too hard to do without a human form that lasted longer than a few minutes, a couple were impossible to do without leaving the city. I only have a handful left, but… I can’t do it alone.”
Bosco put a hand on Daya’s shoulder. “As long as you don’t abandon me once we find it,” she said. “Where you go, I go.”

Daya smiled, eyes that once carried so much weight looking so soft. She echoed the brunette.

“Where you go, I go.”

Chapter Text

When she took on the vow to find Daya’s unfinished business, Bosco didn’t think she’d end up way up in a tree, tying a cord to the sturdiest branch she could find. “Are you sure this is safe, Daya?” She called out cautiously.
“Probably! Besides, what’s the worst that’s gonna happen? I’ll die again?” She said, securing a hanger to the cord before tying off the other end to her tree. “I’ve gotta say, swearing on my life that I was gonna zip line someday had to be one dumbest things I’ve done.”

Bosco snorted, watching the blonde with vigilance. “Just… be careful. I don’t know if that hanger will hold. Or the cord. Or the knot.”
“Thanks, Bosc. You really know how to make a girl feel safe,” Daya readied herself, grabbing ahold of the hanger that acted as her grip, preparing to kick off of the branch.
“This is really stupid, you know that, right?”
“Yup!” She launched herself off of the tree, legs kicking wildly before relaxing as she flew through the woods. Letting go at just the right moment, she plummeted a good 10 feet before landing in the pile of leaves.

“Daya!” Bosco started down the tree, eyes locked on the motionless blonde. After a painfully long few seconds, she cheered.
“Tubular,” She laughed.
“I thought you were double-dead!” Bosco dropped down to her side. “Are you okay?”
“B, I’m literally invincible, that couldn’t have hurt me if I tried.”
“Well, I know, but like…” Bosco shook away the thought. “Whatever. Do you feel any different?”
“Nope. I mean, don’t get me wrong, that shit was gnarly, but… no sense of inner peace, no weight off my shoulders, no glowing veins.”
“Glowing… what?”
“That’s the visual cue. Any veins visible on your body will glow. It looks really cool, unless you’re in the dark and you thought you were alone,” Daya shuddered at the memory.
Bosco helped her up. “C’mon. Let’s try the next one.”

The pair got into the car, Daya crossing off her notepad wildly. They had already done 2 before, “try caviar” (something they both regretted almost immediately due to the taste), and “hold a pigeon”, which led the pair on a wild goose chase of tracking and chasing them down in public parks, for all of the town to observe.
“What’s next?”
“Volunteer at a soup kitchen. I used to do it with all the time when I was a kid, but I haven’t since before I left for college.”
“That sounds like fun!”
“It was. Gramps and I did it every Sunday back home,” Daya winced. “I know damn well I did not just call him that that out loud.”
“Girl, it’s fine, my parents literally made me call them Mother and Father.”
“That’s wild. It makes sense for you, though.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know.”

Bosco snorted, pulling out her phone to find the nearest soup kitchen. There was one in Augusta, Bread Of Life, so they started for Water St.

The autumn leaves were still in full effect, delicately holding onto their branches or blanketing the ground. Who knew death and decay could be so beautiful? The trees incapable of living with what once showed signs of their highest potential, their very roots understanding that parting ways with their very body being their best option.
As the pair traveled across town, Bosco thought. They exchanged no words, their silence comfortable and shared, leaving the brunette to hear her own thoughts for a time.

What would happen when they found Daya’s unfinished business? Would she run off without Bosco? Would she move on to whatever her afterlife was, or would she stay close by? Did she really even want to stay by Bosco’s side? It dizzied her to think of what would happen once she was no longer needed. She needed a distraction. She needed it fast.

The soup kitchen, as she came to learn, was a perfect distraction. It was supposedly always busier around holidays, but the hectic environment and polite interactions left her without much room to sit and think. Between wrapping rolls, ladling out bowls, and wishing patrons a Happy Halloween, she could hardly even speak to Daya, much less think about her motives. They had agreed to stay for two hours, and the time they spent was gone in a flash. Bosco had always enjoyed helping people, though she never knew how. She really wished she had thought of volunteering here sooner.

Daya, rather unfortunately, was unchanged. Bosco tried to hide her relief as they drove back home to continue baking before they went back to doing their quest.
“How many left do you have?”
“2. I have one we can do at the fair, ‘ride the Swing Carousel’, that big swing ride. Then we have one that…” she sighed. “I don’t think it’s possible.”
“What is it?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
That statement made Bosco really, really worry about it, but pressing further would be redundant, so she pulled into the parking lot of the grocery store without another word.

Daya must have really cleared out Sandhill Bagels’ register, because she bought everything she could. Flours, sugars, dyes, trays, spare spatulas, hell, she even bought Bosco an immersion blender.
“You’ll need this anyway,” she said, tossing it in the cart. “Pasta sauces, and such.”
“Jesus, Daya. Are you sure you can afford all of this?”
“Yeah! I mean, like, I think I’m doing a super great job at hiding how freaked out I am about how expensive everything is nowadays, but I just took the stack of 20s and hoped for the best.”
“Yeah, inflation’s a bitch. This would’ve been, what, $100 in the ‘80s?”
“No! Probably, like, 50! I would never pay this much for baking supplies.”

Once they reached the self checkout (and once Bosco taught her how to use it), Bosco watched in vague amusement at Daya’s face changing from mild surprise to utter shock and horror slowly as the total bill grew higher and higher.
“$176?” Daya looked queasy.
“That’s not too bad!” Bosco tried to assure her. “I’ve had grocery bills higher, and I wasn’t buying anything specialty. That’s, like, two pairs of jeans.”
“It’s what.”
“Oh, yeah… clothes are expensive now. A lot of pants go for 70, 80 bucks nowadays. That jacket of mine you’re wearing? I think it was around $120.”
“I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“Did you bring enough money?”
“Well, duh, but, like… I’m still mad about it,” she grumbled, feeding her first bill to the machine.

Bosco smirked, watching the blonde struggle with her bills. She liked watching Daya be Daya, she guessed. Something about a person so unapologetically themselves, unafraid of sounding stupid, or seeming odd. She knew she had to fess up to her sooner or later, and what better day than today? The one day a year Daya was human. The fall fair at sunset, both still stuck with flour on their clothes from their baking endeavors, Bosco with her cinnamon and Daya with her pumpkin spice. Maybe she would tell her atop a Ferris wheel, or while they danced in the square, or when winning her a stuffed prize. Bosco didn’t care how she did it, she only cared that she did it. The words that remained lodged in her throat for so many weeks, begging to be heard by someone, anyone.

No one knew how Bosco felt about the ghost. How could they? She had no way to tell them. “Hey, by the way, there’s a dead girl following me around and I’m in love with her specter”? Bosco didn’t have many friends, she really didn’t want to lose the few she did have. Besides, there was only one person she wanted to confide her secret in; Daya. She would follow her to the ends of the earth if she asked.

The chatter of the receipt being printed shook Bosco from her daze.
“Ready?” Daya asked.
“Ready,” she shook the stupor from her head, taking a bag in either arm as they left.
The car ride home was uneventful, though Bosco couldn’t help but watch the blonde’s giddy smile as they drove through the streets, clutching bags and bags of assorted items. Bosco was honestly surprised that Daya had only spent $175. Then again, she wasn’t paying all too much attention to the beeps of the self checkout, so Daya very well could have accidentally shoplifted a good chunk of their haul.

Entering the apartment, Daya got straight to work. She ordered Bosco around like a chef, immediately immersing herself in her work. It was admirable, and a little attractive, she guessed. The way she was able to calculate her measurements without recipes in front of her, how she was able to crack an egg one handed and looking the other way without getting a single speck of shell in the bowl. Daya was a prodigy. Bosco just wished the blonde’s talents hadn’t been wasted by things outside of her control.

There weren’t many times she wondered what could have been of Daya Betty. She was once alive, now she wasn’t. Bosco had only known the ghost for about a month, and that was decades post-mortem. She never had much reason to think of what Daya could have been, as the majority of her time in the world had been spent as a shell of what she once was. Because of this, Daya had never really brought up her past aspirations. Why dwell on them now, when they could never be explored again? Now, though, Bosco really had a moment to reflect. As she watched Daya whirl around the kitchen, her radiant joy palpable, questions began popping up.

What if she had never gotten into that crowd? What if she had just kept her head down, quietly finishing her degree before going to baking school? What would be of her had she made it to New Orleans? She would surely still be alive, nearing her sixties. Would she have ever lost her sense of style, or would she be as she was now, black apron thrown over a studded leather jacket, teased hair barely contained by a bandanna? Or would she watch a girl like Bosco come into her store and remember her “good old days”, those false memories of a positive time in university before the wrinkles set in and her bones began rotting beneath her? Who would she have been?

The sound of the oven beeping brought Bosco out of her haze. She continued her task of chopping apples as Daya set both loaves in the oven. One was an apple-pumpkin loaf, something Bosco was curious about, the other was banana bread. Bosco loved banana bread, more than almost any baked good. Every attempt at making it had ended dreadfully, so eventually she resigned herself to simply buying it from her local grocery stores or farmer’s markets. Why bother, if she knew the professionals had it under control?

As the banana bread baked, Bosco’s stomach grew angrier. The duo hadn’t exactly eaten today. The moment it was out of the oven, Bosco took a knife and cut a slice.
“You’re not gonna let it cool?” Daya asked, relatively alarmed at the brunette’s sudden hack job of her work.
“D, I’m so fucking hungry, and banana bread is, like, my favorite thing in the world.”
“I can teach you my recipe!” Daya offered, taking the pen from behind her ear and beginning to write on a notepad.
“Baby, I’m gonna be honest, I don’t think you wanna see me baking. It’s not just bad, it’s bad.”

Daya’s brow furrowed. “But you’re an incredible chef.”
Bosco laughed. “It’s ironic. I literally can’t even make those take-and-bake cookies without screwing them up.”
“Do you.. burn them?”
“Burn them, underbake them, forget parchment paper, forget the spray, you name it, I’ve done it.”

“I’m sure you’re not that bad.” Daya said it with a sense of finality as she rooted around the counter.
“What are you looking for?”
“More bananas, I’m gonna make you extra batter for next time. Just turn on the oven and I can handle the rest of it. Got any more old ones?”
Bosco smiled. “In the freezer,” she replied, opening the drawer below her fridge. “I was gonna use ‘em for a smoothie, but I never got around to it.”

Daya was still deep in her work when Bosco suggested getting ready. They had picked out costumes the week prior. Bosco quickly learned this wasn’t something the blonde took lightly.

For her vampire costume, she wore a deep crimson skirt of layered tulle rather than a cape, because, in her words, “capes are for virgins”. Her bodice, a black over-bust corset, was adorned with a cross and perhaps tightened a bit too tight. Her undershirt was crimson and lace, a tight turtleneck with trumpet sleeves. Her makeup was what sold it for Bosco. Her foundation was lighter than normal, making her look pale, and between the blood red lip, red and gray smoky shadow, emphasised eye bags and contour that gave her face a “sunken-in” look, she looked incredible.

Though Bosco had wanted to just put on a tight red minidress, say she was the devil, or something, and call it a day, Daya’s face when they were shopping had told her she needed to go big. She loved Halloween, sure. She was a queer tattoo artist, it was a little hard for her not to. Even so, the idea of going out on the town in a costume felt weird to her. Still, not wanting to disappoint Daya, she bit her tongue and found a real costume, a witch.

She went simple, with a form-fitting black lace dress, black opera gloves, fishnets and dark makeup. She finished it off with a witch’s hat, despite her vehement protest and insistence that it was “lame.”
“You look so pretty!” She gushed, doing a circle around the costume.
“I feel like I’m going LARPing.”
“What the fuck is LARPing?”
“Don’t worry about it.”

Bosco looked in the mirror for a while. “I guess I kind of fuck with it. As long as nothing goes flying out on the swing carousel, I’m set.”
“Oh, that’s right. I, like, forgot we had a plan.”
“Baby, I think you’ve gotta turn the stove off for a while. All that gas is getting to your head.”
Daya laughed, going back into the kitchen to take out the crisp she made, her final baked good of the night.

“I can’t believe I have to wait until next Halloween to keep baking.”
“Well, you technically don’t have to. I can man the oven, and you can make everything else.”
“If I have to hand-whip merengue to stiff peaks because I can’t use a stand mixer, I think I’ll kill myself.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”
“No, Daya, you’re already dead. You can’t die twice.”
“That’s not true, Nikki Sixx did it!”
“Nikki Sixx was also, like, a millionaire. Everything cool in life is saved for rich people.”
“Dying twice is cool?”
“Dying twice is, like, the coolest.”

Bosco couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard Daya start humming the chorus to “Livin’ On A Prayer”.

Chapter Text

The fair was nestled on the very outskirts of town, just barely in the realm Daya’s ghostly restraint would allow. It was one of the few things Bosco truly hated about Daya’s spectral state. The prettiest girl, trapped in this mediocre East Coast town, incapable of even going to the Taco Bell 5 minutes out from Augusta.

As the pair entered the gates, Bosco finally understood Daya’s insistence on them going. Compared to this, the festival she went to in Bethel last year seemed like a Montana potluck. This was massive; sprawling masses of merchant stands, apple bobbing, pastries, rides, games, even a petting zoo. Bosco couldn’t help but feel a little awestruck.

She found they weren’t the only ones in costumes, either, much to her relief. What she wasn’t expecting, however, was the level of skill and craftsmanship of the other patron’s costumes. Sculpted wigs, handmade garments, completely inconvenient props that hindered movement, these people went all in. There was, of course, a small mob of people protesting the “secular nature” of the evening, but no one paid them any mind.

They wandered through the fair aimlessly, staring up at the bright rides and laughing at people falling over. Without much of an agenda other than the swing carousel, they decided to kill some time at the games, winning each other dumb prizes.

Bosco was surprised at Daya’s proficiency and accuracy. She won prize after prize on the beanbag toss, and eventually they had enough to get one of those comically large stuffed animals, this one a bat.
“Where’d you learn to throw like that?”
“I had 2 younger siblings, and we all played baseball. I guess I kind of ruled at it.”
She passed Bosco the plush as they continued on through their crusade.

They played game after game after game, managing to win more little plushies and, in their final game, a live goldfish. 
Bosco held the bag apprehensively. “I don’t know what I’m meant to do with this.”
“We should keep it!” Daya said brightly.
“Daya, Rosie will eat this thing in a heartbeat. ‘Sides, it’s not like I have a fish tank at the ready.”
“You’re so lame,” She rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’ll go give it to some kid, or something.”

Bosco watched as the blonde plucked the bag from her hand and skipped off to a mother and daughter duo, thrusting the bag into the mother’s hands without a word before returning to Bosco, grabbing her arm and weaving through the crowd.
“Go, before they catch up to us!” Daya said, shuffling through the crowd. The sheer stupidity of the whole thing left the brunette just shy of hysterics.

If Daya was happy while baking, she was glowing out here. She had had the same giddy smile plastered on her face since they first arrived, looking at every light and stand like they were holy. Even in the costume, she had never looked more at home to Bosco. Seeing the blonde as human, and completely in her element, had been doing nothing to aid the ailment of admiration that Bosco was so terminally plagued by.

She could no longer keep this charade up. She tried to make a promise to herself. Tonight would be the night, once Daya’s unfinished business was solved, once her wrongs were righted, once she had no more reason to stay in this dead-end town. Only then would Bosco tell her, once her way out was as simple as a click of a button, or a snap of the fingers, or whatever it was that the event would call for. It was the least harmful way to do it, she figured. Her worst case scenario was a life of lonesomeness after Daya moved on, but her best was worth the risk by far.

Because Daya was worth the risk.

They reached the rides at last, Daya making a joyous beeline towards the swing carousel. When they got there, though, they saw a long line, too long to wait in and definitely too long to cut. How could they, even if it was for the greater good? “Hi, ‘scuse me, my friend here is actually dead and we need to go on this ride to see if it’ll solve her post-mortem predicament and take her to her afterlife.” Bosco already got strange looks for leaving the house, she certainly didn’t need that on her resumé.

Reluctantly, the pair made the decision to go in some other attractions while they waited. They began with the mirror maze, dizzy and disorienting as it was.
“I’ve never done one of these,” Daya confessed, eyes wide as she tried to make sense of her surroundings.
“I did a couple with my sister when we were way young. As long as we don’t get separated, we’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” Daya slipped her hand into hers. “I don’t trust myself not to get lost.”
Bosco laughed, pulling the blonde into the maze.

The bright lights, constant reflections, and music blaring in the background left both of their heads spinning as they walked ever so confidently into walls and even into each other at times. They could have been in there for three minutes or thirty, and Bosco truly wouldn’t have been able to tell.

“I’m bored.”
“You’re bored? How can you be bored, we’re literally halfway through a maze.”
“‘Dunno. I’m gonna sit down.” Daya pulled Bosco down alongside her, whose free hand was pinching the bridge of her nose, shaking her head and laughing.
“This is like, against the rules, or something.”
“Was there a sign that said we couldn’t do this?” Daya reached into her purse, pulling out a container. Opening it revealed two slices of pumpkin bread. She took a slice and handed the other to Bosco. “No sign, not my problem.”

Bosco took a bite of her bread, and she honestly got a little angry. How was Daya, dead as a doorknob and 30 years out of practice, this incredible of a baker? It shouldn’t have been possible. A lot of things shouldn’t have been possible. Humans shouldn’t be able to achieve flight, panda bears shouldn’t still be thriving as a species. Girls shouldn’t be able to fall in love with ghosts.

Their impromptu picnic was unfortunately short lived, as Daya helped her back up to continue on their trek through the maze. Their grand exit from the building was anything but, with both of them tripping on the same step and nearly tumbling into a crowd of foot traffic.
“How’s the line?” Bosco asked, craning her neck to see.
“Not bad, actually. Definitely better. Like, way better.” Daya’s apprehension didn’t go unnoticed.
“Are you okay? You sound nervous.”
“I am nervous, B.” It was clear she’d been thinking a lot in that maze. “What if I do it, and it works and everything, and we find out I can’t stay here? Or that my assigned afterlife is just… nothing?”

“Hey,” Bosco took the girl’s shoulders, looking up at her with an amount of conviction that surprised even her. “Don’t think like that. You’ve spent 36 years roaming this town, you have more than enough of a case to plead to whoever’s in charge out there. But I’ll be damned if I’m leaving you just because we rode some fancy ass swings and God got pissy.”
Daya laughed. “Thanks, Bosc. I guess you’re right, kind of.”
“I’m always right.”
“That is so not true.”
“Name one thing I’ve ever been wrong about.”
“Didn’t you think Cheddar cheese was orange because it had sweet potatoes in it until you were, like, 17?”
“Shut up,” Bosco swatted the blonde playfully, who was looking down at her with a wry smile.

The line, though short, felt like an eternity. It made sense, she supposed. For something so simple with so much riding on it, it was hard not to feel antsy. It was the nerves for the ride, too. Bosco had never been thrilled at thrill rides. Though she loved Daya dearly, the idea of getting on a rickety ride that was planted here only by some nuts and bolts and pegs and wires was not her idea of a good time. Still, she would do it for Daya. She would do anything for Daya.

They reached the front of the line at last, and upon further inspection, they found a handful of two-seaters. They sat down in one quickly, ignoring the clearly disgruntled couples around them.
“If this doesn’t work, I just want you to know I’m still gonna spend my days kicking ass and baking with you,” Bosco said as she adjusted her metal bar.
“Will you keep doing these dumb quests with me if it fails?”
“You know I will.”
The attendant came around, checked their restraints, and before they knew it, they were off.

Bosco hadn’t done a lot of thrill rides for aforementioned reasons, but she had to admit, this one was pretty sweet. They soared through the crepuscule, the stars twinkling as they rose higher and higher. They felt close enough to touch. She could see downtown Augusta from up here, its historical buildings and towering chapels demarcated on the autumn sunset.

Despite the beautiful skyline, there was really only one view that Bosco was interested in: Daya. She made no sound, but her smile spoke a thousand words. Her blue eyes sparkled with ebullience, scanning her surroundings in wonder. She was radiant, she was luminous, she was glowing.

If only it weren’t so figurative.

The ride slowed, indicating its ending, and they both tuned to look at Daya’s body, eyes burning with hope and curiosity. Nothing. Her veins remained as blue and violet as ever, her skin emitted no glow. They had failed. The look of disappointment on Daya’s face spoke louder than her silence.

“Chin up, D,” Bosco said as helpfully as she could, placing a hand on her arm. “Even if it didn’t happen, we’ve got nothing but time to figure it out.”
They were on the ground now, taking their restraints off and exiting the area.
“I know, I just…” Daya started, then sighed. “I let myself get too hopeful, is all. I really thought this was it.”
“And that’s okay. You have every right to feel disappointed. But… try to look on the bright side. We’ve still got another year of each other’s bullshit ahead of us.“
The blonde smiled meekly. “Thanks, Bosc. Do you wanna go sit on the bridge and have a picnic?”
“You know it.”

Hand in hand, they walked to the river that cut the fair in half. There were several bridges, but one was pretty out of the way, so they opted to sit there, away from all of the patrons.
Opening her purse, Daya revealed an exorbitant amount of baked goods. Banana bread, apple crisp, maple beignets, and some more Bosco didn’t recall making. They sat on the wide concrete railing, eating as they talked.

“I had no clue this place even existed,” Bosco said, plucking a piece of banana bread from the container.
“Oh, yeah. Augusta goes hard for Halloween. This is actually the Fairgrounds for the State Fair, but they use it every Halloween.”
“That’s so cool. I’ve actually never been to a state fair.”
“You’ve what?” Daya’s eyes were wide.
“What? It’s not that big a deal, I just… never got around to it.”
“it’s, like, the best part of any state! It’s the one sliver of American Patriotism that I’m okay with.”

Bosco smirked, taking a bite of her banana bread. “Holy shit. Daya, how did your baking get better after it sat in your purse?”
“Humidity and moisture, probably. Either that, or you’re dehydrated. Here,” she reached into her bag once again and pulled out a bottle of water. “You haven’t had anything to drink all day, and we’ve done, like, a lot of shit today.”
“Thanks,” Bosco smiled, taking the plastic bottle and bringing it to her lips. It was inexplicably still cool, for reasons unbeknownst to her. “You haven’t had anything to drink, either. Are you good?”
“What are you talking about? Ghosts don’t need water.”
“Daya, you’ve been human for the last, like, 20 hours.”
“That would explain the headache.” Daya brought a hand to her head, rubbing her temple.

There was a long silence, the pair passing the water back and forth. It was reminiscent of their rooftop picnic, with the jug of apple cider and the cart. Daya must have made the connection, too.
“Hey, do you have your Robo-weed on you?”
“My… what?”
“You know, the weird dystopian cyber-weed that comes in a government-approved cartridge instead of a baggie.”
“Yeah, I have it. Do you want some?”
Daya nodded. Bosco handed her the device, watching as she took a long hit. She didn’t mean to stare, but she didn’t stop when she caught herself.

“I’m not ready to go back,” Daya said, her voice null of any indication of her mood.
“I get that,” Bosco said. “Maybe not exactly, but I sort of understand.”
“It’s hard.”
“I’d bet.”
“It’s just, like… nothing. Forever. You can’t feel the ground on your feet unless you’re using some crazy concoction of spells and magic, and keeping up the appearance of being physically human is only half of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re going off about half of the time. Your fridge has buttons on it. Your phone can play music through your car, and what’s more is it’s not even plugged into the car, or anything. Everyone is always saying some cool new word every week, and then they drop it and move onto the next. It’s like I’m pretending to pretend to be human.”

Bosco sat up, a little amused. The blonde didn’t seem upset, really, just a little bit… duller. “Did you not have slang in the ‘80s?”
“Well, no duh, but we used it for years. I mean, like, I still use most of it. I stopped using ‘bodacious’ after that Supermarket incident, but, like, the ‘80s were just better than this.”
Bosco gasped. “You take that back!”
“I’m serious! Our music was better, we had great hair, you didn’t get ID’d, like, ever, and everything was so cheap. I mean, honestly, it’s not like I dislike living in the future, but I could go on and on and-”

“Can I kiss you?”

Chapter Text

Daya froze, blinking. “Are you serious?”
“Maybe,” Bosco said. She couldn’t get a read on the blonde’s face. Was she upset? Stunned? Happy? There was no way to tell. “Is that okay?”
“I…” Daya shook the furrow from her brow. “Yeah,” she said with a smile. “No one’s ever asked me that before.”
“You’ve never been kissed?”
“No, nobody’s… asked, beforehand.”
There was a pause as the two looked at each other, Bosco digesting the information and Daya, looking on with a sheepish grin. Finally, she spoke. “I already said yes, B.”
Bosco laughed. The two leaned into each other, and it was like fireworks.

Bosco had known that she was in love for far longer than she’d ever care to admit. She knew that she would eventually make a move, but she never expected her first to be one of her biggest. Now, on Halloween, church bells ringing in the air around them, intertwined with a girl she’d only known a month but loved the whole time, her only regret was not doing it sooner. She was floating, she was glowing.

As was Daya.

Daya was the first to pull away, and Bosco quickly saw why.
“You’re glowing.”
“I am.”
A beat passed.
“How was I your unfinished business?”
“‘Kiss a pretty girl,’” Daya dug through her purse. “The one impossible task on my list. After I broke up with my last ex, three days before I died. I vowed it, too, real edgy shit.” She rolled her eyes, plucking the list from her bag. “I can’t believe that was it. It’s like-“

And then she was gone. There was the sound of air sucking, and Daya vanished.

“Daya?” She looked around. Was that it? Was that the last she would ever see of her? Thirty days together, neither one ever forgetting the other, but never crossing paths again? Her purse was still here, full of vintage makeup and pumpkin spice pastries. She would have left with it if she was gone forever, wouldn’t she have?
Bosco didn’t want to move from the spot. She couldn’t have her happy ending stripped from her so quickly, she wouldn’t. And so she waited. And waited. And waited. And waited.

What felt like an eternity passed, but what very well could have been a matter of minutes. Her heart was sinking deeper and deeper into her chest. No sound came from her mouth, no tear fell from her eyes, but some primal part of her was crying. To think that she risked so much and she lost it all, even if her end goal had been accomplished. She never would have asked had she known it would end like this. Never in a million years.

She stood up. There was no point in waiting for a girl who’d been dead thirty years. All she had left of her was her black leather purse, and the yellow lined paper with their adventures shakily crossed off of it. She looked at them. A token of everything they’d ever done together. Tears fought to be shed, but she blinked them into nothing, folding the paper neatly and placing it in that black purse she loved so much. She held it close to her chest as she began the walk to her car, wishing she hadn’t done it.

“Bosco, wait!”
She turned around, recognizing the voice of the girl she thought she had lost forever. She pushed through the crowd of people walking past.

She pushed through them. She didn’t phase through them.

“Daya!” She smiled. “Where’d you go?”
“I… I don’t really know. They said I was cleared to move on, though. I can go to whatever’s next.”
Bosco was gutted, devastated she let herself get her hopes up. She wasn’t coming back. She was just dropping by to say goodbye. One last trip to claim her purse, tell Bosco about some mysterious “they” pulling the strings, and leave. “So this is it, then?”
Daya’s blue eyes widened, her smile warm enough to start wildfires. “You’re really all looks, aren’t you?”
A beat passed, eyes still locked together as squints and smiles were shared. Daya shook her head with a silent laugh. “Of course this isn’t ‘it’. I didn’t fly with that, so they told me I could stay in my current form without the restrictions. Thing is, none of ‘em clocked that it was Halloween, or what my ‘current form’ was.”
“I don’t follow.”

Daya grinned. “I’ll tell you on the plane. For now… New Orleans?”

Chapter Text

Daya froze, eyes wide blinking. “What?”
Bosco couldn’t get a read on her. She seemed stunned. The words had already left her lips, so there was no point in trying to back down now. “I asked if I could kiss you.”
“I heard,” Daya’s eyes were darting around, like she was scanning their surroundings to ensure it was real. She didn’t seem angry, or happy, just… stunned.
“Are you okay?” Bosco reached for her hand, a gesture they shared often. Daya’s pale hand pulled away.
“As… as friends, right?”

Oh.

Bosco didn’t say anything, but her sharp inhale and hardening gaze must have clued Daya in.
“As friends, right?” Daya’s voice was louder now, shaking as she spoke. “Just as… friends.”
It was like it was all she could say. Four words were enough to bring her to this. Four words that couldn’t be unsaid. Four words that couldn’t be undone even by millions that could follow.

There was no returning. Had she been a little quicker, maybe there could have been. Maybe her smile could have stayed, even grown a little, at Daya’s response. Maybe she could have kept her tone, swatted her arm, and said “duh, as friends”, and everything could have been okay. She could have stayed quiet about how she felt. But she hadn’t been a little quicker. She hadn’t stayed smiling. She’d doubled down and now she was here.

“Just… forget I said anything.”
Daya’s blue eyes were weary. It was as if she had aged years in the last few moments. “I don’t think I can.”
They held each other’s gaze, both wanting the other to say something, neither one having the words.

“I’m sorry.”

They were flimsy, they were meek, they were infinitesimally small. Daya blinked hard, looking off. “Yeah,” she said coldly. “Yeah, I am, too.”
There was more silence. That stupid, somber silence that only felt this way when Daya was upset. It felt suffocating, deafening.
“I really thought we were good together,” Daya said. “I’d never had a friend get so close to me. You really did everything to try to understand me.”
We’re? I’d? Did? The words hit Bosco hard, like a sucker punch to the chest. Was it really enough to come to this? She could fix this.

“And I still will,” Bosco said, her composure unsteady at best. “It’s no big, really,” she tried to sound casual. “I mean, like, I’ve totally crushed on, like, all of my friends. It happens to the best of us, right?”
“Is that why you were so alone when I met you?” Daya was blunt with her lifeless words. “Has this been a pattern?”
“No!” She exclaimed. “No. It‘s happened before, but… never like this. I didn’t want to make things weird between us, D. Really, I didn’t. Y’know, it’s Halloween. The night’s not over! We can still go kick more ass at those carnival games, huh?”

Daya was almost staring past her, her words falling on deaf ears. “Maybe I’m too old fashioned. This might be okay in your day and age but… not mine. I’m sorry, Bosco, I just don’t think I can push past something like this. Not yet, at least. Maybe sometime, but not anytime soon.

Bosco was shellshocked. She knew she sounded sad when she said the words, pathetic even, but she really had hoped Daya would have been willing to forget about it.
She was angry. She was angry, and she was angry at herself for being angry. She stared ahead at Daya, who seemed to be checked out entirely.

“I’ll go,” she said, taking her bag.  
“I…” Daya began, and for a moment she thought she was going to stop her. Instead, she sighed. “Yeah. I don’t know, I’ll try to figure out where I’m staying. Thanks for hangin’ out with me, Bosc. I’ll see you around.”
No tears came, no pleading ensued. Instead, Bosco walked away.

She was heartbroken, devastated. She had only known the blonde for an October, but that October had been the greatest she’d ever lived through. She had never felt so happy and warm and full of love and life. To know that something as simple as loving her more than Daya loved her was enough to tear them apart in the ghost’s eyes, was sickening. There was no “what if” there was no “maybe”. Did she not care about Bosco as much as she thought she did? Was she just not brave enough to work past their disparity? Daya loved her, sure. What difference did it make that Bosco loved her in a different way?

The walk home was quiet. Even with the hordes of people on either side of her, laughing and talking and drinking, it was quiet. Even when she reached the people screaming way above as they soared through the air on different coasters and swings and rides, it was quiet. Even as balloons popped, and milk bottles fell down, and ping-pong balls plunked into little plastic cups with bright stuffed toys on huge lines overhead, it was quiet. It was quiet because the only noise she cared to hear was now gone.

The car ride home was not quiet. She couldn’t bear to sit in real silence. Her finger hesitated over her playlist. Their playlist. The playlist labeled “I’m better than you xoxo Daya” with a little smiley face. She didn’t think she ever wanted to hear it again, but she couldn’t get herself to delete it off her phone. Instead, she played another one. One her and Irene made when they were both teenagers and Bosco was going away to college for the first time. A reminder that she always had someone in her corner, even if they were far away.

She parked her car outside, walked up her too-many-flights-of-stairs, and walked inside. Rosie was asleep on her chair beside the big window. Bosco sat down beside her, letting the tortie nestle herself onto her lap. Her eye scanned the room for something. Someone. When she found no one, she lay her head down and fell asleep. Thunder boomed.

And it was the first time in 36 years that anyone mourned the loss of Daya Betty.