ghost. [blane rekner]

synopsis: Blane contemplates an impossible relationship. 

Your fingers trail Blane’s arm and they shiver, eyes fluttering shut.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” you whisper.

Blane’s breath hitches. Every single touch, every breath you breathe on their skin, they adore—they’ve never been able to hide it from you. Your fingers trail higher, up Blane’s forearm and to their neck. A shiver rolls through their body.

“What are you doing?” they ask.

“Do you trust me?”

Blane only hesitates for a second before answering, “Yes.”

“Then close your eyes.”

They do as they’re told and, a moment later, they feel your lips brush over the sensitive area of their neck. A gasp escapes from them, pitching higher when you shift part of your weight onto their body. Your knees are still on the bed and you’re keeping yourself hovered above Blane, but you’re close enough that you’re practically touching.

You are touching.

“Name…” Blane groans.

You hum your response against Blane’s throat, sending vibrations down their body. Any other words are severed from Blane’s mind as you kiss your way up their neck and to their jawline. One hand is clutching their hair, fingers looped around white locks.

One of Blane’s hands reaches up to wrap around your waist but you swat it away. They want to try again but they don’t, distracted as you move your lips to hover over theirs. It’s all they can do not to surge up and meet you—they know you’ll just pull away.

“Stop teasing me,” Blane protests.

“What do you want?” you whisper in reply. Your breath is warm against their skin.

Blane swallows. Shouldn’t that be obvious? They know you know the answer, but you just want to hear it from them. “For you to kiss me.”

Though you’re not touching, they feel you smile. “Whatever you wish.”

You move down to meet their lips but before they can touch, you’re gone. Blane startles and shoots straight up in their bed. They glance over at their clock, but they don’t need to look to know what time it is. 4 AM. The time they always wake up from these kinds of dreams.

If they squeezed their eyes shut and fell back against their pillow, maybe they’d return to you and that dream, but once they’re awake, they can never go back to sleep. Settling back into their blanket, they stare at the ceiling.

They’ve had multiple iterations of that dream before. Sometimes, they’re more domestic, the knowledge that you’re in a relationship buried at the back of Blane’s mind as the two of you cuddle on the couch. Other times, they’re more realistic, stealing kisses in the hallway at IAOS, keeping the new romance hidden until you figured it out. And sometimes, like the last time, it’s pure bliss: the two of you at the bookstore and Blane gazing at you as you browse, their eyes nowhere near the shelves.

Each time, their subconscious has reached for something that could never be. They never thought their own mind could be cruel to them, but there you were. Taunting them, teasing them.

Blane has never truly understood how people fell for someone until they fell for you.

All they want to do is kiss you. Cup your cheek and lean in to press their lips softly to yours. Kiss until both your lips are swollen and bruised. Until you pull away gasping but with a wide smile and dilated pupils and an urge to do it all over again.

But Blane is too much of a coward to admit that to you, knowing how slim the chances are that you reciprocate those feelings. How could you, when they’ve been nothing but horrible to you? And if by some miracle you did, you deserve better than someone like Blane.

They can barely pull themselves into some semblance of a person for themself. They wouldn’t know where to start with you.

So, instead, they settle for the dreams. For the ghost of you and the relationship that could be. Even if you evaporate each time they think they’re about to get their wish.