AN: This got cut from my story, but I still had to write it.

He knew he was dreaming before he ever opened his eyes.

The air was heavy, quite and filled with a beautiful scent that wafted along, soothing any fear he might have felt. The warmth from his body scorched him under the thick blanket as his shoulders hunched together to keep the warmth from escaping into the cool night.

Slowly, languidly he lifted his lids to be blinded by darkness so absolute there was nothing for him to see. He blinked sluggishly, and with time his eyes adjusted. From the canopy of his bed, long thin sheets of sheer lace blew gently in the breeze, caressing the bed and him under the blanket, glowing in the filtered moonlight. Were he awake, the moon’s light would have filled the room brightly, leaving only dense shadows in the corners. Only in a dream could the moon appear so dim and melancholy.

Night sounds were distant and muffled. There was a cicada, far off and it’s song was far more gentle than any he had ever heard upon waking. He blinked up at the full moon peeking in through his window, knowing that aside from the beauty of this dream, he didn’t want to be having it.

Nothing good could come from this dream, he felt.

More of an impression than any feeling felt, there was a slight whisper of a movement beside him on the bed. His eyes slide closed and he swallowed, hard. Without opening his eyes, he turned his head and faced that which lay beside him.

Gently, ever so softly, he felt the cool touch of fingers against his cheek, then his lips. One finger traced his lips before the whole of the hand cupped his jaw and he opened his eyes. He stared into the darkened blue eyes of his lover. Dark with a knowledge and a great sadness found at that knowledge.

He sucked in a deep breath and blinked away the sting of tears. It took him several tries and wetting his lips twice before he found his voice. He spoke softly and gently, half afraid to break this dream, half afraid this wasn’t him losing his mind.

“You’re dead.”

The man in the bed with him nodded slowly, but firmly. He screwed his eyes shut upon the onslaught of tears and could not open them again without fear of disgracing himself. Another swallow and wetting of his lips passed before he forced himself to look at his dead lover.

The man stared at him, drinking in his features as the ghost did likewise. The hand on his cheek was still cool, no warmth to be imparted or embedded from his own skin.

Dead.

He sniffed back more tears and dared his own touch. The form didn’t waver, nor diminish. Bold now, he slipped his hand onto his chest and held trembling fingers over where his heart should have been beating steadily. He stared at his fingers, barely touching, so dark compared to the ghost’s white skin, pale in life, blanched in death.

Nothing. Dead.

A trembling took his body and his breath quickened. It wasn’t fear that held him so, but grief. This man was the love of his soul. His other half.

Frantically, his gaze returned to the blue one, their noses almost touching as they lay together one last time.

“I don’t want to live without you,” he whispered brokenly. The hand on his face moved to brush a thumb along his lips as he spoke. The ghost stared at him, the eyes a glimpse into its soul. He remained still. So vibrant in life, so silent in death.

Then his trembling stopped as he exhaled deeply. He didn’t close his eyes, too afraid to lose sight of that which lay before him for such a short time. His body relaxed and he curled tighter into himself, although not away from the ghost. His hand left the cold chest and found his hand, entangling their fingers. He squeezed tightly, feeling sold flesh and bone in his grip.

He didn’t say it. He very rarely said it when he was alive, and found he could not say it even now. He lipped the words, his eyes closed, against the ghost’s fingers, tears dripping off his nose.

The ghost’s only response was a tightening of his fingers and his thumb brushing against his lips once again. He couldn’t open his eyes again, sleep once again impressing itself upon him. His breath deepened.

As he drifted off to sleep once again, he had the presence of mind to whisper one last word.

“Goodbye.”