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Reaching their apartment, the familiar surroundings felt alien through Rowan's eyes. I saw their life, their world, from an intimate angle I never thought possible. The small details of their home, the pictures on the walls, the scent of their cologne lingering in the air – it was all so intensely personal.
Rowan hesitated at the door, turning to face where I would have been if I had a physical form. "I want to kiss you, Rayze. So fucking bad."
The longing in their voice resonated within me. "I want that too," I admitted. The frustration of being so close yet so far was maddening.
We leaned in together, Rowan's eyes closing, their lips parting slightly. I tried to manifest, to give them something tangible, but all I could muster was a cool breeze where my lips should have been.
Rowan opened their eyes, a look of disappointment and longing etched on their face. "Shit, Rayze. I felt that, but you're just... not here."
The ache in my non-existent heart was sharp. "I know, and I'm sorry. This is all I can give you."
Rowan sighed, running a hand through their hair. "It's not your fault. This is just... a lot to take in."
I wanted to comfort them, to hold them, but all I could offer were words. "I'm here, Rowan. In every way that I can be."
Rowan nodded, a small smile playing on their lips despite the sadness in their eyes. "I know. And I appreciate it. It's just... hard."
"Yeah, I get it." The word 'hard' echoed in my mind, a cruel reminder of what I couldn't physically feel or give.
Rowan moved through the apartment, their movements fluid and graceful, a dance I was intimately part of yet still an observer to. The duality of our existence in that moment was a strange ballet of nearness and distance.
They poured themselves a drink, the liquid amber in the glass catching the light. "You want anything?" they joked, a half-hearted attempt at lightening the mood.
I laughed internally. "Yeah, pour me a ghost whiskey, will you?"
Rowan chuckled, taking a sip of their drink. "If only it were that easy."
We settled on the couch, the familiar contours of the furniture a bizarre sensation through Rowan's body. I could feel the softness of the cushions, the warmth of their body, yet I was still a wisp of air, a whisper in their mind.
Rowan's hand brushed where mine would have been, a symbolic gesture that sent waves of longing through both of us. "This is so fucked up, Rayze. I feel you, but I can't touch you. I want you, but you're just... air."
I felt their frustration, their desire, as if it were my own. "I know. Believe me, I know. If I could be more, I would. In a heartbeat."
We sat in silence, the tension and unspoken words hanging heavily between us. The desire was palpable, a tangible force that neither of us could act on.
Rowan stood up abruptly, pacing the room. "I can't fucking stand this. I want you, Rayze. Your touch, your body, all of you. But all I have is this... ghost."
The pain in their voice was a dagger to my soul. "I'm sorry, Rowan. This is all I am. A ghost. A memory of a life long gone."
Rowan stopped, turning towards me. "But you're here, in my head. You're real to me, Rayze."
Their words were a balm to the endless ache of my existence. "And you're everything to me, Rowan. In a way I never thought possible."
As the night wore on, we talked, shared stories, and laughed, creating a bond that transcended physical limitations. But the longing, the need for more, lingered like a shadow, a constant reminder of the chasm between us.
Finally, Rowan stood up, their expression resigned. "I should try to sleep. This has been... a lot."
I felt a pang of loss at the thought of leaving their side. "I'll go, give you some space."
"No, stay. Please." Rowan's voice was soft, vulnerable. "I don't want to be alone tonight."
"Okay, I'll stay. As long as you want me."
They nodded, a small smile on their lips as they headed to the bedroom. I followed, a silent guardian in the night, watching over them as they drifted into sleep.
The cool breeze of my presence was a faint comfort in the darkness, a ghostly caress in a world of unfulfilled desires. As Rowan slept, I lingered, a spectral presence bound to the one person who had touched my soul in over a century.
Returning to La Societe de la Nuit after my ethereal encounter with Rowan felt like stepping back into a world I no longer belonged to. The club's pulsing energy, once so familiar, now seemed distant, a backdrop to the turmoil swirling in my ghostly form.
