atlas-of-a-human-soul
atlas-of-a-human-soul
Atlas of a human soul
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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 5 days ago
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What remains of us, pt. 5
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Summary: During an argument, Y/N accidentally sends Wally to his worst nightmare.
Warnings: death, angst, mentions of mental health issues, fluff, mentions of a SCHOOL SHOOTING, swearing
Word count: 2.4k
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
The rain comes down heavy, soaking through Y/N’s clothes as she storms across the field. Her hands are clenched into fists, her breath coming fast and uneven, but she doesn’t care. She barely feels the cold, barely notices the way the wet grass sticks to her sneakers. All she sees is him, Wally’s standing at the edge of the field, a football in his hands, his head slightly bowed like he’s lost in thought.
Her steps slow for just a second. He looks… different like this. Drenched, hair plastered to his forehead, his hoodie hanging heavy from the rain. His shoulders are tense, and when he finally lifts his head to look at her, his eyes shift from frightened to confused.
She doesn’t give him a chance to speak. If she does, she’ll lose her nerve.
“You lied to me!” The words come out sharp, cutting through him like a knife, ensuring he feels the hurt twisting deep inside her chest.
Wally stiffens, his grip tightening around the football like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “Y/N -”
“You never even gave me a choice!” she yells over him, stepping closer, ignoring the way the mud squelches beneath her feet. “You let me think there was no way out of this, that this -” she gestures between them, between the two of them trapped in this place, “ - was all there was! You took away my right to decide for myself!”
Wally’s eyes darken with guilt, his face open, raw, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. “I didn’t want to lose you,” he says, and the way his voice wavers nearly makes her falter. Nearly.
She lets out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Well, you might have just done exactly that.”
Wally takes a step forward, but she takes one back. He stops, hurt flashing across his face, and it takes everything in her not to look away.
A moment of silence. Then, quieter, more fragile, she asks, “Did you love her?”
His breath catches. Of course, she knows… if she knows about moving on, she’d surely know about her. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak right away, but then his head bows, his shoulders curving inward. And then, finally, reluctantly, he replies.
“Yes.”
The word is quiet, but it may as well have been a gunshot to her heart. She feels like the ground beneath her has cracked open. Her chest tightens, her throat burns, and she hates this, hates the way it makes her feel like something inside her is shattering.
She swallows hard, trying to keep her voice steady. “Then what am I to you, Wally?”
His head snaps up, eyes desperate. “You’re not…you’re not some replacement, Y/N. That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?” she demands, voice shaking. “Because right now, I feel like just another ghost you’re keeping around because you don’t want to be alone.”
His jaw clenches. “It’s not like that,” he insists, stepping forward again, and this time she doesn’t move away. He hesitates, searching her face. “The moment I saw you, I felt, God, I don’t even know how to explain it. It was like… I finally understood what all those books, those stories, were talking about. I don’t believe in fate, but you, Y/N, I can’t be without you. I just…” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “I was scared, okay? Scared that if you knew, you’d leave, and I can’t -”
She cuts him off, her voice raw. “So, you lied instead? You let me believe I had no way out?” Her hands shake at her sides. “That’s not love, Wally. That’s selfish.”
“I know,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I know.”
The worst part is, she knows he means it. He’s not defending himself, not trying to justify it. He’s just standing there in the rain, looking like he’s breaking apart, and she hates that she still cares. Hates that she wants to reach for him and comfort him until his smile returns.
But she can’t. Not right now.
He swallows hard and shrugs off his jacket, stepping forward again, lifting it to place it over her shoulders. “Please,” he murmurs, “just let me -”
Something in her snaps. Maybe it’s the way he’s trying to take care of her like that will fix anything, or maybe it’s just all the emotions clawing inside her, desperate to get out. Either way, she shoves against his chest with everything she has.
Wally flies backward.
The football is tight in his grasp as he lands hard on the wet grass, and before she can even process what just happened, there’s a flash of violent red.
And then he’s gone.
Y/N stands there, rain soaking through her clothes, breath coming in short gasps. For a moment, she just stares at the empty space where he was, her mind refusing to comprehend it.
“Wally?”
Silence.
She lets out a shaky laugh, taking a step toward the field. “Okay, very funny,” she calls out. “You can get your ass back here now so I can yell at you some more.”
Nothing.
Thunder rumbles above, the sky flashing white for half a second.
Her stomach twists.
“Wally!” Her voice is louder now, filled with panic as she moves further onto the field. “Come on, stop messing around!”
Still, nothing.
Her chest tightens, something cold curling around her insides. Her pulse races, for the first time since she died she can feel her dead heart beating, but right now, it feels like she’s suffocating due to it.
She stumbles forward, heart pounding, calling his name over and over in despair, but the only answer she gets is the steady, relentless pounding of the rain.
And that’s when she realizes, really realizes, why it hurts so much. Why every breath feels heavier. Why the thought of losing him feels like an unbearable weight pressing down on her chest.
It’s because she’s in love with him.
She’s in love with Wally, and she might have just lost him.
Gasping for air, she lies in the grass where she last saw Wally. The field is flooding, the ground is cold and punishing.
I deserve it. She remains in the grass where she last touched him, letting her tears mix with rain. Her hands are still curled into fists as if her body is stuck in the moment she shoved him away. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was supposed to be angry, supposed to yell at him and make him feel the way he made her break. But not this. She didn’t want this.
Wally is gone.
A sob rips from her throat, her chest aching in ways that death never prepared her for. The pain is worse than she ever felt before – worse than getting shot in the chest.
She always does this – running from her feelings, stuffing them down until she explodes. It helped her become a doctor, because she could lose a patient she cared about and still move on with her day. Still function. Still breathe.
“Emotionally constipated,” she used to joke with her therapist as if it wasn’t a real problem. As if she wasn’t in chronic pain every day of her life because her body experienced all the emotions her heart and mind refused to acknowledge.
She saw no issue with it.
Until now.
Now, it feels like her heart is caving in, like every unsaid word is echoing in her mind – too late, too late, too late.
She never got to tell him.
Her voice shakes, barely more than a whisper, but the words slip out anyway. “I think I love you.”
She closes her eyes, hoping…praying that wherever he is, Wally feels the weight of her words for she never uttered them before to any man. Not once. Even now, she says them to a ghost who isn’t even there anymore.
She swallows, pressing a trembling hand to her chest. It’s a cruel joke, falling in love only to lose him in the same breath. It’s punishment for being too afraid, for pushing him away when she should have held on tighter.
Did he move on?
It’s a kinder thought than the one truly worrying her, the one that makes her ribs feel like they’re cracking under its weight.
Is he dead?
Truly dead, this time?
She shakes her head, refusing to accept it, refusing to believe that he’s just… gone. He wouldn’t leave her. He couldn’t. Not like this. Not when he promised.
But the field is empty. The air is still. And Wally is nowhere to be found.
She stays there long after the last drop of rain has taken its journey to earth. The storm fades, the sky turning a dull, endless gray, but she doesn’t move.
Leaving feels like giving up.
Like accepting he’s gone for good.
And she can’t.
The guilt and regret eat at her, making it hard to breathe. She turns onto her side, curling in on herself as if that might ease the ache. It doesn’t.
She replays everything in her head, over and over. The way he looked at her, so desperate, so afraid. The way his voice cracked when he said he didn’t want to lose her. The way she shoved him, too caught up in her own pain to realize what she was doing until it was too late.
She should have listened. She should have stayed. She should have let him explain.
But she didn’t.
And now she’s here, alone, staring at the empty space where he used to be, where he should be. A fresh wave of grief washes over her, pressing down on her chest, suffocating. She whispers his name, hoping, pleading.
But the wind doesn’t carry his laughter back to her.
“Come back”, she croaks.
Wally crashes face-first into the soaked field with the first rays of light, the impact sending a spray of rainwater into the air. His body trembles, his breath ragged, hands clawing at his neck as he lets out a raw, agonized scream. His eyes are wide, unfocused, sheer terror painted across his face.
Without hesitation, she throws herself to his side, hands cupping his cold, rain-slicked cheeks. “Wally! Hey, hey, you’re okay,” she breathes, trying to keep her voice steady, but he’s lost somewhere deep in his panic.
His fingers grip his throat like he’s trying to rip something away. His whole body shakes violently, chest heaving, breath coming in quick, shallow gasps.
“Wally, look at me,” she pleads, running her thumbs over his damp skin. “Breathe, okay? You’re okay. You’re here with me. I’m here.”
He gasps, eyes darting wildly until they finally land on her. A shudder runs through him, his grip on his neck loosening slightly. She holds him tighter, grounding him, keeping him here. “That’s it,” she soothes, brushing back his drenched hair, her fingers lingering a little longer than necessary. “You’re okay.”
His breathing slows, his chest rising and falling in deep, uneven waves. Then, without warning, he pulls her into him. His arms wrap around her so tightly she feels as if he might crush her, but she doesn’t fight it. She melts into him, letting him bury his face in the crook of her neck, his breath hot against her skin. Then, his lips. A light, barely there touch against the sensitive skin of her neck.
She shivers, her entire body betraying her, heat rushing to her cheeks.
He chuckles, low and smug. “I felt that,” he murmurs, voice rough like he’s been screaming for hours.
She groans, dropping her forehead onto his shoulder. “Shut up.”
Still, his arms don’t loosen. If anything, they tighten, like he’s afraid she’ll slip away if he lets go.
“I heard your voice,” he says suddenly. "I followed it...followed my heart."
She frowns, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “What do you mean?”
Wally swallows hard. His eyes, usually so full of mischief, are distant now. “Where did you go?” she asks, heart hammering.
“Into my scar,” he says, voice hollow. “A scar is the key to moving on… It’s a door. When you step through it, you go into a hellscape version of how you died. It - it preys on your worst fears. You have to find a way through it to move on, but… I never have.”
Her fingers dig into the fabric of his soaked shirt. “You’ve been stuck in that place? Wally, how do you get out?”
He exhales, shaking his head. “I’m not sure. Usually, I just have to fight to leave, but tonight…I followed your voice to safety.”
Suppressing a cocky smile, she nods. “But how does anyone get through it then?
“I don’t know,” he admits. “No one ever came back to tell me the secret. Some ghosts have passed on without their scar, though. I guess they just… found peace. Let go.”
His words settle like stones in her chest. “Then why haven’t you?”
He shrugs, but she can tell he’s haunted by it. “I wish I knew.”
A silence stretches between them, filled only by the soft patter of the last raindrops sliding off the rooftops, the distant chirping of waking birds, the golden-pink light spreading across the sky. The storm is over.
And yet, inside her, the storm still rages.
“I’m sorry I sent you to your own personal hell.”
He chuckles. “Now I know never to make you mad. Who knew such a cutie could be so scary?”
Rolling her eyes, she relaxes in his embrace. “Just…don’t lie to me again.”
Wally leans his forehead against hers, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, the words carrying the weight of everything unsaid. “I would’ve told you. Eventually. Also, I, uh...I'm not in love with my ex anymore.”
"But you said -"
"I know. You asked if I loved her and the answer is yes. Because I did. Not anymore. Not for a long time."
Her breath hitches. Her lips tremble, but she says nothing. Instead, she lets her actions speak.
She presses her lips to his.
The world fades.
He holds his breath, his hands flexing against her waist before pulling her closer, like she’s the only thing tethering him to this world. The kiss is slow, unhurried, but there’s something desperately needy beneath it, like two souls crashing together after lifetimes of searching.
Her fingers slip into his wet hair, nails grazing his scalp as she deepens the kiss, pouring every ounce of unspoken feeling into it. The storm may have passed, but here, in his arms, she’s still drowning in emotions she never dared to feel.
The sunrise spills over them, golden light mixing with the last remnants of rain, reminding them that every storm ends. Maybe the world is trying to tell her something. Maybe endings aren’t always what they seem.
Maybe, just maybe, it’s just their beginning.
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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 9 days ago
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"i want whatever is going on between us to get better, d e e p e r"
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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 9 days ago
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What remains of us, pt. 4
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Summary: With the past catching up to Y/N and Wally, things may soon change.
Warnings: death, angst, mentions of mental health issues, fluff, mentions of a SCHOOL SHOOTING, swearing
Word count: 2.9k
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
Y/N lays on the cold, unforgiving tiles of the hallway – the same one she took her last breath in. The ceiling above her stretches into endless nothingness, flickering fluorescent lights flicker, casting a dull glow over her. She comes here often, drawn to this place like a tide to the shore. It calls to her, drawing her in, and she lets it. She allows the waves to wash near her but tonight, something feels different.
The silence presses down on her chest, thick and suffocating, the waves are crashing over her, pulling her under.
Then…
A breath. A gasp, sharp and full of fear.
But it isn’t hers.
It’s her, but not now.
The memory slams into her like a freight train, tearing her away from the present and plunging her into the past.
The hallway isn’t quiet anymore. It echoes with the distant rhythmic click of her own footsteps. She’s moving, shoulders tense, fingers curling into fists at her sides. There’s something wrong. She knows it before she even turns the corner.
And as she does, her breath stutters. She isn’t alone. A figure, half-hidden in the dim light steps in front of her.
The gun. She sees it clearly, a finger on the trigger. Black metal. Cold. Unforgiving. Pointed straight at her.
Her stomach twists violently. A step back. Her heel scuffs against the tile.
The world slows.
She wants to run. Her legs won’t move. A bead of sweat trails down her spine.
She hears it. The gunshot. It rips through the silence, deafening, consuming. A burst of fire explodes in her chest.
Pain is unbearable, white, hot, tearing through her like a blade. She staggers, vision fracturing, mouth opening in a strangled, soundless cry.
Dark navy blue pants, a light shirt. That’s the last thing she sees before the floor rushes up to meet her.
Then…
Nothing….
That’s when she hears a voice. Urgent, desperate.
"Y/N!"
She blinks. And then she gasps. Her body jerks as she is pulled from the memory, her limbs trembling, lungs clawing for air she no longer needs.
Wally.
His face hovers above hers panicked, his hands gripping her shoulders.
"Hey! Hey, come back to me." His voice cracks, fingers pressing against her skin as if to anchor her in the present.
Her chest rises and falls in uneven shudders, the remnants of the past still clinging to her, suffocating. She stares at him, but she can’t quite make out the features of his beautiful face with the echoes of a gunshot still ringing in her ears.
"Y/N, you’re okay," Wally says, softer now. "You’re here. You’re with me."
The world around her realigns.
The past fades.
Wally remains.
And she throws herself at him.
His arms catch her instantly, wrapping around her as she buries her face in his shoulder. Her body trembles against his, shaking with something she refuses to name: grief, fear, and now relief.
"Whoa," he exhales, surprised, but his usual teasing lilt is weak. "If you wanted to get in my arms, sweetheart, you just had to say so."
She lets out a strangled laugh, barely a sound at all, and he stiffens.
It’s not the time. She doesn’t need to be cheered up. She needs comfort. And so, for once, he doesn’t joke. His arms tighten around her, a steady warmth against the cold that lingers beneath her skin. One hand slides up, fingers threading through her hair as he presses his chin against the top of her head.
She clings to him like he’s the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.
Maybe he is.
"It’s okay," he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. "I got you."
Her fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket. She squeezes her eyes shut, focusing on the steady rise and fall of his chest, the solid presence of him beneath her touch.
She doesn’t know how long they stay like that. Minutes. Hours. An eternity.
But eventually, the shaking subsides.
Eventually, the echoes of the past quiet.
And eventually, she exhales.
Slow. Steady.
Wally doesn’t let go.
Not yet.
Not until she’s ready.
Y/N refused to speak about it after, despite Wally’s gentle questions and well-meaning hugs. The flashes of her death left her weakened for days. When she woke up in the spirit world, Y/N had no idea she died. She barely remembered anything of the death defining moment and while she did wonder, the last thing Y/N wanted was to relive it. Her last moments were filled with terror and immense pain she never wanted to feel again. When she drew her last breath of life, Y/N was alone... as she was in life, so she was at the end of it all.
Alone and scared, bleeding out…seeing dark, navy blue pants.
"The shooter is in the same wing. You'll have to be quick."
"How will I know who he is? I could run straight into him and not even know it!"
"White shirt and khakis. He's in his thirties, you'll be able to tell."
Didn’t they say the shooter was wearing khakis?
Wetting her lips, she shakes her head. She can’t trust her memory of that day – any of it. There’s little to no proof anything she saw was real. In fact, nothing except Wally is a certainty – he’s definitely real. This world might be the furthest thing from what she wanted in her afterlife, but having Wally erases all the doubt, and for once, she’s the one distracting him. He’s been too worried about her lately and she really can’t handle another moment of it.
“You ready, Mr. Football?” Y/N stretches her arms over her head, rolling her shoulders like she’s preparing for the Olympics. She’d seen Wally do it whenever he taught her how to play football and it wasn’t lost on him.
Wally leans against the wall, arms crossed, smirking. “Oh, absolutely, Dr. Cutie.”
She swats his arm, but there’s no heat behind it, just the flicker of a hidden smile. “That’s not even a good comeback.”
“It’s the best comeback,” he argues, grinning. “It implies you’re both intelligent and adorable.”
Y/N groans, rubbing her temples in exasperation. “Let’s just race already.”
“Fine, fine,” Wally relents, pushing off the wall. “Hallway dash. First one to the trophy case wins.”
They stand side by side, nothing but their breathing breaking the silence in the empty hallway. The tiles gleam under the dim school lights, stretching ahead like an open runway.
“On three,” Y/N declares. “One… two -”
She bolts.
“Hey!” Wally laughs, sprinting after her.
Her laughter echoes as she flies down the corridor, the sound of their footsteps echoing. For a second, he almost forgets they’re ghosts, that this school isn’t really his anymore and they’re not teenagers. At this moment, it’s just them, racing like nothing else in the world matters.
Y/N’s ahead, but barely. Wally could catch up. Easily.
Instead, he stumbles, very convincingly, right before the finish line, letting out a dramatic, “Oh nooo!” as he pretends to trip.
Y/N skids to a stop, throwing her arms up in victory. “Yes! I won!”
She turns, finding him sprawled on the floor, grinning up at her. “Wow, what horrible luck,” she teases. “Did gravity betray you, Mr. Football?”
Wally props himself up on his elbows, watching her laugh, the way her eyes crinkle at the corners, the way she tilts her head back slightly. It’s unguarded, warm, effortless.
Like his favorite song.
Like something he wants to replay over and over, until he’s memorized every note.
“Are you just gonna stare at me, or are you getting up?” she teases, hands on her hips.
Wally blinks, shaking himself out of it. “I dunno,” he says, a lazy grin creeping back onto his face. “I kinda like the view from here.”
Y/N rolls her eyes but turns away, walking toward the trophy cases. The moment shifts as she pauses, eyes scanning the golden awards gleaming behind the glass.
She stops in front of a row of trophies, her expression softening. “You won all these?” she asks, glancing at him.
Wally rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah. Football, mostly. Some track.”
Her fingers trace the edge of the glass, stopping on a framed photo of a younger him, grinning in his letterman jacket. She'd definitely crush on him if she went to high school at the same time. His yearbook photo is positioned right next to his MVP trophies.
“Oh. My. God.” Y/N gasps, and before Wally can react, she breaks the glass, pulling the photo out. The glass and original photo reset immediately after.
“Hey!” he exclaims, suddenly very aware of how cringy that picture is.
Y/N bites her lip, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Look at this senior picture,” she teases, holding it up like it’s evidence of a crime. “This haircut? This pose?”
“Okay, no-” Wally lunges for it.
She yelps, dodging him at the last second. “Oh no, I must preserve this. This is history.”
Wally makes another grab, but she’s quick, spinning away, laughing as he chases her in circles.
They grapple playfully, his fingers curling around her wrist, but she twists free, their breathless laughter mingling in the quiet hallway.
She miscalculates a step, and suddenly, Wally’s hand finds her waist, steadying her against a wall before she can stumble.
The laughter fades.
They’re close.
Too close.
Y/N’s chest rises and falls against his. His hand lingers at her waist, her fingers still clutching the photo between them. Their noses almost brush.
A flicker of something passes between them. A pull, a question neither of them dares to ask aloud. His eyes drop to her lips. Hers do the same.
Wally leans in…
The sound of footsteps.
They jump apart.
Yuri passes by, completely oblivious, heading toward the far end of the hallway.
Y/N swallows hard, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Wally shoves his hands into his pockets, suddenly very interested in the floor.
An awkward silence settles. Was he going to kiss her? Y/N bites her lower lip, wishing they could have stayed that close for a moment longer, for in that moment she felt alive again – as if her heart was beating out of her chest and she couldn’t explain why, but she could swear it happened only when Wally is close to her. It can’t be a coincidence. If Wally had kissed her, she wouldn’t be able to deny it anymore – she’d be unable to hide just how foolishly fast she allowed herself to care for him.
“So,” Y/N says, clearing her throat. “Still want your picture back?”
Wally exhales a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You can keep it,” he mutters.
Y/N smirks, tucking the photo into her back pocket. “Good. It’s a collector’s item now.”
He rolls his eyes, but there’s no hiding the lingering smile on his face. “Well, I’m sure my photo is enjoying where it is right now.”
Snorting, she walks backward. “I was thinking we could grab some chips from the cafeteria. Or do you want something else?”
“Nah, I’ve got a stash under the bleachers. Gonna go and kick the ball for a while.”
Oh.
Nodding, she heads to the cafeteria on her own.
Y/N peels her banana slowly, watching raindrops streak the cafeteria window. The parking lot is dark, empty, and eerily still. She should be used to this by now, the stillness and quiet, but something about tonight makes her restless.
Maybe it’s the almost kiss.
Maybe it’s the fact that Wally actually let her go alone. He never does that. Ever.
She takes a bite of the banana, chewing over her frustration. Freakin’ Yuri and his perfectly bad timing. He never leaves his little pottery dungeon, and this is the moment he chooses to wander the halls? Unreal.
A shadow shifts in her peripheral vision.
She stiffens, grip tightening around the fruit. Before she can turn, a voice cuts through the silence.
“You know,” Xavier says smoothly, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone actually eat the cafeteria fruit before.”
Y/N nearly jumps out of her seat, whipping around to find Xavier standing way too close. “God, can you not do that?” she exclaims, pressing a hand to her chest. “Give a girl a warning.”
He raises his hands, palms up, feigning innocence. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
She exhales, studying him. Even in the dim light, his electric blue eyes seem to glow. His gaze is steady, unblinking and sharp in a way that makes her skin prickle.
“You do that a lot,” she mutters.
He tilts his head. “Do what?”
“Stare,” she says, suppressing a shudder. “It’s kinda freaky.”
A flicker of something crosses his face before he looks away… Amusement? Sadness? “Yeah,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “My friends used to say the same thing. They’d remind me to blink every once in a while.”
She arches a brow. “Used to?”
Xavier nods, his thin lips curving into a small, rueful smile. “Yeah. Can’t do that anymore.”
Silence stretches between them. The rain outside is getting heavier now, a steady patter against the windows.
Y/N frowns. “What do you mean?”
He leans against the table, fingers tracing idle patterns on its surface. “They graduated,” he says simply. “And I didn’t.”
A strange chill creeps up her spine. She sets down the banana, suddenly not hungry anymore. “You mean you -”
“Died?” He finishes for her, still not looking at her. “Yeah.”
Her breath catches. She’s not sure why she was surprised, of course, he’s a ghost, she knew that, but the way he said it, so flat and matter-of-fact, made something twist in her chest.
“How?” she asks before she can stop herself.
Xavier lets out a quiet breath, his fingers stilling against the table. “Prolonged brain bleed,” he says.
Y/N’s stomach knots. “…From what?”
His lips quirk, like he’s amused by her morbid curiosity. “Got hit by a car,” he explains. “Should’ve died then, honestly. But I didn’t. I recovered. Everyone said it was a miracle.”
There’s no relief in his voice. No sense of victory.
“Then,” he continues, “a few months later, I fell in the library. Hit my head.”
Y/N’s blood runs cold.
“Repeated head trauma,” Xavier says casually. “Second brain bleed was the one that did it.”
She stares at him, throat tight. “That’s -”
“ - pathetic?” he finishes, a humorless smile playing at his lips. “Yeah, I know.”
“No,” she says quickly. “I mean, it’s awful.”
Xavier shrugs like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t matter.
But it does.
Y/N swallows the lump in her throat. “Why do you stay alone?”
His gaze flickers to hers, something unreadable in his eyes. Then, he exhales, leaning back against the table. “I wasn’t always alone. My girlfr...my friend got her body back,” he says.
Y/N blinks. “…Her body back?”
He nods. “She was body-hijacked by an angry ghost. But she managed to fight her way back. She lived. She couldn’t see me after that.”
“That’s…” Y/N shakes her head, trying to process it. “That’s insane.”
Xavier just shrugs again. “Yeah. It was.”
Her mind reels. “And you didn’t want to hang out with anyone after?”
His jaw tightens slightly. “Not really. Her ghostly ex and his friends were still around for a while. And I wasn’t exactly interested in being part of that crowd.”
Y/N frowns, still stuck on what he said. “…Ghostly ex?”
Xavier’s lips curl into a slow, knowing smile.
“You know him, actually.”
Her breath stutters.
No.
No, he can’t possibly be implying what she thinks he’s implying.
“Wally.”
Everything inside her goes cold.
She stares at Xavier, her mouth suddenly dry. “What?”
Xavier’s expression doesn’t change. “Wally was her ex. If you can even call him an ex…They never really broke up. She simply came back to life and he…didn’t.”
A pit opens in her stomach.
Wally had a girlfriend? Another ghost? And he never told her?
She feels stupid. She wasn’t as special as he made it seem.
But Xavier’s not done.
“And some of his friends?” he adds. “They moved on.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut.
She stares at him, her mind whirling. Wally’s friends moved on? But, he never told her that was possible. Wally said that they were stuck.
That he was stuck.
That she was stuck.
He lied.
Her hands curl into fists.
Wally had someone else. He never told her. And worse of all, he let her believe they were all trapped here.
That there was no escape.
That there was nothing else.
And he let her….he let her trust him. He let her fall for his charming smile and flirtatious one-liners, and she sat as he serenaded her like a sheep he was leading on, stupid and naïve.
Oh. Oh, this hurts. It hurts worse than the gunshot that took her life.
Her chest tightens, her vision blurring slightly. Anger and betrayal swirl together, heavy and suffocating.
Xavier watches her, quiet, studying her reaction.
Y/N exhales shakily, forcing herself to keep it together. Crying is not an option. She pushes back from the table, standing abruptly. “I -” She clears her throat. “I need to go.”
Xavier doesn’t stop her. He just nods, like he expected this. Like he knew.
Y/N turns on her heel, storming out of the cafeteria.
She doesn’t know where she’s going.
All she knows is she needs to find Wally.
PART 5
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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 10 days ago
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really hope you’re doing part 4 of what remains of us soon!! i’m patiently waiting 🥹🥹🥹
I am 😊, should be done in a day or two.
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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 14 days ago
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What remains of us, pt. 3
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Summary: Teaching Y/N some new tricks while making his way to her heart keeps Wally busy...a little too busy to notice others might want his happiness to crumble and turn Y/N against him.
Warnings: death, angst, mentions of mental health issues, fluff, mentions of a SCHOOL SHOOTING, swearing
Word count: 3.9k
Part 1 Part 2
Y/N sits cross-legged on a desk in the abandoned classroom, arms folded, watching Wally as he lazily tosses a crumpled piece of paper into a trash can. Ever since the music room, they’ve settled into a comfortable coexistence that neither wants to end. While Y/N’s mind occasionally went into overdrive, giving her a thousand reasons to create some distance, her heart, although no longer beating, wasn’t keen on being away for long. After all, Wally kept the sense of dread in the pit of her stomach disappear. All it takes is a smile…a single smile and she’d relax. No one ever made her feel this safe, not even when she was alive.
 "So, tell me, Wally. Any perks to being a ghost? Or is it all doom, gloom, and dramatic monologues?"
Wally smirks, leaning against the desk beside her. "Oh, absolutely. You get to be stuck with me forever. Pretty sweet deal, huh?"
She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Wow. Eternal torment. Exactly what I was hoping for when I died."
He catches the way her face warms despite her sarcasm, and his grin widens. "You’re blushing."
"I am not."
"Liar."
Y/N huffs, pushing off the desk. "Let’s see if I can walk through walls to escape this conversation."
"You won’t." He follows her out, chuckling. "You like talking to me too much."
Taking it as a challenge, she rushes through empty classrooms, trying to lose Wally who laughed at her antics. Pressing her lips in a thin line, she hides in the library, behind the shelves, watching Wally run straight through and into the next room.
Chuckling, she leans back on the shelves. He’ll probably spend the next hour trying to find her – he’s not very good at hide and seek. Letting out a heavy breath, she tries to calm her breathing. It’s funny how her lungs still fight for breath after running, even in death. A lot of things have surprised her – she still craves food and can actually taste it, she gets tired, she feels pain, but also happiness and every other emotion. The only difference is: her heart is silent. Oh, and she can’t sleep. That one she hates most of all. Dreams used to be a perfect escape, but now? She actually has to go through the things she wants to ignore.
“Do you mind?” A voice startles her and she jumps in fright.
“Uh…Xavier, am I right?”
He nods, pressing his thin lips in a thinner line. “Yeah. And you’re in the way.”
Y/N steps aside but doesn’t move too far, her curiosity piqued by Xavier’s cold demeanor. He reaches for the book behind her, fingers ghosting over the worn spine before pulling it free. His electric blue eyes flicker to her, unreadable.
“I’ve heard about you,” he says casually, flipping through the pages without looking down.
“Oh?” Y/N crosses her arms. She didn’t expect ghosts to gossip and openly admit it to her face. “What is it they say? Weird, funny, clumsy?”
Xavier smirks, but there’s no humor behind it. “Naïve.”
Her brow furrows. “Excuse me?”
“You trust him too much.” He tilts his head toward the door as if Wally might burst in at any moment. “He’s not telling you everything.”
The sense of dread returns in her stomach, but she forces herself to scoff. “Wally? He’s a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them.”
Xavier raises a dark brow. “You sure about that?”
Y/N narrows her eyes. “If you have something to say, say it.”
He tucks the book under his arm and steps closer, his presence strangely intense. “There were more of us,” he murmurs. “More ghosts than Wally let on.”
He didn’t let on anything��he never mentioned anything to her.
The room suddenly feels smaller. Y/N grips the edge of the shelf behind her, steadying herself. “You’re lying.”
He tilts his head, studying her reaction. “Am I?”
Before she can push further, the library doors creak open.
“Found you!”
Wally’s voice fills the space like sunlight breaking through a storm, and Y/N instinctively steps back from Xavier. Wally stands at the entrance, hands on his hips, breathless despite not needing air. His brown eyes flicker between her and Xavier, and something shifts in his expression.
Xavier merely smirks. “How predictable.”
Y/N glances between them. The air is thick with unspoken tension. Wally steps forward, placing himself subtly between her and Xavier. “Didn’t think you’d be the type to hide in a library, newbie.”
Y/N forces a smirk, ignoring the way her stomach twists. “I spent my whole life hiding in libraries. Should have known better.”
Wally chuckles, but his eyes don’t leave Xavier. “C’mon, I have something way more fun in mind.” He drapes an arm around Y/N’s shoulder, steering her toward the exit.
She lets him, but not without casting one last glance over her shoulder. Xavier is already flipping through the book again, seemingly unbothered.
As soon as they step into the hallway, Wally’s grip tightens just slightly. “What did he say to you?”
Y/N shrugs. “Not much. Just that you suck at hide and seek.”
Wally snorts, but she doesn’t miss the way his jaw tenses.
He throws on a grin, nudging her playfully. “Well, lucky for you, I’m much better at football.”
She raises a brow. “Is this your way of charming me?”
His grin doesn’t waver. “Is it working?”
She pretends to consider before sighing dramatically. “Fine, I’ll let you teach me. But I swear, if this is just an excuse to tackle me - ”
“Would I do that?” His eyes gleam with mischief, and she can’t help but laugh.
As they walk toward the field, though, the weight of Xavier’s words lingers in her mind. Wally is hiding something. And she’s going to find out what.
The football field is eerily quiet at night, the goalposts casting long, crooked shadows across the empty expanse. The sky is speckled with stars, but Y/N barely notices. Her focus is on Wally, who stands a few feet away, spinning a football between his hands like it’s second nature. The way he moves is effortless, like he was made for this, and for the first time, she wonders what it must have been like to watch him play when he was alive. No wonder he was so popular with the girls…she’d probably be secretly head over heels for him too.
She folds her arms, eyeing the ball warily. “Just so you know, I have terrible hand-eye coordination.”
“All the more reason to practice.” Wally grins, tossing the ball up and catching it with ease. “Come on, I’ll teach you.”
She exhales, rolling her shoulders before stepping forward. “Fine, but don’t expect a miracle.”
He passes her the ball, and she fumbles almost immediately, letting out a frustrated groan as it bounces off her fingers and onto the grass. Wally barks out a laugh, shaking his head.
“Wow.” He places a hand over his heart as if her lack of talent actually pains him. “That was… tragic.”
Y/N huffs, picking up the ball and tossing it back at him, badly. It veers off course, and he lunges to catch it before it hits the ground.
“Okay, okay, new plan,” Wally says, stepping closer. “You need to get a feel for the weight first.”
He moves behind her before she can protest, so close she can feel the ghost of his warmth, not that ghosts are supposed to be warm...But Wally is. His hands slide gently over her wrists, guiding her fingers around the ball. She swallows hard.
"Relax," he murmurs, his voice low, almost teasing. "You’re way too tense."
Easy for him to say. He’s not the one hyperaware of how close they are, how his chest nearly brushes against her back, how his breath tickles the side of her neck. Butterflies! Actual, fluttering, traitorous butterflies stir in her stomach.
"Okay," he continues, oblivious to the way her pulse would be racing if her heart still worked. "Hold it like this." His fingers brush hers, his grip steady as he adjusts her stance. "Now, when you throw, flick your wrist a little, just like that."
She follows his lead, but she barely registers the motion. All she can focus on is the way his voice dips when he speaks close to her ear, the way her skin tingles where he touches her. It’s ridiculous, really, she’s supposed to be dead. She shouldn’t be feeling like this.
Wally, seemingly unaware of her inner turmoil, steps back slightly, watching her attempt another throw. The ball leaves her hand smoother this time, though it still wobbles. He lets out an approving whistle.
"See? You’re getting there."
She turns her head to look at him, their faces suddenly inches apart. She hadn’t realized just how close he still was. Her nose nearly grazes his cheek, and she can see the gold flecks in his dark eyes under the field lights.
"Are we still talking about football?" she asks, her voice quieter than before.
For the first time, Wally hesitates. His smirk falters, just for a second, his eyes flickering down to her lips before he clears his throat and steps back, too fast, too obvious.
"Uh. Yeah. Totally," he says, rubbing the back of his neck.
Y/N nods slowly, letting the moment settle between them, the air thick with something unspoken. She tosses the ball up, catching it with a smirk of her own.
"Good," she says lightly, "because I was starting to think you were just looking for an excuse to hold my hand."
Wally groans, covering his face with his hands. "For someone who calls me a jock cliché, you seem to enjoy every bit of it."
Shrugging innocently, she heads to the bleachers. “Maybe I do.”
They both pretend not to notice the way their fingers still tingle, as Wally follows her. Taking a seat a few rows down from her, he glances up with uncertainty.
“You’re staring.”
Clearing her throat, she bites her lower lip and his cheeks darken at the sight and consequent thoughts immediately.
“Are you sure you’re not projecting?”
“Nope! You were definitely staring first. I think I might be winning you over”, he smirks victoriously. “No one can resist this charm!”
Wally stretches out on the bleachers, hands behind his head, while Y/N pulls her knees up, arms wrapped around them.
“I can’t believe I’m even entertaining this,” she mutters, shaking her head. “You’re eighteen.”
Wally turns to her, one brow arching. “I was eighteen.”
“Still are.”
“Physically.” He props himself up on an elbow, looking at her like she’s the one being unreasonable. “Mentally, I’ve attended high school like… five times since I died. Do you know how many books I’ve read? How many new things I’ve learned? I’m practically a walking encyclopedia.”
Y/N gives him a flat look. “You just called yourself a walking encyclopedia. That’s not really helping your case.”
Wally groans, flopping back dramatically. “Okay, fine. But seriously, I’m older than you if we’re counting ghost years. Which means technically, I'm the creepy one.”
She swats at him, nearly falling as she fails to reach him, which only makes him grin.
“That is not how that works.”
“Oh, but it does.” He sits up, suddenly animated, pointing at her like he’s won an argument. “You’re the one crushing on an older man, Y/N.”
Pulling herself down to one row above him, she purses her lips. “I am not crushing on you.”
“Yet.”
She shoves him, laughing despite herself. But in the quiet that follows, she wonders if maybe, just maybe, she already is.
The wind hums, slowly picking up speed. Y/N traces patterns in the dirty bleachers with her fingers. "I never really thought about love," she admits.
Wally rests his arms on his knees. "What do you mean?"
She shrugs. "I was always too busy. Making my parents proud, getting good grades, getting into a good school…College, residency, life. Then, well…" She gestures vaguely at their ghostly existence. “I’ve read so many romance books and watched an insane amount of romcoms, but I’ve never really experienced any of it. All the things I wanted, just…disappeared.”
Wally watches her carefully. "I never really thought about the future," he confesses. "I figured I’d always have more time. Turns out, I didn’t." Huffing, he frowns. “I never fell in love with anyone before, either. I got close once…I thought I’d have someone to share this with, but it didn’t work out.”
“This?” Was Xavier right? Did Wally lie to her?
“I mean life”, he blurts out. “I was pretty popular, had everything going for me. I mean, I like football and I was really good at it, but it’s not something I chose for myself. I played for my mom. She, uh, she really wanted me to go pro.”
Their eyes meet, something heavy passing between them. Y/N looks away first, cheeks turning a darker shade.
"Maybe we’ve got time now," Wally says softly.
She doesn’t answer. Wrapping her hand around his bicep, she leans her head on his shoulder.
Perhaps that says enough.
After a few days of teaching her to toss a football, Wally decided to give her a few ghostly lessons she could use in the spirit world…lessons he didn’t learn until a few years back.
The cafeteria is quiet in the early morning, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly as the lunch lady moves around the kitchen, setting out trays for the day. Outside, the hallways are still empty, but soon, the school will come alive with students; living ones.
Y/N leans against the doorframe, watching Wally carefully.
“Alright,” he says. “Basic ghost physics lesson: We can touch things, yeah, but what you’re grabbing isn’t really the item. It’s like…a duplicate. A placeholder. The real thing resets as soon as you take it.”
Y/N frowns. “So what’s the point?”
“The point,” he says, “is learning how to actually move something. Not just its copy. The trick is to focus. You have to latch onto the real thing, feel the weight, the texture, the way it connects to the world. And then, you gotta make it stay in your hands.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Sounds exhausting.”
“Oh, it is,” he says with a smirk. “That’s why we’re gonna make it interesting.”
Her eyes narrow. “Go on.”
“First one to steal something without it resetting in the living world wins.”
Y/N snorts. “You’re on.”
They creep inside, the scent of fresh bread and coffee lingering in the air. The lunch lady hums to herself as she unpacks a crate of produce, oblivious to the two ghosts slipping past the counter.
Y/N eyes a bag of chips, reaching for it carefully. She reminds herself of what Wally said—feel the weight, the texture. Her fingers close around the bag, and for a moment, she swears she has it. But as soon as she pulls it away, a perfect replica flickers into her grip while the real bag remains untouched on the counter, as if she never moved it at all.
She curses under her breath.
Wally, a few feet away, is eyeing a bright red apple. He exhales slowly, his expression shifting into something serious, focused. His fingers tighten around the fruit, and for a long second, nothing happens. Then, ever so subtly, the apple shifts. The real one. He rolls the apple between his fingers like it’s the easiest thing in the world. It isn’t. She knows that much.
Y/N watches as he lifts it smoothly off the counter. The spot where it sat stays empty.
No regeneration. No reset.
Her jaw drops. “No way.”
Wally grins, triumphantly spinning the apple once more before gripping it solidly. “Way.” He winks at her, tossing the apple up and catching it effortlessly.
Y/N huffs. “Alright, let me try again.”
She refocuses, staring down the bag of chips like it’s personally offended her. She presses her fingers against it, feeling the crinkle of the plastic, the weight of the contents inside. She focuses on making this one, the real one, stay in her grip.
For a second, it works.
The bag lifts, no reset in sight.
Her heart…well, not her heart, but something inside her buzzes in excitement.
Then, without warning, the real bag flickers back into place, and she’s left holding its copy.
“Damn it!” she whisper shouts.
Wally chuckles. “Not bad for a first try. Here, watch.”
He moves toward the stack of trays by the counter, placing a hand on the top one. This time, Y/N studies him closely. She sees the way his brow furrows, the way his shoulders tense as if he’s physically exerting himself.
The tray lifts.
Barely, just an inch, but it lifts.
Then, just as suddenly, it wavers, slipping right back into place. A second later, the tray duplicates into his hands, proving he lost his grip on the real thing.
He groans. “Ugh. See? Even I can’t do it every time.”
Y/N tilts her head. “And yet, you got the apple?”
“Beginner’s luck,” he jokes. “Or maybe I’m just better than you.”
She flicks his ear. “Cheater.”
“Ow,” he grumbles, rubbing the spot. “It’s called strategy.”
“You and your strategies.”
“Hey, you’ll get there,” he says, tossing the apple once before taking a victorious bite. “But until then… I win.”
Y/N glares playfully but secretly, she’s itching to try again. And she will. Because if Wally can do it, then so can she.
“Okay, so…What do you want as your reward?”
Raising his eyebrows, Wally wets his lips. For a moment, his gaze flickers lower, to her supple, parted lips but he quickly averts his eyes to the bags of chips in her hands. “I’ll settle for some chips if you’re willing to share?”
Narrowing her eyes at him, she studies his nervous smile. “Sure. If that’s what you really want?”
Clearing his throat, he nods. “Y-yeah! I love chips!”
Once they devoured the chips, the crowded halls sent them into hiding. Being around the students wasn't enjoyable, for either of them. They waited for the sunset, agreeing to relax on the bleachers again.
Slinging an arm around her shoulders, Wally and Y/N head outside. As they pass by the library’s grand, dust-coated windows, a strange sensation prickles at the back of her neck. Like being watched. Her gaze flickers to the glass, and there he is.
Xavier.
His electric blue eyes are locked onto her, sharp and unreadable, framed by the dim glow of the emergency exit light. The sight of him standing so still, almost blending into the shadows, sends a cold shiver rippling down her spine. Her breath catches, a quiet gasp escaping before she can stop it.
Beside her, Wally tenses. “Are you okay?” Wally furrows his brows, pulling away ever so slightly. His voice is softer now, laced with concern. “I’m sorry I jus –“
“It’s not that”, she cuts him off quickly, shaking her head. Wally hesitates, watching her closely, but the moment she realizes he’s about to pull away entirely, she forces herself to speak.  “I didn’t mind your arm around me”, she clarifies. If anything his touch is warm, grounding. She doesn’t mind it…it feels nice, comforting.
His eyes brighten, relief chasing away the panic. “Yeah?” A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, tentative, as if he worries showing too much happiness would scare her away.
“What was it then?” he asks, and she can feel his eyes on her, searching for an answer beyond what she’s willing to give.
Shrugging, she averts her gaze. “I’m just a little cold, I guess.”
Lie.
Wally might not know everything about her yet, but he knows her. And he knows when she’s holding something back.
Taking off his jacket, he drapes it over her. “Here you go”, he murmurs.
Her breath hitches as he cups her cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. His touch is careful, as if he’s afraid she might pull away. She doesn’t. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
She leans into his touch without thinking, the warmth of his palm spreading through her like the first rays of morning sunlight. For a moment, it’s easy to forget the eerie gaze lingering behind glass, easy to forget the weight of all the things she doesn’t say.
Her lips curl into a small smile. “You worry too much,” she tells him and he’s not entirely sure if he should just drop this or not, but if she’s not willing to talk to him about it, there’s not much he can do.
“When you’re involved, I’d rather worry too much than not worry enough,” Wally admits.
The sincerity in his voice makes her chest tighten. Here he is, the sweetest man she’s ever met and she’s doubting him. She could just ask him about it, but what if he lies to her face? She’d never be able to relax around him again. She’d lose him and she can’t lose him…he’s all she has.
“Thank you. For caring…and for the jacket.”
“You wear it better than I do.”
Y/N raises a brow. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“I doubt that,” he says, leaning in with a teasing glint in his eyes. She scoffs, making him laugh. Whenever he flirts, Y/N scoffs in response yet she never leaves his side. Scoffing might be her love language and if his theory is true, Wally will gladly spend the rest of eternity listening to her scoff at his cheesy pick-up lines.
Relishing in the light pink tint upon her cheeks, Wally offers her his hand. “Would you like to dance with me?”
Squinting at his question, she inhales sharply. “Dance…to what?”
“We don’t need music to dance,” he smirks. “Live a little.”
“I’m literally dead,” she reminds him. “As are you.”
“And yet we’re here.”
She hesitates, then places her hand in his. He pulls her close, guiding her in slow circles. Their bodies brush, lingering a little too long.
"You’re not bad at this," she murmurs.
He smirks. "Don’t sound so surprised."
She rolls her eyes, but her heart isn’t in it. Not when his thumb traces small circles on the back of her hand.
“You always roll your eyes at me,” he states. “Why is that?”
“How honest do you want me to be?”
“Brutally,” he replies instantly.
Drawing in a deep breath, she can’t help the smile spreading across her lips. “You make me nervous.”
“Oh.”
“In a good way”, she admits. “In a way I’m not sure I’m ready to accept yet.”
Grinning, Wally nods. “Okay. I can work with that.”
Rolling her eyes – another part of her love language. Wally won’t forget that anytime soon.
Erasing the distance between their bodies, she leans her head on his chest, her arms wrapping around him. She closes her eyes, inhaling deeply – committing his scent to memory. He smells like laundry detergent and freshly mowed grass…clean and fresh.
Pressing a soft kiss on top of her head, Wally couldn’t suppress his smile even if he tried. He’s happy. For the first time in a long time, he’s truly happy. Humming a soft tune, he continues swaying their bodies in this slow dance, cherishing every moment they spend close for you never know when everything might change.
He learned that lesson the hard way.
PART 4
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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 17 days ago
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s2 mooncovey + matching outfits
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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 18 days ago
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What remains of us, pt. 2
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Summary: Wally spends the next month being an emotional crutch for Y/N, helping her to acclimate to the spirit world. In his attempts to cheer her up, he blatantly flirts with her and while she pretends it's not getting to her, it's getting harder to deny the way he makes her feel.
Warnings: death, angst, mentions of mental health issues, fluff, SCHOOL SHOOTING, swearing
Word count: 2.9k
Part 1
Y/N never thought the pain inside her would persist in the afterlife. She hoped it would be out of reach, gone with the life she lost too soon. Somehow, the nights she stayed awake became more painful now. At least when she was still alive there was a chance of falling asleep and allowing everything to fade away, but now? It’s impossible to escape.
She’s hounded by her anxious thoughts, wondering how her family is doing after her tragedy. Would this break her mother who pushed her into medicine in the first place? Would her father’s health take a turn for the worse now that his doctor daughter isn’t there to remind him to take his medication on time? Would her sister speak at the funeral after the fight they had a few days before she died? Would her nieces remember her, or would time erase all the ways she loved them?
Loves…she still loves them all. Death can’t take those emotions away.
Drawing in a deep breath, she closes her eyes.  Resting her chin on her knees, she exhales slowly. It wouldn’t do her any good to panic now. She’s dead. While she doesn’t remember the last moments of her life perfectly, she’s aware what killed her. Dwelling on it will only make it worse.
Swallowing thickly, she glances at Wally. He’s been respectful, keeping his distance the past week, but he’s remained fairly close the entire time. She’s been awful to him, barely exchanging a few words here and there, but he’s been very patient and she can’t help the way her chest tightens at the sight of him. It’s comforting not to be alone in this, as well as terrifying. If he’s been dead for forty-two years and still haunts his death place, is that her fate? Will she spend an eternity with Wally in this God-forsaken place?
Well, not only Wally. He’s introduced her to the looping band, Yuri in the art room, Mina the theatre kid, and Xavier Baxter who stayed in the library. There were others, but according to Wally, they mainly kept to themselves and didn’t interact with anyone. A similar idea simmered in her brain, but every time she’d see Wally’s eyes light up around her she knew taking a step back would hurt him. Every time she asks for alone time she sees the flicker of hurt and perhaps a little bit of panic cross his handsome features. Pulling away entirely would definitely do some damage, so she allows him to dwell close enough for them to reach out and touch. There are plenty of ghosts around this school, but something tells her Wally is lonely.  
Wetting her lips, she sighs. “What were your plans after high school?”
Wally perks up. “I had a scholarship,” he moves closer to her. “I was planning on going pro…I wasn’t the brightest student”, he admits. “I’m not sure what I’d choose to study.”
“Did you have lots of friends?”
Grinning, he nods. “Yeah. I see some of them occasionally”, he shrugs meekly. “A few still come to games, mainly because they want to relive their glory days. But most of them stopped coming when their kids graduated.”
“I’m sorry”, she says quietly.
His eyebrows furrow. “What for?”
Pursing her lips, she clasps her hands. Looking ahead, she sighs. “For what happened to you. You had your whole life ahead of you and instead of living it to the fullest, you’re watching the world move on.”
“I guess we have that in common”, Wally reaches out, his arm wrapping around her shoulders. “I wasn’t alone in this. I won’t let you be alone either.”
“You keep saying that”, she raises a brow. Standing, she watches Wally do the same.
Y/N blinks at the boy standing in front of her, his arms crossed over the faded lettering of a varsity football jacket. She can’t help but feel he’s keeping secrets, and when he brushes her chin with his thumb, grinning, she rejects the thought. Wally wouldn’t do that to her. She hasn’t known him for long, but she knows enough to trust him.
Biting her lower lip, her gaze falls to his lips as his smile turns into a teasing smirk. He’s tall, and his touch so invitingly warm and she has to remind herself to keep her hands steady because the last thing she needs is to develop a crush on a fellow ghost…Yet she wishes to embrace him, to be in his arms as she was the day she died. If she were to reach for him, would he let her melt into his arms? Part of her is scared she’d just phase through him, the way she did with the policeman, but if they could touch before and she felt his thumb on her chin, maybe hugging him whenever she wants is a possibility? He looks solid, too solid for someone who’s supposed to be dead. Then again, so is she. They’re made of the same material now, residing in the same plane of existence.
Sensing her mood, Wally didn’t want to risk her falling back into the silence he endured daily. He needs her to talk to him before he falls back into his own existential crisis.
“So,” he says, rocking back on his heels. “Not to be dramatic, but I think you might be my soulmate.”
She scoffs. “Excuse me?”
He gestures between them, grinning. “Come on, you’re new here. You’re dead. I’m dead. I’d say we were dying to meet each other, but…” He spreads his arms. “Bit late for that.”
Y/N gapes at him. “Oh my God.”
“I know, right? Super tragic. A life cut short in my prime. The world was robbed of my athletic greatness.” He sighs dramatically, tilting his head to the side. “Not to brag, but I was kind of a big deal.”
“Oh, I bet you were.” She folds her arms, eyeing him up and down. “Split River’s star quarterback, huh? You reek of jock energy.”
He gasps, clutching his chest as if she’s physically wounded him. “Whoa. Harsh. You don’t even know me, and you’re already assuming things? I feel so objectified.”
She arches a brow. “You’re wearing a letterman jacket inside a school. It’s practically a uniform for guys like you.”
Wally’s lips twitch like he’s trying not to laugh. Instead, he takes a slow, measured step toward her, gaze flicking over her skeptically. “And what exactly is ‘a guy like me’?”
Y/N smirks, playing along. “Cocky. Talks before he thinks. Probably spent more time flirting than studying.” She taps her chin, pretending to think. “Let me guess….your best subject? P.E.”
He groans, tilting his head back in exaggerated offense. “Wow. Okay. First of all, rude. Second, I’ll have you know I was decent at history. And third—” He suddenly drops to one knee, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “If being a cliché means meeting you, then I accept my fate.”
Y/N blinks. “Are you seriously fake-swooning right now?”
“Oh, absolutely.” Wally grins up at her, looking far too pleased with himself. “It’s called committing to the bit.”
She narrows her eyes. “I’m going to regret talking to you, aren’t I?”
“Nah.” He stands back up, brushing off his jacket. “I grow on people. Like an endearing ghost fungus.”
She wrinkles her nose. “That’s disgusting.”
“You’re smiling, though.” He nudges her shoulder, cocky but harmless. “Admit it. You think I’m funny.”
She rolls her eyes, but a small laugh escapes before she can stop it. Damn it.
Wally grins wider, tapping the side of his nose like he’s figured her out. “Called it.”
Y/N exhales sharply, shaking her head. “If we’re stuck here together, I will find a way to haunt you specifically.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, slinging an arm over her shoulder with infuriating ease. “I look forward to it.”
The week drags by in quiet stillness. With the school closed, the world outside feels distant, like it doesn’t belong to them anymore. Maybe it doesn’t.
It’s the perfect time for Wally to show Y/N the ropes, to teach her the strange rules of their existence. But mostly, it’s just nice to have the place to themselves before the students return, filling the halls with a life they can never be part of again.
Wally doesn’t mind the solitude. He’s had decades to get used to it. What surprises him is how much he likes having her here.
More often than not, whenever he loses sight of Y/N, he knows exactly where to find her. She always goes back to the hallway.
She’d lay where her heart stopped beating, staring at the ceiling as if it held answers neither of them knew the questions to. He doesn’t understand why she keeps returning to the scene of the crime. Maybe he doesn’t have to. Maybe it’s just something she needs to do.
So he stays.
Tonight is no different. Wally rounds the corner, hands in his pockets, and spots her there again, motionless, her gaze distant. He lingers in the doorway, watching. The way the dim light filters through the old glass windows makes her look softer, almost alive.
Then she moves.
Y/N sits up slowly, rubbing her arms as a shiver racks through her. She exhales, breath shaky, running her hands up and down the length of her sleeves.
Wally frowns. “Hey, are you okay?”
She startles a little but doesn’t look at him right away. “Yeah. Just… cold.”
He hesitates. “You know we don’t get cold, right?”
Y/N lets out a quiet laugh. “I know. It’s just…” She trails off, sighing as she wraps her arms around her knees. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just my brain trying to hold on to something human.”
That makes sense, he supposes. After all, she’s still new to this, new to the way her body remembers things it no longer has to.
Without thinking, Wally shrugs off his letterman jacket. It’s second nature, something he’d done a hundred times for a girl on the bleachers or a teammate on the sidelines. But this time, it feels different. He steps closer and drapes it over her shoulders.
Y/N stills. Her fingers clutch at the fabric, eyes flicking to his in surprise. “You…what are you doing?”
Wally shrugs, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. “What’s it look like? I’m being chivalrous.”
Her lips twitch. “You do realize this won’t actually warm me up, right?”
He smirks, shrugging again. “Humor me.”
Y/N studies him for a moment before glancing down at the jacket. She tugs it tighter around herself. It’s big on her. The sleeves hang past her hands, and his scent, while faint, lingers like something permanent.
If his heart was still beating, there’s no doubt in his mind it would be skipping a few beats now. His jacket looks perfect on her. She looks perfect.
Y/N glances up, watching him carefully. “Is this some kind of jock instinct? Lending your jacket to a girl so she falls hopelessly in love with you?”
Wally grins. “Is it working?”
Y/N rolls her eyes, but her fingers tighten on the fabric. She doesn’t give it back.
He doesn’t ask for it.
Instead, he just sits beside her, shoulder to shoulder, watching the ceiling with her like maybe, if they wait long enough, they’ll finally see something that makes sense.
“I think I’m ready to lose the scrubs”, she says quietly as if it pains her.
Nodding, Wally holds out his hand for her to take. “Let’s go find something you can change into.”
Even with the new outfit, Y/N kept the jacket. 
During days, he watched her from a distance. She often chose to attend classes, watch the living. There was an increased police presence now, something she followed closely. Something about it all kept Y/N on her toes, and while he wanted to ask about it, Wally knew it would be better to let her come to him.
During nights, Y/N would lean her head on Wally’s shoulder, holding his jacket closer to her chest. She’d stare ahead, asking about his family from time to time. She asked about his family home, about his friends and their misadventures and he answered all in as much detail as he could recall. It’s been too long since he thought about his life, after all, he’s been dead for longer than he lived.
“Were there any other hobbies other than football?”
Gasping, he places a hand over his chest. “Football is life, not a hobby. Oh, you wound me when you say things like that!”
Chuckling, she shakes her head. If there’s anything she’s certain about, it’s Wally’s flare for drama and she can’t get enough.
“I apologize, Mr. Quarterback! Please, oh, please accept me in your good graces once more!”
Suppressing a smile, Wally watches her match his energy and he can’t help the blush spreading across his cheeks. He could get used to her…to this being his life.
“Very well, m’lady. I shall forgive theeee, but only if you come with me.”
Furrowing her brows, she narrows her eyes at him. “If I was alive, I’d be questioning if you’re luring me somewhere to kill me.”
“Who says I’m not?”
Clicking her tongue, she scoffs. “You play too much!”
Following his retreating figure, she frowns. His words sent a chill down her spine, one she couldn’t quite explain. She never felt unsafe around him before, never once questioned his motives, but now? Something was telling her to be careful.
Wally’s been around for a lot longer than Y/N…there’s no telling what he knows or what he is capable of.
He wouldn’t hurt her, would he?
Shaking her head, she pauses for a second.
Realizing she stopped, Wally glances at her over his shoulder, sending her a reassuring smile that makes her stomach flip – in a good way.
He wouldn’t hurt her, she decides. Wally is a friend and she really needs a friend right now.
Stopping in front of a room, she holds her breath as he turns on the lights.
The music room is exactly as he remembers it. Dusty, but not forgotten. A relic of the past tucked away in a corner of the school no one really pays attention to.
He steps inside first, leading her past the rows of chairs to the instrument-lined walls. His fingers trail over the edge of a piano, the metal of a trumpet, before finally stopping at what he came for.
A guitar.
Y/N crosses her arms, watching as he pulls it down and settles onto a stool.
“So this is your big secret?”
Wally runs his fingers along the strings, testing them. “What, disappointed?”
“Not really.” She shrugs, but there’s something playful in her tone. “I just should’ve known you’d be this kind of guy.”
He raises a brow. “What kind of guy?”
“The oh look, I play guitar, aren’t I mysterious and deep kind.”
Wally snorts. “Wow. That’s the energy I give off?”
She tilts her head. “Tell me honestly, how many girls did you do this for?”
Wally pretends to think. “Hmm. Only the cute ones.”
Y/N groans, rolling her eyes. “Unbelievable.”
He grins, strumming the first few chords of a song before she can argue. The sound is soft, familiar—something tucked away in his memory from years ago.
It takes her a second, but recognition flickers across her face. “Is this REO Speedwagon?”
Wally smirks. “You know it?”
“I mean, yeah. My mom liked them.” She narrows her eyes. “You’re seriously playing Can’t Fight This Feeling at me right now?”
“Why not?” He plucks the next notes with ease, settling into the rhythm. “It’s a classic.”
“It’s a romantic classic,” she points out.
He grins. “You saying you’re swooning?”
“I’m saying you’ve definitely pulled this move before.” She leans against the piano, arms crossed. “Be honest. This was your go-to seduction tactic, wasn’t it?”
Wally sighs dramatically. “You caught me.”
“I knew it.”
“In my defense,” he continues, fingers still moving over the strings, “it worked.”
Y/N laughs, shaking her head. “Well, I hate to break it to you, Romeo, but I’m not that easy.”
“That’s okay.” He glances up at her, his smile shifting into something softer, something real. “I don’t mind taking my time.”
Her breath catches, just slightly. Just enough.
She covers it up with an exaggerated groan, moving to sit across from him. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And yet, you’re still here.”
She rolls her eyes again but doesn’t deny it. Instead, she leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she watches his fingers move.
Wally keeps playing, his voice joining the melody and she’s awestruck. There’s no denying he’s playing her heartstrings with every lyric passing his beautiful lips as he keeps watching her from beneath his lashes.
And even though she’ll never admit it, she likes this.
Likes the way the music fills the empty room, likes the way the emotions in his voice linger between them.
Maybe she is swooning…just a little.
But she’ll never let him know.
Not yet.
For now, she just lets him play.
And for the first time since she died, she lets herself stay in the moment instead of focusing on all the ways her life went wrong to lead her to the spirit world…to him.
PART 3
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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 21 days ago
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What remains of us
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Summary: Y/N's intern year comes to an abrupt end when she enters a school during an active shooter lockdown. Understanding what happened to her, maneuvering this new reality is impossible - but she might have someone willing to guide her through it all.
Warnings: death, descriptions of a dead body, injuries and blood, SCHOOL SHOOTING, swearing
Word count: 2.3k
Lips trembling, her eyes opened slowly. Clutching her chest with shaky hands, Y/N struggles to sit up, gasping for air. Every breath she draws is held, unable to exhale from the shock. Her fingers press against her shirt, feeling…nothing. No torn fabric, no sticky warmth of blood…No searing pain she felt before the fall. Her heart is hammering, yet there’s no ache, no wound. But she remembers it…The explosion of agony, the sharp, suffocating burn of a bullet ripping through flesh – the way the world blurred as she fell. Blinking away tears, she scrambles to her feet. The tremor in her limbs betrays her, knees buckling beneath her. She grits her teeth, steadying herself. If she stays out in the open, she won’t be as lucky next time. The shooter will not miss twice.
A strangled breath escapes her as she slaps a hand over her mouth. Her pulse pounds in her ears as she takes off down the hall, her footsteps echoing against the linoleum floor. The world around her is wrong—too quiet, too still, as if holding its breath with her.
She dives into an empty classroom, shoving desks against the door with what little strength she has left. But it’s not enough. The flimsy wood and metal legs scrape loudly, barely a deterrent. It won’t hold. If someone wants in, they’ll get in.
Her hands dig into her hair as she paces, eyes darting around. This isn’t what they trained her for – med school never said what to do when you’re the one being shot at! She was supposed to save lives, not run for her own. They never should have let an intern go inside in the first place! She knew it wasn’t safe, that they couldn’t guarantee she’d walk out alive. They didn’t even know if there was anyone hurt!
There has to be a way to get out of the school. Her breath shudders as she pats her pockets. Phone. Phone. Her fingers find nothing but fabric. “Shit.” It must have slipped out when she fell. She didn’t even grab her supply bag.
“Fuck”, she grumbles under her breath. Running a hand through her hair, she looks out the window. The stadium isn’t far. If she could get down safely, she could make a run for it. Staying put is a terrible idea, especially when the classroom isn’t barricaded properly.
Her heart pounds as she pushes the window open. Cold air rushes in, biting against her flushed skin. Her eyes land on the flagpole just outside. Her mother would kill her if she knew.
"MY daughter on a pole? I’d disown you!"
A shaky chuckle escapes her lips, raw and humorless. “Not sure you’d appreciate the irony, Mom.”
A single tear slips down her cheek, but she doesn’t wipe it away.
Taking deep breaths, she grips the pole with both hands, her knuckles whitening. The wind howls around her as she steps onto the windowsill, her stomach lurching.
“Don’t look down!”
Frowning, her eyes lock onto a figure - a guy bellow, standing a few feet away from her landing spot, beckoning her to hurry.
“You can do this!” he calls out
Nodding nervously, she holds her breath as her descent begins.
“You’re doing great!” The man continues cheering, but she can’t bring herself to say a single word in response. Besides, if he keeps being so loud, the shooter might hear them.
The world blurs around her as she slides, her breath hitching with every inch downward. The pole burns against her palms, but she doesn’t let go—not until her feet hit solid ground.
She barely has time to process the relief before she feels him beside her.
 “We can’t stay here”, she states quietly. “The stadium isn’t far. We can make it if we run.”
His eyes widen, looking behind in confusion. Locking his eyes with hers once again, his lips part. Pointing a finger to his chest, he raises his eyebrows.
“We can’t waste time,” Y/N doesn’t wait for him to argue. She grabs his elbow, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, and pulls him forward.
They run.
The stadium is like a beacon, a promise of safety. She can’t know for sure, but something tells her it’s a lot safer than the school. From there she can find a way to contact police, inform them of the shooter’s last location, and get extracted. And get the guy extracted too.
The guy, whoever he is, runs beside her, his pace matching hers. She barely had time to see his face, too desperate to escape and save him, as well as herself. All she remembers is the blue varsity jacket, realizing he’s likely a jock at the school. Ugh, she hated jocks when she was in high school.
He didn’t say a word when she grabbed him, nor now as he caught her by the wrist when she nearly lost her grip, steadying her as they continued running.
“Faster”, she mutters, voice rough, urgent.
Her lungs burn, legs scream, but she doesn’t stop. The stadium is right there, just a little farther.
Then she hears a voice – no, voices – shouting from ahead. The guy pushes her hard, yanking her into the shadows of the bleachers. They crouch low, listening.
“Are we sure?” A man’s voice, gruff, serious.
“We found her body.”
“FUCK!”
Frowning, she moves closer to the men speaking, realizing they’re policemen. Letting out a sigh of relief, she smiles at the jock beside her.
“Thank God!” She turns to the guy beside her, a smile breaking through the fear.  “C’mon!”
She grabs his sleeve, pulling him onto the field.
“Hey, officers!” she calls, brushing her scrubs nervously as she approaches the policemen. “I…I just got out of there. The shooter was on the 2nd floor! I had a really close call”, she lets out a breathy, nervous laugh.
Nothing.
Not even a single head turns.
Her brows knit together. She waves a hand, stepping closer. “Hello?”
Silence.
Her forehead creases as she reaches out, fingertips grazing the shoulder of the nearest officer.
And meeting nothing. Just air.
Y/N blinks, her hand hovering where the officer’s shoulder should be. But it’s like he isn’t there…like she isn’t.
No.
No, no, no.
Her breath catches in her throat. Slowly, she tries again, pressing her palm forward. It slips right through the thick fabric of his uniform, through solid muscle, through him. A cold shiver crawls up her spine.
“No”, she mutters. Her knees nearly buckle.
“They’ve already done the necessary forensics,” one officer mutters. “Her body will be brought through here, away from the press. It’s going to be a media shit show.”
Y/N staggers back. The words claw at her mind, but they don’t make sense. She’s here. She’s standing. She’s breathing…
Isn’t she?
Her heart slams against her ribs, but there’s no answering thud in her ears. No pulse pounding in her wrists. She whirls toward the guy beside her, this stranger who’s been with her since the flagpole, since the escape. He’s watching her, quiet, unreadable.
“What’s happening?” Her voice shakes. “Why can’t they see me?”
His expression softens.
“Because,” he says gently, “we’re already dead.”
Her body tenses, the weight of his words sinking in like lead.
“That’s impossible,” she grimaces. “I’m being pranked!” she decides. “This is some sort of intern hazing that you’re all taking too far!” Cackling, she tries to touch the officer again only to meet air instead of flesh.
Swallowing thickly, she presses her lips in a thin line.
“I’m sorry,” the guy sighs. “I didn’t realize it until you spoke to me after climbing down.”
Rubbing her forehead, she turns to look at him – properly look at him, for the first time. There’s no denying he’s handsome – the kind of handsome that sneaks up on you, not in the obvious ‘in your face’ way Henry Cavil is, but in a way that lingers… and holds your breath hostage.
His hair is a little messy, framing a face that looks like it belongs in an old school yearbook – classic, effortlessly cool. With a sharp jawline and a kind smile on his lips, his features are boyish in a way that makes her stomach ache.
The letterman jacket clings to his broad shoulders, the fabric worn in the best way, like it’s seen years of games, of wins, of effortless charm. He’s got that all-American, football-star thing going on, but somehow, it doesn’t feel cocky. It just feels him.
And right now, he’s looking at her. Smiling at her.
“How…how are you so sure?” she clears her throat, “I mean, I felt your touch! I felt –“
“Because I died,” he takes a step closer. “I died at the homecoming game in my senior year…it was the fall of 1983. I celebrated my 18th birthday just a week before.”
Closing her eyes, she licks her lips. “I’m dreaming. Or I hit my head hard when I fell and now I’m hallucinating a hot jock who supposedly died before I was even born!” Laughing maniacally, she nods erratically. “Yeah! That’s what happened!”
“Except, it’s not.” Taking a step closer, he gives her a sympathetic look. “I’m Wally. You’re kinda standing where I died.”
Jumping from the spot, she narrows her eyes at him. “And what? Huh? You’re just haunting the school because you can’t get over your glory days?” Shaking her head, she looks up at the grey skies. “I could have at least imagined something more believable. No excuse for slacking in my sleep!”
“It’s hard to accept, but it’s the truth.” Wally steps beside her, pointing to a few more officers coming closer, wheeling a gurney. There’s a body bag, one even Y/N can ignore.
“That’s….that’s supposed to be a body?”
Wally nods.
“My body?”
His fingers graze her wrist and she pulls away immediately. Rushing to the huddle of officers, she walks through them.
The zipper slides down with a slow, mechanical rasp, and Y/N swears the world tilts beneath her feet.
She stares.
That’s her face. Her body.
Her eyes are closed, lashes resting peacefully against pale skin, but there’s nothing peaceful about this. Her scrubs—light blue, still wrinkled from her morning shift—are soaked through with blood. The fabric clings to her chest in a grotesque, darkened bloom, right over her heart.
“Close-range shot,” one of the officers mutters, pulling back the bag further. “Went straight through. No exit wound.”
“Christ,” another says. “Poor girl. Didn’t stand a chance.”
Y/N’s breath stutters, but she doesn’t feel it. Her hands curl into fists as something hot and electric builds in her chest.
“No,” she whispers, stepping closer. “No, this isn’t—this can’t be right.”
Her fingers twitch at her sides, the urge to shake them, to scream in their faces overwhelming. But what would it matter? They can’t hear her. Can’t see her.
A laugh, bitter, sharp, bubbles out of her throat. “I’m right here!” she shouts, throwing her hands up. “I just ran across the damn field! I—” Her voice cracks, rage colliding with something raw and suffocating. “I can’t be dead!”
A hand brushes her shoulder. Solid. Gentle.
She turns, eyes burning, and finds Wally watching her, his face filled with understanding. Like he’s seen this before. Like he knows.
“It’s messed up,” he murmurs, his voice steady in a way that almost anchors her. Almost. “But you have to breathe.”
She lets out a shaky, breathless laugh. “I don’t think I can anymore.”
Wally gives a small, sad smile. “Yeah,” he says. “I remember that part.”
She looks at him, at his letterman jacket, his stupidly kind face…this boy who’s been dead for decades—and for the first time, the weight of it all crashes into her.
She really, truly is dead.
“I barely even lived,” she shakes her head lightly. “I’ve spent my life trying to become a doctor. My twenties slipped through hospital shifts.” Holding back tears, she looks at Wally. “I’m twenty-six and I’ve never been in love.” Her voice cracks. “No one’s ever loved me.”
Slowly, he reaches for her hand. His touch is light, careful, letting her decide, waiting patiently as she erases the distance between them. A choked sob escapes her as she buries her face in his chest. For a moment, he’s still. Then he lets out a heavy sigh before wrapping his arms around her small form tightly.
“It’s okay to fall apart,” he murmurs. But he won’t let her lose the pieces that fall now…She’s going to put them back together in time…and he will help her. When she needs a shoulder to cry on, he’ll anchor her, and when she needs strength to keep going, he’ll let her borrow his own.
She grips the fabric of his jacket, holding onto him like he’s the only thing keeping her tethered.
“You’re not alone,” he whispers in her hair. “I may not have all the answers, but I’m pretty fluent in showing up for people.”
She presses her face deeper into his shoulder, breathing him in. Her arms snake around him too, reciprocating the tightness of his hold on her. He knows he can’t always fix people, but he can sit with them in the dark…and sometimes that’s enough. Even when his hands shake, they still hold steady when someone needs them, and if Wally learned anything from his time with Maddie it’s how the weight of their goodbye made him cherish every hello.
And this hello might be the only certainty in a world full of lonely uncertainties.
PART 2
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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 22 days ago
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Wally Clark → Part Boy, Part Golden Retriever
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Major Tag Key
↳ To find (or avoid) popular tags
(☆) 》 Implied/not explicit
☆ 》Angst
☆ 》AU
☆ 》Character Death
☆ 》Fluff
☆ 》Platonic
☆ 》Romantic
Playlist ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆
↳ "Well, you look amazing."
One Shots & Mini Series
Note: Works greater than 1,000 words
The End [1.7k] ☆ ☆
↳ Two people died on September 23rd, 1983. One laid out on a football field before hundreds of people, and the other left behind on the cold floor of the boy's locker room.
No Safety or Surprise [3k] ☆ ☆ ☆ (☆)
↳ [SEQUEL TO 'THE END'] Following a double death at Split River High, two souls acclimate with their new reality and the fellow ghosts that inhabit the school's grounds.
Drabbles
Note: Works less than 1,000 words
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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 25 days ago
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the urge is so very strong
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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 1 month ago
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Nothing new on my side. I hope that your dad and you both get the necessary treatment soon 🙏 ❤️
Sending you all the love and hoping for the best
❤️❤️❤️
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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 1 month ago
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hi, i’ve been following you for a while but this is my first time back on the app in a long long time. I just saw your post about getting sent home from surgery, I wanted to reach out to you and let you know that you are truly not alone with your frustrations with medicine right now. i have been struggling for years with so many issues such as incredibly low ferratin, my glucose levels are off, i can’t keep my platelet level high enough and because i’m so young they refuse to help me figure out if i may have an autoimmune disease. whenever i finally get to see a doctor i’m told i just need to make a lifestyle change & to go home. I have not felt like myself in years. not only that, i’ve watched my mother go through the same thing i’m going through and come home crying because she was disregarded by yet another doctor. keep fighting, you will find help. i’m so sorry for the way you have been treated & i cannot imagine your own frustration as someone who is in the field themselves. i know it seems hopeless, but i am rooting for you <3 thank you for sharing your story so that other people feel seen as well. I truly appreciate it.
Thank you so much for reaching out. I completely understand "not feeling like myself" part. I mean I've always had chronic pain and it did limit me somewhat but I was also functioning despite it. Last two years have brought me to my knees and I can't believe it but I miss the usual chronic pain and fatigue, because this, how I am right now, is not sustainable and at this point I just want my life back. Feels like all I've done is work and sleep and gain weight, because I have no energy to do anything else. I started working out again in September and lost some weight and was thinking maybe I'm getting better and in like 3 weeks I got so much worse and the last 3 months have been absolute hell.
I went into this field to help people like me. A little selfish in a way because I used everything I can learn to help myself (lot of good it did, huh), but also to be that one doctor people come to and know their voice is heard and that the person before them will do everything to help. Medical gaslighting (for women especially) is terrible, I'm sorry they're not taking you seriously. The saddest part is that it takes either a life threatening event for them to help or 10+ years before you find someone who is willing to do the necessary work and tests and help you. I've been on both sides, I hope you find someone capable before it gets bad. If the doctor won't listen, switch doctors if you financially can or badger the first one continuously until they hear what you have to say. I wish I advocated for myself more. I wish my parents advocated for me too, because I haven't been pain free since I turned 9. Don't give up either, okay? Chronic illness girlies might be a terrible name for a club but unfortunately there's a lot of us in it. Trust your intuition and your body, you know best when something isn't right. Always trust that gut feeling. Journal symptoms with dates and severity, and if you do your labs always keep the results, form your own medical history. I'm really sorry you're going through that. I wish you didn't suffer this way. No one should be put in this position.
P.S. the lifestyle change they talk about...can hold some merrit but root cause won't be fixed by simply losing some weight and fixing your diet. I've tried. The fact they barely understand the concept of "my diet isn't great because I'm too tired to cook, I'm in pain and working out makes it worse or the I'm gaining weight because of my symptoms that you refuse to acknowledge and treat". Most of us tend to gain weight because of the chronic issues that go unresolved for so long. Hearing "lose weight" pisses me off because my symptoms were there when I was skinny too, it makes no difference. Will it help somewhat? Maybe. But to blame weight and lifestyle choices and treat that as a cure-all is frankly lazy and an insult to our lived experience.
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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 2 months ago
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Hi, I just wanted to check in and see how you are doing. How is your dad, too, and if it was a second cancer or something else?
Wishing you the best and hope all is well ❤️
Yep, another cancer and this one comes with metastasis in his lymph nodes. Not sure how bad it is yet because the hospital doesn't have RAI right now to do a proper full body scan. Once we do that and know how bad it is, he will have to get treatments in a clinic where I did my hours in med school but chances are its gonna be months before we can get that treatment. So, yeah, I'm stressed about it. My own situation isn't great, I was supposed to have surgery today and they cancelled last minute and decided to make me suffer at least for another two months before deciding if they're going to do it and what approach to use. I'm worried I'll have to delay the end date for my residency because I'm losing time right now, time I didn't want to lose like this. At this point, I am just trying not to have a mental breakdown 😅
How are things with you? Anything new?
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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 2 months ago
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Well, they cancelled my surgery five minutes before going into the OR because of a blood disorder they knew about but ignored till the last minute...
Being sent home after mentally preparing, taking time off work and everything it entails for a junior doctor in residency...it decimated my mental health. To make matters worse, they told me to come back in two months, except they plan on doing the surgery in a more invasive way than I expected.
Took me two years to get here because as usual, I was gaslighted continuously to believe my symptoms weren't as bad as they are. And finally, I was ready to be done with it all, for now, any hope to get my life back is now squashed.
I work with cancer patients and I'm constantly thinking, "At least it's not cancer", but chronic illness and conditions feel like cancer too, except no one takes it seriously because it's mainly invisible to the world.
I feel like I am fluent in hope, but sometimes I forget how to speak it to myself, so I treat strangers, especially my patients with kindness I can’t give myself. I’ve mastered the art of saying, ‘It’s going to be okay,’ while my own walls are caving in.
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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 2 months ago
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Hey can you do cullens x reader when its readers first time sleeping over at there house and the reader kicks and sleep talks in there sleep? x
Pairing: Jasper Hale x human!reader
A/n: I don't do requests as much anymore, but since I'm in the hospital, waiting for surgery, unable to sleep 😅 anyway, it's not some masterpiece, but enjoy
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"Does she always do that?" Emmett raised his eyebrows, a horrified look in his eyes.
"I've never stuck around long enough to notice", Edward notes with a slight frown, looking to Carlisle. "Their thoughts are too...graphic for my taste. And her dream makes her thoughts seem... saintly."
Chuckling, Jasper appears before them. "Are you badmouthing my mate?"
"She's moaning your name", Emmett grimaces. "I'm scarred for eternity."
Jasper smirks. "Imagine what sounds she makes when I'm actually touching her."
"If this is your tactic to chase us out of the house so you can get your dirty hands on Y/N....it's working." Edward admits before disappearing from sight.
"Carlisle, tell him to stop letting mortal women sleep over." Emmett insists, his eyebrows furrowing as he hears Y/N mumble about Jasper's lips.
"I won't forbid his mate from staying here....but we might soundproof his room."
"You know what's the worst part?" Rosalie storms in. "They have barely kissed and we are all listening to her nasty little fantasies."
"Rosalie", Carlisle warns as he sees Jasper's lips press in a thin line.
"I'm that good of a kisser", Jasper boasts proudly. "And if you don't want to listen to her fantasies come to life, you might wanna get out of earshot really, really fast."
"Someone has to stick around in case you decide her blood is sweeter than her moans", Rosalie remarks begrudgingly.
Jasper's smile is replaced with a scowl. "I'd never!" He swallows thickly, "I would rather die than harm a single hair on her head."
"Edward said that and now we have Bella."
Rosalie is right, Jasper realizes. Despite what he believes and wishes, he might never be able to bring Y/N's fantasies to life without him risking her life. And as long as she's not asking to become a vampire, he wouldn't dare. For his sanity, as well as everyone else's.
His human mate is too fragile for all the ways he wants to love her. Every move he makes around her has to be carefully thought out, even the slightest mistake could leave him devastated.
So, when he returns to her side, he lets out a gentle sigh. It's surprising how many human mannerisms he's adopted since she waltzed into his life, every bit of her mirrored in him.
Laying beside her, she kicks his chest and yelps. Waking up, hair disheveled, her eyes meet his golden hues and her lips spread in a warm smile.
"You're here", she mumbles, still half asleep.
"I promised, didn't I?" Jasper pulls her closer. "I'll be here until you say otherwise. Always."
Nuzzling her face in his neck, she relaxes and her breathing evens out.
Pressing a cool kiss to her forehead, Jasper closes his eyes. He might be unable to sleep, but he can still fantasize of a day where he will be able to do more than just peck her lips.
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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 2 months ago
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As a doctor working in a country with universal healthcare, I genuinely can't get over this and so many other cases that came to light since the CEO's death. Universal healthcare is imperfect, as a doctor as well as patient I responsibly claim it is terrible at times, but at least you know you won't go bankrupt if you need medical help (in most cases) and if urgent you will certainly be seen by a physician and treated in a short time. I'm shocked every time I read these cases, and by cases I mean CASES cause all these should be cases in a court of law. If the system sucks and so many suffer, why is it still allowed to exist? I haven't seen much about protests since the shooting happened and media is suppressing every bit of information as they're trying to bury Luigi Mangione who allegedly committed this crime. I still hope there is a way to use the momentum to fight for your right to receive necessary medical care without fear of bankruptcy and Luigi's right to a fair trial. Innocent untill proven guilty, though so many seem to forget that.
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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 2 months ago
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