The bassline of Somebody by Justin Bieber thrummed through Ethan's skull, the melody wrapping around his ribs like a vise. He'd played it on repeat for hours, chasing the ghost of a feeling—until, suddenly, it wasn't a ghost anymore.
Heat. A rush of warmth flooded his chest, spreading down his arms like liquid sunlight. The air around him thickened, sweet with the scent of coconut oil and vanilla, a fragrance so vivid it made his mouth water.
Then—touch.
Fingertips grazed his wrist, feather-light but unmistakable. His breath hitched. He knew that touch. Knew the way her nails would dig into his skin when she laughed, knew the way her palm would fit against his like two halves of a broken thing clicking back together.
He reached out blindly—
And his hand collided with hers.
Not imagined. Real.
A gasp echoed in the empty room—hers—and then the world shattered into visions:
- Her back pressed against his chest, his arms locked around her waist as they swayed in a dim room, her laughter vibrating through him like a second heartbeat.
- Her head on his shoulder, her curls tickling his jaw, her breath warm through the fabric of his shirt.
- A fight. Tears glistening on her cheeks, her voice breaking—"You don't get to leave me. Not again."
Then—silence.
The song ended.
The warmth vanished.
Ethan's hand hung in the empty air, fingers still curled as if clutching something precious. His chest ached, hollowed out.
"Why?" he whispered.
The reply came in a voice that wasn't his, soft as a breath against his neck:
"I'll find you."
Rose wasn't ready.
The song started, and within seconds, her skin prickled with electricity. The air around her grew heavy, charged like the moment before a storm.
Then—him.
The weight of his hands settled on her hips, calloused thumbs pressing into the dip of her waist. She could feel the heat of his body behind her, the scratch of his stubble against her neck as he leaned in.
Her breath caught.
She reached back—
And her fingers closed around his wrist.
Solid. Real.
A sharp inhale—his—and then the room dissolved into fragments of a life they hadn't lived yet:
- His lips on her forehead, lingering like a prayer.
- Tangles of limbs in a sunlit bed, her leg hooked over his hip, his laugh rumbling against her collarbone.
- A scream. Her own. "You promised!" The sound raw, tearing from her throat like it had claws.
Then—nothing.
The music cut out.
The touch evaporated.
Rose's fingers trembled, still outstretched. The space where he'd been burned like a brand.
"You'll love me," she murmured.
The air whispered back, aching and sure:
"So hard."
---
Ethan woke with his phone clutched in his hand, the screen cracked from where he'd thrown it the night before. His thumb hovered over the messages—all unsent, all failed.
Unknown: "Where are you?"
Error.
Unknown: "I felt you."
Error.
He snarled, hurling the phone against the wall. It shattered with a satisfying crunch, plastic splintering like his patience.
"Fuck!"
His chest heaved. The room smelled like sweat and desperation.
---
Rose avoided Carl in the hallway, ducking her head as she passed. But she still caught the flicker of hurt in Carl's eyes—dark and wounded, like a kicked dog.
Guilt coiled in Rose's gut, sharp and sickening.
I used her.
But how could she explain? "I'm obsessed with a man who doesn't exist—except in my head, except in a song, except in the way my body burns for someone I've never met."
The knock at Carl's door was too soft, almost apologetic. Rose hesitated, her fist hovering—Should I just leave?—but before she could decide, the door creaked open from her touch.
Unlocked.
The smell hit her first—**lavender body oil and sweat. Then the sound: breathless laughter, the rustle of sheets, a moan bitten back.
Rose froze.
Carl was sprawled across the bed, her locs fanned out like spilled ink, her bare legs tangled with someone else's. A girl—smaller, softer, with braids coiled into a bun—was straddling her, Carl's hands gripping her hips.
They hadn't noticed Rose yet.
The girl gasped, arching. "C-Carl—"
Carl grinned, lazy and warm. "Yeah? Say my name again."
Rose's stomach dropped like a stone.
Her knee hit the door—a thud.
Carl's head snapped up.
Silence.
The girl—no, Carl's girlfriend—flinched, scrambling off her. "Oh my God—"
Carl's face drained of color. "Rose."
Rose couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
The girl—no, the other girl—covered herself, eyes wide. "Who… who is this?"
Carl didn't answer.
Rose did.
"Nobody," she whispered.
Carl lunged forward. "Rose, wait—"
But Rose was already backing away, her pulse a deafening drumbeat in her ears.
The girl—the real girlfriend—grabbed Carl's arm. "Carl? What the hell is going on?"
Carl didn't look at her. Just stared at Rose, mouth open, no lies ready.
Rose turned and ran.
---
Rose stared at her phone, Daniel's name glowing on the screen.
Daniel: "Missed me?"
No "I missed you." No "I'm sorry." Just ego, wrapped in lazy punctuation.
She typed back anyway.
"Yeah."
Because the alternative—chasing a ghost, a man made of song fragments and stolen touches—was worse.
Right?.
Ethan tripped on the sidewalk, his knees scraping concrete. Blood welled in the grooves of torn skin, but he barely felt it.
No one stopped to help.
Pathetic.
He laughed, the sound hollow and broken, as he pulled out his shattered phone one last time.
Unknown: "Please."
Error.
The screen glitched—
For half a second, a face flickered in the static.
Her.
Dark eyes. Full lips. A tear trailing down her cheek.
Then—darkness.
Rose, staring at Daniel's vague replies:
"This isn't love."
Ethan, pressing his forehead to the cold glass of a bus window:
"Then why does it hurt?"
Somewhere, the song began again.
Neither of them heard it.