FicWad

In most movies, ghosts are portrayed as something ugly, something haunting, and something that represents nightmares and like to play tricks upon the living. Madeline could tell you different. Most ghosts she'd seen in her lifetime were sad and beautiful. They very rarely resembled the way they looked at their time of death, but instead the way they wish they still looked. So many times she'll talk to a spirit resembling a young, beautiful woman, but in actuality, that particular spirit had died in 1927 at the age of 65, but she hated the fact that she was old, so once given the chance, she changed her appearance. The only ones that were a bit gruesome were the children she had to deal with, that didn't know how to change their appearance, and were so wrapped up in their death they knew nothing else, not even the fact they were neither in heaven nor hell. It was those times that Madeline ever really truly cried for a ghost.
This one she knew didn't know how to change his appearance, and was in fact one of the spirits that becomes wrapped up in their death and knows nothing else. And this particular spirit...it was the first time a ghost had ever made her catch her breath, made her heart pick up, made her swallow her tongue. He was beautiful, he was rugged, he was glass thrown into the sea and smoothed perfectly over time, picking up the sun and buried in the sand. She was the lucky beach comber that spotted this little perfection. The sunlight caught into his transparent form and dispersed like a kaleidoscope, making her pupils dilate. "Yes...I do play." She answered him, realizing she had words and using them at last. She watched pale, full lips spread slowly into a small smile and she brought her fingers away from the ivory piano keys and folded them in her lap to keep the ghost from seeing her trembling hands. As he floated away from the window, she got to take a good look at him again, and her heart picked up again at what she was sure was once soft, thick dirt brown hair that settled messily over his forehead, brushing against the long lashes that surrounded wide, honest brown eyes. A barely there five o' clock shadow on a soft, pale complexion, even paler now that he was ghost, and a strong jaw line. Dressed simply in tight dark jeans and a plaid button up shirt, Madeline would never have pictured a rock star dressed so casually.
Keeping herself from jumping as he moved towards the piano, brushing his fingertips against the piano keys, Madeline studied him a bit more before finally talking. "So...you died in this house?" She asked quietly, her heart just as quietly breaking at the way he solemnly stared at the keys. "Yeah...about ten years ago next month. It's funny though...each time I try to remember...I can't." Madeline cleared her throat and nodded. "That happens sometimes...it'll come back to you though, I promise..." The ghost beside her gave a soft, sarcastic chuckle. "Whatever you say..." Madeline bit her lip at the dubious tone and sighed, trying again. "Is it alright...if I stay in your room? I'll stay in here, if you don't want me in there." The spirit picked up his head and looked at Madeline with a soft slow spreading smile again that made her cheeks grow pink. "Nah, what do I need the bed for anyway, right? It's fine if you stay there, you're the first person to actually talk to me...my own friends didn't recognize me...I mean, fuck, I made Ryan doubt his sanity, you know how shitty that made me feel?" Madeline drew a blank, not knowing who any of these people were, and then remembered the posters fading beneath broken glass. "Your band...right? What was the name?" She asked softly, hitting a key to match her voice.
"Panic at the Disco. I was the lead singer, Brendon. Brendon Urie."