Thomgelica One-shots because not enough people write about them.

Phantom Love

He spoke in soft gentle words and he watched as his voice finally reached her ears. She flinched. That was not the reaction he had been hoping for and yet every time he spoke it was the reaction he got. It was as if his words were hurting her as if the very sound of his ghostly voice brought her pain.

Angelica cried night after night, his name falling from her trembling lips in a broken whisper until finally she fell asleep into a peaceless sleep and it crushed Thomas’s soul. Thomas wanted to help her, truly he did but calling out to her only seemed to be hurting her more.

Thomas’s goal was not to cause her more pain, the crazed man and his gun had already done enough of that, but now she was alone with her grief and it seemed to be breaking her more every single day. He wanted to help her. He could not bear to see the woman he loved to go through so much pain.

But he was only a ghost, nothing more than a transparent being. He could see her but she never could see him, her eyes looked right through him like he wasn't there. 

Thomas was stuck on this plane of the dead, only ever able to stand idly by while the weight of losing him crushed Angelica and Thomas didn't think he had ever experienced more anger. Dead or alive.

It wasn't fair to him or Angelica. Whose great idea was it to have the afterlife be like this? Who decided that Thomas would be able to see Angelica but never touch her, or smell her, or do anything he had been able to do when he was alive?

It was exhausting, to say the least. There truly were no words to describe the way it felt to have Angelica's eyes dance right past him because her human eyes were oblivious to his presence. Her eyes had once been so filled with love and joy and now the only thing left was sorrow.

But Thomas was a ghost, a new ghost at that, any tricks he could use to make his existence known we're lost on him. He was lost because this second plane he was on was so alike and yet so different from the living plane.

He could go places, he could go everywhere really. With the blink of an eye, he could be in Europe and yet he truly couldn't do anything. He couldn't eat, speak, or touch anything. All those things that made the human experience so delightful were completely stripped from him when he had been shot.

He was entirely useless and he didn't like it one bit. He wanted to help but he couldn't and he just wasn't used to that feeling of helplessness.

He didn't think he would ever get used to it, not if he had to continue to watch as the nightmares tortured Angelica.

A/N: Shout out to my sister JAylA_321 who came up with this idea and I swear the next one is NOT sad