me and your ghost| BNHAxReader

He has been dead for two years.
I know because I was there. I saw the explosion. I saw what it left behind. I unzipped the body bag with my own shaking hands and forced myself to look. I stood at his grave and watched the coffin disappear beneath the earth.
There was nothing uncertain about it.
And yet, across the train platform, under the harsh station lights, he stands there. Alive. Solid. Holding pink and white tulips, his eyes locked on mine.
His eyes finding mine like no time had passed at all.
Two years dead.
So what, exactly, was looking back at me?