The Ghosts in My Story ft. Noel
Proving that you can’t outrun everything in this life.
A starter for the ex, @mpxnoel
There in the few precious seconds between his last dream and the cozy wake up he’s about to endure, Invidia is suspended. Suspended in that warm space where he needs to do nothing for anyone, or concern himself with the worries of the day that is about to unfold. For just a short bit of time, he’s utterly at peace.
Beside him on the pretty little dresser of this room, his phone chimes an alarm that effectively dissipates the fluff of his slumber from his mind as his tired hand fumbles for it for a moment before finding it. Still drowsy and happy from his sleep, the sinner lifts his head from the bevy of pillows that shelter him in the bed to peer around his home bedroom before rising. Time to start another day, he thinks sitting up and stretching his limbs out fully, muscles warming slowly and unbothered to the light chill that creeps inside his home from the slightly open window. He likes that kind of early winter coldness just a little- it reminds him that he’s made it here.
The cold with its beautiful icy nails that scratch up along his senses remind him that he’s outrun the specters of his past.
And isn’t it kind of cute that he really believes that?
Water slides across his skin as the pitcher is poured over his head. The same ritualistic type bath and scrubbing that came with each new guest that he was meant to take is unfolding, the sweep of many wash clothes and hands over him. As often as it happens the sinner doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the way that it feels to have every inch of him cleansed as though it washed away what he’s done or is about to do at all. Still, he thinks as he purposely sinks back into the bubbly water and lets it cover his head completely, feels nice!
Once he’s done in the tub Invidia stays still as he perfumed behind his ears, along his collarbones, down the center column of his back, the backs of his knees and at his ankles before he’s handed over the soft pile of “clothes” he’ll wear. Clothes is a more than generous term honestly, because it’s not more in his hands than clean white thin fabric that tastefully drapes along his body to cover only what is vital to hide and nothing else. The most adorning given him is the body chain that is never removed from him, thin and delicate in it’s rose gold color against the tan of his skin. Invidia inspects himself in the full length mirror of the bathing room for a moment.
“This,” he muses to the attendants there as he touches at the black curly tresses that frame his features and kiss shamelessly at his shoulders now, “is getting too long!”
There’s laughter from others getting their baths and from those that check him over once more before leading him away and back up the stairs to the secret walkways that will hide him from view. He hasn’t cut his hair in some time and he’s never really seemed like he would, too uncaring of opinions really to do more than toss it up into an appropriate hair tie and call it good. Now allowed such a trinket now it hangs clean and free about his face and neck catching the light of the windows he passes.
As they draw near the room that is his to work in, the sinner wonders what kind of person it will be that starts his evening. A beautiful woman? He smiles at the idea and doesn’t hide the way his cheeks glow. An interesting man? Unlikely. Unless it was a regular- his smile perks at the idea. A familiar form against his own would be a good way to slide through the evening.
Would it be someone new? Someone who might thrill him, however short lived it was, before they slipped back into the plethora of faces with names he’s forgotten by the end of the session? It didn’t really matter if he’s honest with himself.
“Okay, go,” he tells himself as his hand wraps around the ornate golden handle of his door.
Like a zing of electricity, a feeling sizzles up his spine! Something inextricable from his heart jarrs his body so hard he physically cannot move for a few seconds. Is it dread? Is it thrill? Something shifts in the air around him and Invidia takes a deep breath before pushing his door open and stepping inside.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” his deep voice glides a little easier of the foreign words in Korean, his eyes down before they lift to behold his guest and his greeting halts on his tongue, “How like you th—“
There, seated on the cushioned bench at the foot of his bed is a blast from his past. Like a grinning devil bent to snare and seduce him is the figure of Noel Yunuen, his ex from back home, with some bit of paper folded neatly between his fingers that hold it up between them like an omen.
