Oct 10, 2021
IT’S A FAMILIAR FACE HE HADN’T IMAGINED SEEING. He recognised the names on the bookings, but he hadn’t quite reconciled the idea of seeing old ghosts until now. Desmond’s wiping down the chairs in the lobby when he sees them, memories of younger and fuller times―so at odds with where he is now―burgeoning in his chest. “Hey.” It almost steals his breath, the wave of nostalgia clogging his throat, suffocating with simpler times. “Long time, Marls. You’re a bit earlier than your booking, though.” ╱ @broussards
