by T. Strange
Charles leaned forward and grabbed the mug, careful to uncover as little of Harlan as possible. He started to pass the tea to Harlan, paused, gave Harlan a questioning look. “Mind if I…?”
Harlan nodded.
Charles took a sip. “Mmm, thanks.”
“Are you okay?” Harlan asked.
Charles nodded. “I’m fine, though I might take a hot shower when I feel safe leaving you alone for a bit.”
“You can now, if you want.” How long did Charles plan on staying? The thought of Charles, naked, in his shower, maybe both of them together… It was a heady image. It would warm him up, after all…
He squirmed uncomfortably, leaning forward so quickly that he almost spilled the tea all over both of them.
“Sorry,” they said at the same time.
“Here.” Charles handed over the mug, holding it from beneath until he was sure Harlan had a firm grip on the handle.
Their fingers brushed, lingered and they both pulled away.
Harlan took a long gulp of tea and swallowed as quickly as possible, making a face at the taste.
“Yeah, yeah. Drink up. It’s good for you. Hopefully the caffeine will help keep you awake a little longer.”
The mug was comfortably warm in his stiff hands, and the steam felt good on his face. He didn’t drink tea often, so he always forgot that it had caffeine. He always thought of it as a soothing bedtime drink, at least for other people.
Swallowing the bitter liquid, he decided it was worth it as its warmth coated his insides.
They shared the tea, passing the mug back and forth, Charles making sure Harlan drank most of it, while Harlan tried to do the same thing. He settled on Harlan’s right side, warming him again.
It felt so right, so natural and familiar, to lay his head on Charles’ shoulder, with Charles’ arm around him. Harlan had never especially liked being touched—not that there had been many volunteers—but this… Lying here with Charles, neither of them speaking, bare skin to bare skin… He felt as though he’d been here before, like he’d always been here, like he never wanted to leave.
That last thought, terrifying in its intensity, made him recoil and sit forward on the couch. “Um…”
Charles cleared his throat, pulled his arm back and leaned away just a little. What had felt simple and easy a moment ago was suddenly awkward.
“How do you feel?” Charles asked, already sliding out from beneath the blankets. “Your skin feels warmer.” He laughed. “Though it’d be hard for it to feel colder.”
Harlan nodded. His teeth had mostly stopped chattering, and his shivering wasn’t constant anymore.
“I, uh, think I’ll take that shower now, if it’s still on the table. You don’t mind?” Charles was standing now, clad only in his boxers. “I think you’re warm enough that we can safely give you a shower. Is your stall big enough for two?”
Harlan blinked at him, stupidly.
“I’m not an expert, but I think the most dangerous part is past and the hot water’ll do you some good.”
Harlan wasn’t sure how much of his sudden enthusiasm was due to the thought of warmth and how much was from the thought of being naked in a shower with Charles. It took him a humiliatingly long time to untangle himself from the blankets. Finally, Charles had to help dig him out, like a St. Bernard. No cask of brandy, unfortunately.
As soon as his bare skin came into contact with the open air, he started trembling again.
Charles frowned at him, thoughtfully. “Maybe I should…”
“I’m f-fine,” Harlan insisted, matching Charles’ frown with a scowl.
Sliding one arm beneath Harlan’s, with the other braced on the opposite shoulder, Charles helped him to his feet.
On reflection, it was a good thing Harlan hadn’t tried to stand on his own—even with Charles’ support, his legs wobbled, and he fell heavily against him. He appeared to have expected it and had already braced himself.
Harlan allowed himself to be steered through the apartment. It was small enough that the bathroom was easy for Charles to find, even without directions. Harlan was too cold to move away from contact with Charles’ skin, so he tried to ignore how good Charles’ naked body felt against his own—comfortably padded, with an ample amount of muscle beneath. Curves and hair and his smell…
He was relieved when they reached the bathroom.
“Can you stand by yourself for a moment?”
Harlan opened his mouth to protest, felt one of his calves spasm, shut it again and shook his head.
There was only one towel hanging on the bar. Charles grabbed it, put the toilet seat down and closed the lid, then covered the plastic seat with the towel. “Sit.” He pointed, his expression playful, but he clearly meant it.
Harlan sat before his legs gave out completely. He set his jaw so his teeth couldn’t chatter. He was so cold, deep down where nothing could reach it, that nothing could ever melt.
“Stay.” Now Charles was grinning. “Where can I find more towels?”
“The linen c-closet. In the hall.” Harlan counted only stuttering once as an achievement.
With a final, firm glance—wasted, because Harlan wasn’t sure he could’ve stood, even if he’d wanted to—Charles left. He returned a moment later with two fluffy blue towels and one of the blankets from the couch. After hanging the towels on the empty bar, he carefully tucked Harlan in, covering him and draping a layer of blanket behind him so he could lean back without touching the cold toilet tank.
Harlan cuddled into the blanket. It still smelled like Charles, and he hoped Charles would assume he was sniffing because his nose was running.
It took Charles a few moments to figure out Harlan’s shower, but soon the small, white-tiled room filled with steam. Once he’d gotten the water to a temperature that satisfied him, Charles gently untucked Harlan and helped him to his feet. He very impersonally stripped off Harlan’s socks and briefs—Harlan supposed he saw a lot of naked people, what with owning a…dungeon? Sex club? He still wasn’t sure how to think of it, and he didn’t want to ask and give away that he’d been thinking about it.
Chapter Eleven
Charles guided him into the shower, and Harlan was relieved it was a proper stall rather than a tub, or he would’ve been afraid of slipping, breaking his neck and adding yet another ghost to the building. If he did fall, the walls would keep him from going far—unless the glass shattered—then he’d not only be hurt when he hit the floor, he’d be sliced up, too…
Charles stepped into the shower behind him. He was completely naked. Harlan could feel it. The shower stall was small enough that it forced their bodies into constant contact, at least a few inches of skin, wherever they stood.
Harlan balked for the first time, feeling…all of Charles behind him.
“Hey. I’m sorry.” Charles took a step back, as much as he could, leaving his hands on Harlan’s middle to steady him.
“It’s o-okay,” Harlan murmured, jaw tight, teeth chattering. The water was hot—he could see the steam, how pink his skin was—but he still felt cold. “It’s just…” Just what? Been a long time? You startled me? It was too much, too many things. Harlan couldn’t pin any single thought down long enough to say it out loud, so he said nothing.
“I’ll get out if—”
“No!” Harlan interjected, more forcefully than he’d intended. “No,” he repeated, softening his voice, “stay. Please.”
“All right. If you’re sure.”
Harlan nodded. Charles was cold, too. He could feel the chill of skin against his back. Without speaking, they arranged themselves so they were both under the spray of warm water, Charles’ arm wrapped around Harlan’s shoulders, holding him close, with Harlan pressed against him. It wasn’t sexual, though only by the space of a wiggle and a squirm from either of them, but neither of them wiggled…or squirmed.
Finally, finally, Harlan’s core began to feel warm again. He shifted his feet slightly, careful not to step on Charle
s’ toes.
Charles moved his thumb slightly, tracing a short arc that terminated right above Harlan’s left nipple. He cleared his throat. “We should, uh, probably get out soon, before we run out of hot water and kill you.”
Harlan nodded. He agreed—if cold water hit him right now, he’d die. He leaned forward just a little, separating their bodies. He shivered as cool air touched his skin where they parted, but it was quickly replaced by the water’s warmth. He hoped he hadn’t imagined the regret in Charles’ voice.
“Right.” Charles reached past him and turned off the water. “You seem steady enough on your feet for the moment. Wait here, and I’ll hand a towel in for you. You’ll stay warmer that way.”
That made sense. Even the brief draft from Charles leaving, though he’d quickly shut the door behind himself, had raised goosebumps on Harlan’s naked skin.
Charles opened the shower door just enough to pass one of the towels through before shutting it again.
Harlan dried himself, his hands already trembling again as he wrapped himself in the towel and stepped out of the stall.
He wasn’t sure if Charles approached him or he approached Charles, but a moment later they were pressed together, body to body.
“The towel’s cold,” Charles said, laughing.
“Sorry.” Harlan tried to pull away, embarrassed, but Charles’ strong hands caught the hem and kept him in place.
“I wasn’t complaining,” Charles clarified. “I’m just worried about you being wrapped in something cold and wet, after all that trouble to warm you up.” He tugged at the towel, then quirked a smile, as though he’d only just realized Harlan wasn’t wearing anything underneath. “Do you have a bathrobe?”
Harlan didn’t know the answer and he felt absurd, being babied like this. “I can—” he began, taking a step off the bathmat. He recoiled when his toes touched frigid tile.
“Stay.” Charles pointed at him, a smile softening the command. “Bathrobe?”
Harlan had seen one, now that he thought about it, though he’d never used it. “Closet,” he replied, amused that he’d started answering Charles in single words as well.
“Stay,” Charles repeated, backing out of the bathroom. He kept his eyes on Harlan, hands up, as though Harlan were a velociraptor he was training. He was back in a moment, holding a dark blue terrycloth robe. With clinical detachment, he whisked the towel off Harlan, tossed it onto the floor and wrapped the robe around him. He grabbed the third towel, the dry one that had been folded on the toilet, and laid it on the floor in front of Harlan, covering the floor to the doorway. “So you don’t have to walk on the cold tile,” he explained, offering Harlan a hand.
Besides the man’s miraculous ability to make ghosts vanish, that one gesture tipped Harlan over the edge. He was smitten.
He carefully cupped his hand in Charles’ larger one as he led him across the towel. He felt like a princess being escorted to the ball.
Charles held Harlan’s hand all the way to the bed, getting Harlan safely seated before releasing his grip. The moment turned awkward, both of them suddenly aware of Harlan, naked except for a robe, in bed. Charles smoothed a piece of lint off the duvet, watching it fall with exaggerated focus. “Do you have pyjamas? They’d probably be more comfortable than the robe for sleeping, especially because it’s a little damp now.”
Harlan usually slept naked, but he pointed wordlessly to a drawer where he remembered seeing pyjamas during his explorations.
The set Charles offered was flannel—pastel blue, a pattern of cartoony sheep with zzzs coming out of their mouths as they jumped over fences. To his credit, Charles didn’t laugh, but Harlan still felt compelled to explain. “I didn’t buy them.” That just sounded worse, he decided, like he was so helpless that he didn’t even buy his own clothes—which, while technically true, wasn’t something he wanted Charles to know.
“Here.” Charles set the pyjamas, still neatly folded, on the corner of the bed. “I’ll, ah, let you change.” He closed the bedroom door softly behind him.
Harlan froze, listening, wondering if Charles had stayed in the living room or kept going—leaving the apartment entirely. He didn’t hear the front door open, and he let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He had the brief, absurd idea of pressing the ridiculous pyjamas to his nose and inhaling Charles’ lingering scent. Telling himself not to be ridiculous, he slid off the bed, removed the robe and pulled on the pyjamas. The fake wood floor was much warmer than the tile, but he still wished he had slippers.
He kept his hair short enough—and had mostly kept it out of the spray of water—that it was almost dry already. He was hardly shivering anymore, so rather than climbing into bed again, he slowly opened the door. He’d been hoping to catch a glimpse of Charles before the other man finished dressing, but he was too late.
Charles looked up from examining Harlan’s bookshelf—more things he hadn’t chosen. If Charles wanted to gain any insight about Harlan, he wouldn’t find it there. The books, like everything else in the apartment, had already been there when he’d moved in. He’d hardly glanced at the titles, never mind added to the collection. He had books he actually liked on his phone.
Charles smiled. Harlan smiled back.
“Feeling better?” It was more of a statement than a question.
Harlan nodded.
“Come sit down before you fall over.” Charles sat on the couch, patting the seat beside him.
Harlan sat, pressing himself against the far armrest and keeping his distance from Charles.
“So…” Charles fiddled with the empty mug, sliding it back and forth between his hands. “What happened? Or can you not tell me? It’s okay if you can’t, if you’re not ready to talk about it or…anything.”
Harlan shook his head. “I don’t mind.” He didn’t really want to talk about it—not now, maybe not ever—but he also wanted Charles to know why he’d ended up in need of rescue. “My apartment is ghost-warded. I think I told you that.”
Charles nodded.
“This angry guy, he lives—lived—in the building. He must’ve died. We only met once but he, uh, didn’t like me. He trapped me in the elevator, but I threw my keys at him. Metal can sometimes interrupt ghosts, briefly.
“I got off the elevator and into my apartment and I should have been safe, but my other neighbour left a note under my door, and it must’ve—I don’t know—bridged the gap between the apartment and the hall, and he…” Harlan shivered, knees drawn up to his chest. “He used it to get in, and he was so angry, so cold…” He looked at Charles, more directly than normal. “Thank you for coming. I’m pretty sure you saved my life.”
“Oof. That’s a lot. No wonder you were so messed up.” Charles reached over and it looked like he might touch Harlan’s hand, but he patted his shoulder instead. “I’m glad I was around when you called.” He glanced around the apartment, his eyes narrowed. “So, is he still here, but he can’t do anything more because I am?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I think you just make it so I can’t sense them. I don’t think he can hurt me as long as you’re here.”
“I mean, I’m glad about that, and obviously I’m happy to stay as long as you need me, but that’s just a short-term solution. How do we fix this?”
Harlan couldn’t help feeling a little internal glow at Charles’ use of ‘we’.
“You’ll need a new door, for starters.”
Harlan followed Charles’ gaze, widening his eyes when he saw the ruin of his door. The ice had thoroughly cracked it, and Charles had finished it off when he’d broken through to save Harlan. Most of the middle section lay on the floor, with only some wood remaining on the hinge and lock sides.
“Holy shit.”
“Do you have the building manager’s number?”
Harlan shook his head.
“What’s the name of this building?”
“Parkview.”
Charles pulled out his phone and typed for
a moment before lifting it to his ear. He paced into the kitchen, and Harlan was happy not to listen to the conversation. He let his eyes drift shut, basking in the peace Charles’ presence gave him.
Charles returned a few minutes later. “They’ll send someone out right away. I told them you were with the police. That should speed things up a bit.”
They shared a grin.
“He sounded a little grumpy. Apparently, these are the original doors. Your new one might not be so pretty.”
“It was a nice door.” Great, now Harlan felt guilty about the stupid wooden closure.
Charles gave his hand a quick squeeze. “But you’re safe. That’s what matters. Okay. That’ll take care of the physical part of your safety. What about the ghost?”
Harlan’s breathing sped up, his heart racing, just at the thought of his downstairs neighbour’s malevolent remains.
Remains.
“What if they haven’t found his body yet?”
“What?”
Harlan sat up, shaking his head. “It had to have been really recent, and something tells me this guy didn’t have a lot of visitors. His body might still be…” He pointed down, and they exchanged horrified looks.
“I’ll call the police. Is that right? Is that…the thing to do?”
“I think so?” Harlan sighed. He didn’t really want Hamilton finding out about this situation, but they would need the police anyway, to get rid of the body, the ghost and to ward Harlan’s new door. He was sure they’d have a ghost-warder on call.
“You want me to call?”
Harlan nodded, grateful.
“I don’t think I need to call 9-1-1, just the non-emergency number.”
“I agree.”
Charles perched on the arm of one of the chairs, quickly explaining the situation and what they needed before hanging up.
“They’ll be here in about an hour. Would you like me to stay with you?”
“Please.” The word came out more pitiful than he liked, but he’d meant it. He didn’t want to be left alone, not until he was sure the ghost was gone.