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Henry has a poltergeist infestation.
He knows how crazy it sounds.
He laughs in disbelief when it’s said out loud to his bathroom mirror reflection at 3 AM, heart pounding and pupils dilated after his dozenth nightly encounter in a row.
He can already hear the scoffs and cackles of Bea and Pez once he confides in them about the absolutely insane month he’s experienced. They know he’s never been the superstitious type, never once believing in ghosts or demons that require whitewashed Christian rhetoric to expel back to Hell. They would ask him if he’s pulling their leg, or off his meds. Maybe ask if he’s on new ones that are making him see things.
Henry knows how crazy it seems.
But he has a poltergeist.
And it’s David.
Sweet old 10-year-old David, who was too anxious for his own good to ever outlive his equally anxious owner. He passed quietly, fidgeting in his sleep, his nose a few millimetres away from his favorite chew toy.
Henry keeps it safe, that chew toy, up high on his bookshelf now—a left shoe so battered and torn, you would think the missing right shoe was gobbled up by the little menace.
It’s been rough dealing with his passing.
Henry’s eyes still instinctively lower when he returns home from a grocery trip, expecting his two-foot-tall companion to waddle his way over in greeting. He still panics when it’s half past 7 and he forgot to fill the empty dog bowl in the kitchen. His hand still pats the now-empty spot beside him when he wakes up in the morning.
He misses him so much.
And it hurts so much more.
He knows he’s not really grieving properly. Not allowing his friends and loved ones to comfort him, leaving his phone on an indefinite Do Not Disturb, and pretending to be busy when they invite him for dinner. He’s not processing his emotions like his therapist has taught him to. In an ironically cruel way, he blames David for it.
The purpose behind David’s adoption was to process his father’s passing all those years ago. A suggestion from his therapist at the time, who knew how hard it was for Henry to listen to his words, to actually do the steps his therapist instructed him to take. Henry would need something unconventional, something to keep him busy, keep him from disappearing into the abyss of his grief. Henry was skeptical at first, barely even making it to his appointments, even with the help from his wonderful best friend, who fed and bathed him when all the myofibrils in his body refused to let him get out of bed on his own.
But within a few weeks, Henry, lost in his grief and suffering, had to be yanked out and coralled back to the present, because his new 2-year-old Beagle easily outcompeted him in self-inflicted misery.
The little anxious creature would always whimper and whine at random moments of the day, at seemingly nothing. No ambulance or outside dog barks could explain why he’d desperately run in circles sometimes, like something bigger was on his tail, bullying him into the frightened mess he was. Henry would have to stop his own crying to comfort David, who came trotting to him with an injured paw after he ran into his coffee table. He’d sniff away his tears as he’d soothe and hum David to sleep in his lap, mind distracted and heart no longer aching for those short few minutes. They comforted each other in those times, as they both got accustomed to their new lives.
The previously preferred quiet in Henry’s life was permanently disrupted by the welcoming of David (it saved him in the end, he thinks).
Which leads Henry back to his theory.
The activity began two weeks after David’s passing.
Minimal at first, but building with every few nights that passed.
It started with scattered objects on the floor, seemingly knocked off the counter space they previously occupied. Things that could be attributed to careless movement on his end, as he walks through his living space, distracted by his daily tasks. Objects shaped in ways that could easily be written off as the reason they rolled off in the first place. Physics, and all that.
But then, one night. It happened in front of him.
A candle is knocked over from the wooden table next to the couch. The couch Henry was 5 metres away from as he exited the kitchen.
Stopped in his tracks, Henry blinked down at the cedar-scented candle, his brain trying to process the 1.3 milliseconds that passed after he entered the room, for any semblance of a logical answer for what he just saw. He found none, of course, as he walked over and placed the candle back into its original position, at the centre of the table, far away from the edge for any excuse of wind or a mini-earthquake to be made.
All he could think about as he retreated back to his room, the spill replaying over and over in his head, were the countless times that exact candle had been knocked over during a certain canine’s late-night zoomies.
With each new instance of witnessing something he could just not explain without thinking about David, Henry felt like he was absolutely losing his mind. He even considered booking an appointment with his old therapist to confirm whether or not he’s becoming clinically insane.
And then he started waking up.
Now, Henry is a world-renowned insomniac. Everyone and their mother knows this.
No one should be surprised that he spends several nights a week barely achieving an hour of sleep. He should not be surprised that his grief over his dog might be screwing with his sleep schedule.
And yet.
One night, with a startle, Henry opened his eyes at 4:32 AM and bolted up in his sheets, the echo of a dog’s bark ringing through his ears.
His eyes scanned across his room one, two, three times, trying to figure out what the bloody Hell just woke him up. His window is closed. The TV is turned off. No dog was barking in the streets. So why did he just hear the familiar sound of David barking up at the corner of his closet like the boogeyman was waiting to strike?
It took him a few minutes to lie back down again, a headache forming as he strained his ears to hear what exactly caused him to wake. It ruined his sleep, and it annoyed him.
And it continued to annoy him the following few nights as the same thing occurred over and over again, until that annoyance slowly transformed into quiet fear.
He hates to admit that he’s scared. It’s ridiculous how his heart begins to pound harder with each night it occurs, how his eyes dart more frantically into the darkness of the room, the feeling of something being in there with him despite no other eyes staring back at him.
That wasn’t his breaking point, though.
No.
His breaking point was the late night he sat on his couch, silent tears tracking down his face, ears ringing from the silence of his apartment, alone, no other living being to distract him from the desolate feeling piercing his soul. His mind refused to allow him to pick up his phone, to dial Pez or his sister and have them remind him of their love and support, because his self-deprecation wins every internal battle it picks, convincing him that he doesn’t deserve to hear it. And then, he thinks of his dad, and a new wave of hurt washes over him, and oh God, he can not breathe and he cannot think and he cannot exist right now and—
A heavy feeling in his lap settles in.
He looks down at said lap.
His joggers appear as they should, worn and smooth on his thighs.
Except, Henry knows that something is sitting on him right now. He knows that David is sitting on him right now. Just like he would when he’d remember his purpose in Henry’s life as an emotional support dog and plop his chubby frame onto him, snoring away any grieving thoughts that lingered in Henry’s mind.
It’s David. He’s here.
He died, and he is still here.
That leads to now, as Henry paces by the front door at 3 PM on a Saturday, anticipating the guest he called into service.
Henry had to stop himself from immediately deleting his browser history after he scoured the internet for an hour and found the page he was looking for: a self-proclaimed ghostbuster that specialized in poltergeists in the greater Manhattan area. This was all in the name of proving himself right, so his pride would have to take a step down for a moment.
At 3 minutes past, a rapid succession of knocks breaks through. Henry opens the door and, for the dozenth time this month, his heart drops at what his eyes see in front of him.
The most beautiful man he’s ever seen, standing on his front step, grins up at Henry with a dazzling smile and extends his hand.
“Hello! You must be Henry. I’m Alex, the certified medium you called in.”
“Oh. Right,” Henry musters as he blinks away his enamoured eyes and shakes Alex’s hand. He ignores the shiver down his spine at Alex’s electric touch and steps aside.
“Please. Come on in.”
With a satchel on his shoulder, Alex nods and readjusts before stepping into the apartment. He’s confident in his steps, coming into the middle of the living room with familiar steps, slowly rotating his body around with his head held high, eyes scanning every corner of the room. The grin on his face has transformed into an intrigued smile, long eyelashes fluttering as he looks at the hallway leading to his bedroom.
“Hm,” he lets out with a curious tone.
Henry’s eyebrow quirks up, but he remains silent, shifting from one foot to the other, still near the front door. He’s watching Alex with bated breath, too distracted by Alex’s calm reaction to even let his mind process how beautifully the sun’s rays are falling onto his dark brown hair from the living room window.
Alex takes a few steps forward, towards the hallway, running his hand along the couch’s side table as he passes by. His hand grazes the candle that’s been causing Henry so much trouble lately, and Henry’s disappointed that he doesn’t have an adverse reaction to it. He was hoping he’d look down, pause, gasp, anything to validate how much Henry’s heart races just by looking at it.
Instead, Alex pays it no mind as he lets his satchel drop onto a couch cushion and goes to stand in front of a wall of photos: family portraits before his father’s passing, his and Pez’s trip to Costa Rica, Christmases with Beatrice and David. His eyes scan over each one, eyes flickering back and forth between the captured faces, fully focused. From the side, Henry can see a certain glossiness that reflects in Alex’s gaze, like he’s being transported back to each moment through some impossible telepathic power that Henry has now become desperate enough to believe in.
“Huh,” Alex says, eyes lingering on a photo from university, where Henry sits at a dinner table surrounded by his family, red-faced and sheepishly smiling up at the camera.
He had been surprised by his family that night, thinking he had done a good job at hiding the award he was being presented with for a creative writing contest. But when his name was called at the ceremony and he walked up the steps to receive the award as quickly as he could before escaping, the small venue’s polite clapping was interrupted by shouting from the back. He had to squint through the stage lights to see the wide grins plastered on his family’s faces, shoulder to shoulder near the exit, with even Philip wearing a reluctant but proud smile. It was embarrassing at the time, even more so when his father insisted on taking him to his favorite restaurant and announcing his son's achievement to the entire establishment.
But now, well.
He would give anything to see his family like that again. To see his brother begrudgingly give in to a relaxed smile. To see his mom show any expression whatsoever, now that she resembles more a ghost than any semblance of a living human being. To just see his dad.
“I knew it,” Alex interrupts Henry’s thoughts. He blinks away his tears before Alex turns around and smiles up at him with a knowing grin.
Henry clears his throat awkwardly, “Yes?”
There’s a twinkle in his eye as Alex replies, “I could tell you’ve been cute your entire life.”
Henry almost chokes on his own spit as his eyes widen. He can feel his mouth open, but nothing comes out. He knows his face is blushing far more than in the photo.
Alex saves Henry from the moment, as he chuckles and turns back around to walk over to the kitchen, not giving him any chance to humiliate himself even more by accidentally asking Alex to marry him.
Instead, he watches as Alex peeks his head through the kitchen doorway for a few seconds before he straightens back up, huffs, and shakes his head.
“What?” Henry’s voice wavers, nerves evident as he approaches Alex cautiously. “Is–is there something wrong?”
“Yeah, actually,” Alex replies, crossing his arms as he fully turns to face Henry and leans his body against the wall behind him. “I smell lemon ginger.”
Henry pauses, confused.
“...My tea?”
Alex’s eyes become slits. “I can’t believe you Brits insist on drinking leaf water.”
A strange noise is pulled out of Henry. Before he can control himself, he bites back, “I’m assuming you drink mud water with a pint of processed sugar like every other American?”
He immediately regrets it, oh God.
Not only did he just insult the most attractive man he’s ever met, he’s also insulted the one man who could help him in this God awful, insane situation.
He’s going to be haunted by the ghost of his anxious beagle for the rest of his life.
His thoughts are interrupted by the amused snort that leaves Alex’s nose. Henry finds his eyes relaxed into a soft crinkle, lips upturned into a loose smirk.
“You’re funny, Henry.”
Henry is running out of patience with this maddeningly gorgeous man, is what he is.
“So, do you mind telling me if I’m a lunatic?” he asks, unsuccessfully masking his exasperation..
Alex’s eyebrows raise, body pushing off the wall to walk back towards Henry.
“Oh! Yeah, no. Totally not loony. You sure do have an unwanted guest.” He nods and looks around the room as confirmation. “Could tell from the moment I stepped inside that there’s a little bugger following you around.”
“He’s not unwanted.”
“Oh?” Alex turns back to Henry, eyes curious. His head tilts to the side like a puppy. (Like David).
“I think…it’s my dog? He passed away a few weeks ago.”
Alex snaps his fingers and opens his mouth as a nonverbal aha gesture is made.
“I knew it! That’s why I feel the need to crouch down to be eye level with him.”
With that, Henry loses eye contact with Alex as he gets on his knees in front of him and begins to scan the living room at his new height.
He feels weak in his own knees. He can not believe this is his life right now. The first man in months to kneel in front of Henry, just so he can try and make contact with his dead dog.
He’s actually going insane.
“Alright, so–” Henry’s voice slightly cracks, and he cringes. He closes his eyes to recalibrate and clears his throat, opening his eyes again to the sight of Alex looking up at him (absolutely fucking mental). “What do you need for us to communicate?”
“Oh,” Alex says at first, taking a moment to scramble back up onto his feet. He wipes his pants off from invisible dust and scratches the back of his neck. “Communicate? Alright, sure. Um, let’s see…”
With that, Henry is finally given a chance to breathe and compose himself, as Alex preoccupies himself with returning to his abandoned satchel on the couch and producing a small journal and pen.
“So, it’s pretty simple,” he begins, scribbling into the middle of the book. “A communication ritual doesn’t add much intricate preparation. I’ll just need a couple of extra house visits to ensure I understand the entity well enough to open safe and sound communication between us in the mortal world and him in the Nether.”
“Extra house visits?”
“Yeah,” Alex says easily, looking up at Henry as if his beautiful face and charming smile won’t absolutely ruin Henry with every return to his apartment. “And, of course, since it was your dog, talking to you will help loads with figuring out what objects are needed to make a strong connection.”
Oh.
So he has to talk to Alex some more. And somehow not fall in love with him. Oh.
Henry can’t bring himself to speak. Just stares at Alex’s magnificent hand as it scribbles onto the paper. Maybe if he pretends to be sick, he can have an excuse to hide in his room during Alex’s visits, and email him a 10-page biography about David the Beagle, then he can get away with this until Alex can finally help him talk to David.
He can manage that. The less of Alex he sees, the better.
The pause in Alex’s writing brings his attention back to the present. He looks back up at Alex and is surprised to see a worried look.
“Sorry, is—I wasn’t—” Alex stammers out, a gulp visible as he closes his journal and holds it close to his chest. He sort of looks…nervous? “Look, I apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable. This is always kind of weird for me, to enter into someone’s home for the first time, them watching me like a hawk as I try my best to use my abilities. I tend to ramble when I’m nervous. And forget my manners. My mom would have my head right now if she heard every word that has come out of my mouth since I walked into your home. Which is lovely, by the way.”
Henry’s eyes soften as he watches Alex prove himself right, watches him ramble on and on, as if Henry isn’t already halfway in love with him.
“I can always just do the house visits by myself, you can just chill in your bedroom and do what you have to do. I can manage without forcing you into any other conversation with me. I’ve done this plenty of times. You won’t even notice I’m here. Scout’s honor.” Alex tries to make the three-fingered hand motion with his left hand, forgetting that it’s the one holding the journal up. They both watch as the journal clatters onto the floor, Alex cursing softly as he swipes it back up clumsily.
His cheeks are tinted a soft red when he comes back up. He smiles with a soft glow of embarrassment.
Henry is so, truly, utterly fucked.
So, he agrees.
Alex spends the next 30 minutes getting a recap of everything Henry has witnessed in the last month, being guided through his home with step-by-step narration on his missing socks, the ever-so-unsteady candle, the barking, the lap sitting. With every story, Henry’s met with soft laughter from Alex—not the laughter he dreaded to hear from someone who would declare him an attention-seeking freak, no. A laugh that squeezes his heart tight with something he hasn’t felt since the passing of David. A simple laugh, inoffensive, heavy with fondness over a beloved pet rather than a taunt.
By the end, Henry is smiling too, letting a small giggle slip out as he remembers the crazed reflection in his bathroom mirror as he stared back at himself in disbelief.
“Okay, so. I think I have an idea of what to bring back. Is it okay if I come back on Monday, same time?” Alex asks, making his way to the door.
Henry nods and joins him. “Yeah, of course. I should be available.” He hasn’t made plans in weeks. Of course, he’s available.
Alex beams, “Okay, sweet.” He readjusts the satchel strap on his shoulder, his smile turning small with a hesitant tilt. “Um, sorry again. If I made you uncomfortable with my comments. I can be strictly professional, I swear.”
A blush blooms onto Henry’s cheeks. He had hoped Alex wouldn’t bring it up again. Because, well. Now he has to tell him the truth.
“No, it’s—it’s okay, Alex,” he starts. His hands tuck into their sweatshirt sleeves as he swings them behind his back timidly. “I—” he stutters, a hilt in his breath as he pushes through. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re very cute as well.” The most beautiful human to ever walk this Earth is a more accurate description, but he doesn’t need to scare away his only prospective solution right now.
Alex’s smile is dazzling. His feet rock back and forth before he shakes his head and opens the door. “Bye, Henry.”
“Bye, Alex.”
Henry watches from the doorstep as Alex’s figure disappears around the street corner.
It takes all of three minutes after Henry closes the door, settling into the calm quiet of his apartment, for his bedroom door to creak open on its own, wide enough to allow a ghostly friend to waddle into the room for his daily nap.
With a heavy sigh, Henry shakes his head and continues with his week, trying to best ignore every horror movie trope that comes to life.
True to his word, Alex visits Henry time and time again. Each time, Henry opens the front door to a cheery Alex and a “Hi, Henry!”
He carries new trinkets in, objects coming in varying clusters, as he mutters to himself and walks around the place like it’s his second home, juggling between each variant as he nods at one and shakes his head at another. He always settles on one at the end, turning to Henry with a proud grin, like as if they both worked hard with their psychic powers to figure out what works best with David (as if Henry didn’t just spend the last hour watching Alex from the sidelines, eyes devastatingly pining after this wonderful being who is finally bringing back some warmth into his home).
They fill the quiet with small talk, Alex inquiring about more fond memories of Henry’s dog, wondering if there are any particular scents or foods he was most interested in. Henry always begins the visit with a timid smile and a shrug, not really knowing how to talk about the beloved pet that has, so far, brought a shower of tears to his eyes whenever he thinks about him. But Alex always manages to pierce through his soul, to smile encouragingly up at him and nod as he begins, nudging him along as Henry pushes through the tears and opens up more and more.
He can’t quite manage to bring up his dad, and the reason he got David in the first place, but he does lean into the irony of needing to emotionally support his supposed emotional support animal. Alex shakes his head in amusement as he crouches down and swaps a red bandana out of his hand with a yellow one, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He sighs, “Of course, even the color red stresses this guy out.” He opens his eyes and looks up at Henry, “Poor baby.”
Henry scoffs and shakes his head, too. “Yeah, he was a big ol’ baby.”
“No, I meant you."
Henry stammers.
“Oh—me?”
“Yeah,” Alex says easily, standing up and moving in front of Henry. His bandana-free hand lifts up halfway, fingers grazing up Henry’s forearm to rest on his tricep, squeezing gently. “You did all the comforting when you needed to be comforted. I wish someone were there for you.”
Like you?
“Oh, it—it wasn’t all too bad,” Henry says with a shrug, refusing to bring his gaze down to Alex’s hand, refusing to acknowledge what just made his heart rate spike up to 150. Staring into Alex’s eyes isn’t any better, though. “In a way, it helped me get my mind off things. All my attention on David kind of forced me to take care of myself. So I could take care of him.”
“And now?” Alex inquires, a worried tone resonant in his question.
And now, you’re sort of the only thing getting me out of bed. Henry thinks. Well, that, and the ghost of my dead dog won’t stop crashing into furniture.
“It appears he’s still keeping me busy,” Henry says instead.
Alex hums, seemingly satisfied. After a second, his eyes cast down to his own hand, and it seems as though he’s just realizing what he’s doing, because his eyes widen just a millimetre before he drops his hand and clears his throat. His eyes flutter as they move back to Henry and then to the ground, a small hint of pink finding its way onto his chiseled cheekbones.
God, Henry could die from his beauty.
Instead, they both awkwardly nod and decide that was enough for the day, Henry leading Alex back to his front door and thanking him for his time.
“Anytime, Henry,” Alex says, eyes scanning over Henry’s facial features. His eyes go pensive, and his brows furrow a bit. “Seriously,” he says. “Give me a ring. Anytime.”
The knot in Henry’s throat keeps him from rasping out anything more than, “Okay.”
After that, Alex’s visits became more frequent. As in, every day.
And subsequently, they familiarize themselves with each other.
Henry builds the courage to push a black coffee into Alex’s hand as he steps through the door. He blurts out an offer of cream and sugar if Alex so wishes. With a stunned look, Alex blinks between him and the coffee before mentioning cinnamon. Henry delivers the next day.
Then, Alex brings in a book, a collection of poetry from Wendy Cope. Henry stares down at the hardback after Alex lays it gently into his open hands. “I noticed you read a lot of poetry,” Alex motions to the bookcase in the living room. “But they’re all dead, I think. So I brought you some works from someone very much alive. And British, like you.”
Their days become longer, with many pauses in Alex’s work as they get distracted—with each other. Alex goes on a tangent about house plants and their many uses for lung health and cortisol reduction. Henry rambles on and on about the bush of camellias around the corner that he had to avoid on his walks with David, since the frenetic dog would be sent into a barking attack at the pure sight of it.
(The next day, Alex brings a bouquet of flowers. Henry, with a furrowed brow and amused smile, asks him what exactly about his story made him think David liked flowers. “Oh, um—” Alex begins, smiling sheepishly, not making eye contact as he motions the bouquet towards Henry, “these are for you, actually.” They both can’t seem to shake off the blush high on their cheeks for the rest of the visit.)
Coffee grounds become a permanent fixture in Henry’s kitchen. Alex’s hat is left on a wall hook and never returned.
They hug when they say goodbye now, hands lingering against each other’s skin as their bodies become engulfed with the warmth of someone they trust.
With each day that passes, Henry’s heart fills with a strange sense of relief and wonder at how, in the midst of all this chaos—of his continuous day and nights being terrorized by his grief and reluctance to accept love from his friends and family—he’s somehow found something safe and familiar.
On the final scheduled day, Alex comes in with his satchel and an extra tote bag filled to the brim with familiar objects and gadgets from before. On the face of the bag is a depiction of a cartoon witch encased in a lottery card, with the title “La Bruja” underneath her. When Henry stares at the illustration for too long, Alex blushes and shrugs his shoulders, “My sister got it for me for my birthday last year. It's an inside joke.”
“I think you would have bought it with your own money if you saw it yourself,” Henry teases.
Alex’s eyes lock onto Henry with determination and equal amusement. “I can neither confirm nor deny these allegations.”
Henry rolls his eyes and leads Alex into the living room, his couch and table pushed off to the walls as Alex requested through a morning text.
It doesn't take much for Alex to set up what is essentially a seance ring. He instructs Henry to sit opposite him, a few feet apart, as he meticulously places each object in position around them. A yellow bandana to the left, a chicken chew toy to the right, David’s favorite kibble scattered in between, and various other trinkets that David had either drooled on or torn into pieces.
Henry tries to keep his composure as he sees Alex’s demeanor change. He's still calm and relaxed, yes. But there’s a new air to him, holding his shoulders straight and head tall, clearly the man running the show.
His chest moves deeper, grander, as he closes his eyes and settles his hands on top of his crisis-crossed knees. Henry copies his position and tries to wipe the sweat off his own hands. His joggers fail at drying them.
As he wonders whether he should be closing his eyes too, or keep his eyes open for any form of paranormal activity to occur, Alex’s eyes slip back open with an alertness.
“Oh! Almost forgot,” he softly exclaims, scrambling to get up and sprint over to the side table. Henry’s heart skips a beat as Alex’s hand swoops down and grabs hold of The Candle.
When Alex returns to his spot, setting the candle down in front of them, his mouth returns to his familiar smile. “I could feel you watching me with bated breath, that first day, when my hand grazed the candle.” Alex stares across at Henry, eyes dazzlingly beautiful as he produces a lighter from his pocket and lights it. “It’s just a candle, by the way. It's the table that David’s connected to.”
Henry finally lets out the breath he didn't know he was keeping in, releasing a chuckle of disbelief at his dog’s odd life.
He shakes his head, “Yeah, sure. The table. Why the fuck not?” he scoffs off with a chortle.
And with that, Alex clears his throat and closes his eyes again, inhaling deeply before beginning the session.
His words are clear and concise, the deep bass of his voice humming through the living room space as he thanks those who came before and will come after, for allowing him the gift of Seeing. He reassures their lack of hostility, reinforces their neutral curiosity into the Nether, and begins to call out to those present in the room, inviting them to erase the silence with their Voice.
Henry doesn't really know what he was expecting this entire time. He guesses it makes sense that with every word enunciated, a heavy static begins to flow into the environment around them, like a wave of energy encasing them like a warm blanket. By the time the candle starts flickering between them and the room suddenly drops 5 degrees in temperature, his clambering hands are already gripping the fabric of his joggers in anticipation.
He's not too much of a horror fan, but he’s seen enough modern media to know what comes next in the cliche nightmare of a demon breaking through the barrier and wreaking havoc on the foolish mortals communicating with it. He braces himself for pain, for confusion, for chaos, for every bad thing to occur.
Instead, his heart beats loud and hard at the sound of Alex giggling across from him.
Alex’s closed eyes are now crinkled, and his toothy grin brightens his entire face as he tucks his right ear into his shoulder and leans his body to the left.
“I think David just licked me.”
Henry’s heart clenches. He’s here. He’s really here.
“Can you tell him I miss him? Please?” he asks Alex, voice wavering and timid. The wobble of his chin with each word aches.
Alex opens his eyes and reassures Henry, “He heard you. He knows.”
He looks around the room with an easy smile, as if following the movement of David as he sniffs around their ritual and prods at each object. For a split second, on Henry’s left, the half-peeled banana Alex placed down appears to wobble slightly, although the flickering of candlelight could easily be playing tricks on Henry’s mind. But David went crazy for bananas, and Henry knows no force or realm could stop David from eating his favorite snack.
As Henry stares down at the banana, waiting for a dog-toothed indent to magically appear, he asks, “Was he happy? With me?”
Henry’s eyes lift up to see Alex giving him a reprimanding look.
“Henry. I wasn’t even around to see you two live together, and even I know he was the happiest dog alive, being with you.” Henry blushes at Alex’s teasing tone. “You were the best owner David could have ever wished for.”
Henry bites his lip and nods, eyes moving back to the banana (somehow, in some way, Henry can just tell David has moved on to something else, possibly to the other side of the room now).
“I’ve always wondered if he knew what his initial purpose was. As a therapy dog. Does he know why I needed him?”
Alex hums and breathes deeply, biting his lip as he blinks over to the other side of Henry.
“Yeah. He—he definitely knew about it all. Or at least, he knew that his original owners were preparing him for something. Not necessarily that he would need to emotionally support you, but…more like, he knew he needed to protect you. To be by your side, so you don’t have to be alone through…everything.”
Alex hums again and smiles, bringing his gaze back to Henry.
“But he also knows how perfect you two were for each other. You both needed each other. And you both found happiness and peace within those ten years together.”
Henry’s chin wobbles, and his nose burns at the sudden onset of tears threatening to spill over. He shakes his head and breathes, chuckling softly.
“So much so that he still insists on waking me up in the middle of the night?” he asks with a light snark.
Alex lets out a small snort and shrugs.
But then.
His face transforms into a look of ponder as his head turns to the side, eyes flickering to and fro, the living room space still completely empty in Henry’s eyes.
“I think…he thinks you still need him. It feels like…” his eyebrows crinkle, blinking a few times as he pauses, “Like he doesn't want to leave you alone. At least, not alone with…”
Henry’s breath catches as he watches Alex’s eyebrows furrow even more, the pondering look in his face suddenly turning into a more blatant look of confusion.
His words trail off as his head tilts and turns to the other side of the room. He's looking towards the corner farthest from the kitchen, next to the TV stand and Henry’s bookshelf. There's nothing there. Henry has never felt anything there. So why—
“Huh.”
Alex’s eyes flick up and down, fixated on that corner. Henry’s heart is pounding.
“Does the name Arthur ring a bell?”
What?
“What?” Henry gasps out, vision rapidly becoming distorted and blurry as a mountain of tears begins to form in his eyes. His ears pulse alongside the beat of his heart, now echoing so loudly throughout his body, he worries he won’t even be able to hear the rest of the words coming out of Alex’s mouth.
Alex whips his head back to Henry, concern written all over his face.
“Henry, there’s another presence here. I think he’s been here for a while. At least, it feels like David has known about him for a while.”
His dad.
David knew.
God Almighty, David knew his dad was here. All along. And that's why—that’s why he was so anxious all the time. Constantly barking at seemingly nothing, dark corners and empty hallways, whimpering into Henry’s lap like he’s trying to hide himself from something else in the room. That’s why he ran all over this home like something was chasing after him, playing with him.
Henry can physically feel his heart clench and ache at this sudden revelation. His eyes squeeze shut, tear tracks already carving rivulets into his cheekbones. The beginning of a headache begins to trickle in as a million thoughts swirl through his head.
“Henry?”
He shakes his head and musters enough strength to raise his hand up, silently telling Alex to stop talking. He can't even—there’s no way he’s about to explain to Alex the significance of that name.
To explain his dad, he’d have to bottle up and condense all the insurmountable grief he’s endured in the past decade, which he hasn't been able to shake off. He’d have to explain, truthfully, that the same grief has completely overtaken his life and drowned any and all forms of finding peace and happiness within himself, despite what Alex just told him. He’d have to explain the overwhelming guilt he feels as he isolates himself from his friends and family when he gets just an inkling of the thought that he will never deserve to be loved and cared for like his dad did. The guilt that eats at him to the point of pushing everyone away, not giving them any chance to prove him wrong. He’d have to explain that if what is occurring is true—if Alex actually feels his dad in this room, he’s actually here and never left—this will send him down a dark path he’s actively avoided the last 10 years, and without David, is so close to stepping back into it.
So, instead, he holds his hand up and shakes his head at Alex.
Alex’s breath catches as he watches Henry’s face become flooded with tears. His mouth opens again, like he’s itching to speak up, but he restrains himself and closes it again, swallowing harshly.
He nods at Henry.
It takes him a second to recollect himself. Eyes straying down to the various objects scattered, Henry blinks through his tears and sees Alex’s mind working overtime, racking through a mental list of everything that has occurred and still needs to be done. But after a few seconds, he nods again and clears his throat.
Alex resumes his words.
He starts by thanking the entities for making themselves known, welcoming them into this plane, and thanking them for giving them a glimpse of their own.
Henry drowns him out as he works himself into a migraine.
Has he ever experienced anything before David’s passing? Has he ever had a night where a light switch turned off or the kettle was turned on? Has he ever had to hold David in his arms because he was scared something was in the room with them?
Or.
Those nights, where Henry would find himself sitting in the dark, body numb as his brain relentlessly reminded him of his dad, of the heartache he can’t quite shake. Were those nights—after months of finally feeling okay, finally feeling like he was healing from his grief, until it all came trampling into his heart again—a product of his dad’s presence? Was he hit with an overwhelming sadness about his dad, because his dad was there?
This is too much. All of this hurts too much. Mentally, emotionally, physically. So much so, he almost misses the next few words that leave Alex’s mouth.
“Now to start the disconnection and release these entities to the plane from which they belong.”
Henry’s eyes burst open and he chokes out, “What—”
“Don’t worry, it’ll be quick,” Alex promises as he lays out some more objects and begins reciting a new incantation.
Henry rises onto his knees, leaning towards Alex with both hands up in desperation.
“Wait, no no no, stop!”
Alex stutters and stops, confused, “Wait, Henry, I can’t—”
“Fucking stop, Alex!”
“Henry, I can’t stop midway or else—”
“I don’t. Care. Stop.”
Henry is seething.
He’s genuinely seeing red as he stares down at Alex. At the man that just gave him a chance to see the one person he’s been needing the most, and have the audacity to try and take it away from him.
Not only that, but for Alex to spend so much time with Henry, spend weeks in this apartment as Henry poured his soul out to him, remembering David and how much he loved him and cherished him, to then expect Henry to want to get rid of him, as if he was a pest?
Alex stares back at him wide-eyed. Henry’s eyes are slits, mouth turned down into a bitter frown. His chest is heaving, body trembling as he stares down at Alex, at this stranger.
The air is filled with tension, candlelight flickering between them as the silence slices through like a knife.
It takes a few seconds before Alex swallows and nods. His hands tremble as he blows out the candle and begins to pack each object back into his bag, eyes blinking down rapidly as he avoids Henry’s stare.
His knees wobble as he heaves the bag onto his shoulder, opposite his satchel, and rises up onto his feet. It seems like this new height advantage gives him a small bit of courage, as he finally looks down at Henry again, flinching softly as he’s still met with Henry’s fury.
“I’m sorry,” Alex quietly says. “I didn’t realize you didn’t want…” He swallows thickly and inhales sharply, “Henry, I don’t think they want you to hold on—”
“Don’t. Fucking don’t. You don’t get to stand there and tell me what they want. You don’t know them. I do.”
A pregnant pause.
Henry can’t help himself.
“You’re the only one here who’s unwanted.”
Alex flinches again but manages to cover it up quickly, mouth twitching into a frown. He doesn’t respond. Instead, he nods, readjusts his bags on his shoulders, turns, and walks to the entrance.
With the front door opened ajar with his hand, he turns his head one more time. Not to look at Henry but to that corner, the one where he saw—
Alex nods very softly, then leaves.
Henry doesn't leave the apartment anymore. He denies himself the bitter outside air of an incoming winter, locking himself in the darkness of his home, re-entering each room with the newfound hope that his dad will be there, waiting to reunite with him.
He suffocates in the silence instead.
It’s been 24 days since this apartment felt the warmth of another human being.
Henry doesn't understand.
Why is nothing happening?
His dad is not here.
Yes, the same odd occurrences continue their usual schedule and have even proliferated. Heavier things are knocked over unexpectedly. Now it is every night when he wakes up from 2 hours of sleep to the sound of whining and barking. He sees movement in every corner of every room that doesn't reach higher than 4 feet.
He doesn't need Alex in here to know this is all David. Just David.
He thought things would be different now. When Alex was here, performing the ritual, Henry interrupted him in the middle of him cutting ties. It was a blur, with Henry panicking and exploding with anger, but he does remember Alex warning him about not letting him finish. That must have meant something. That must have been a warning about the connection worsening—as in, things would only intensify. The presence of spiritual beings should have been amplified, if the hesitancy and fright on Alex’s face was anything to go off of.
So why is he not here?
Why can't Henry hear him, see him, feel him?
Why won't his dad reach out?
By the end of the month, Henry had become a shell of a man. His voice unused, his bed unmade, the irony of becoming a ghost in his home, and still failing to reach his father.
It all becomes too much one night.
Henry stands in the middle of his bedroom, lights off, scanning his eyes through every dark crevice and corner of his room for the hundredth time, ears plucked to listen to the empty white noise of the night, crickets faintly chirping outside his shut window.
He calls out to him.
“Dad, please.”
Silence.
“Please, I know you’re here.”
Darkness.
“Please. I need you. Show me you’re here.”
As every other night since Alex left the door to the other side ajar—since Alex gave Henry hope for seeing his dad again, talking to him, being with him—Henry is still met with nothing.
And the nothingness that he feels from his dad—it all becomes too much.
So.
He screams.
Tears run down his face now, warm streaks against his cold cheeks. He keeps screaming, head held high, hands clenched into fists, vision blurred as he yells into the abyss of his room.
“Why don’t you love me? Why don’t you love me enough to show yourself? Why won’t you let me see you? David cares about me. He cares enough to show me that he’s here, that he loves me and wants to protect me and wants to stay by my side. Why don’t you? Why can’t you let me see you again? Why have you stood here, for years, watching me grieve over you, grieve over not being able to see you, or talk to you, or hug you ever again? Why, even now, when I know you’re here—I know you’re fucking here—why aren’t you doing anything?”
Silence.
“Fucking talk to me!”
It hurts his body to hear nothing but the echo of his own raw, aching voice in this room.
He doesn’t want to fight this anymore.
Henry exhales. Defeated, he clumsily swipes at his nose with his hand, cringing as he sniffs and swallows the unpleasant snot that built up in his rampage. He carefully treads backwards until the back of his knees hit his bed, letting them give in as he shakily sits down on the edge. He stares at the floor.
The tears don’t stop, no. The only thing warm in this desolate space, they’re an endless stream as they run down into his shirt. But he’s calm and quiet as he settles down his breathing.
Staring at his floor, dusty and unswept for the last month as Henry buried himself in his false hope, his brain finally gives way to a thought.
It trickles in, tiptoeing into existence in his mind.
Maybe Alex was wrong.
Maybe his father isn’t here, and never was. Maybe David, in hearing Henry’s late-night rambling about his father as he pet between David’s ears, and hearing Henry cry out for his dad in the worst of his depression through all these years, has made him truly believe that he had to protect his owner from the man who made him so sad. Alex read it wrong when he was here. He could sense David’s anxiety and miniature presence when he first arrived, but it took Henry directly telling him that it was his dog that finally made Alex put the pieces together. So maybe, he misinterpreted the fear that David had. All the whining and running around the apartment his entire life was truly over nothing, but he convinced Alex that there was something else here. Someone else. But he’s wrong.
Henry’s father is truly dead and gone. He has been dead and gone for 10 years, since the moment he took his last breath, holding a blank stare at Henry as he watched him pass away in the hospital room.
He was never here. Henry has always been alone. And he will never find the courage to move on.
But then.
Something happens.
A few moments later, after that last thought, something strange occurs.
The bed dips beside him, ever so slightly.
Henry’s breath hitches, his entire body tensing still. His heart is pounding.
And.
A hand. A warm hand on his shoulder.
Then, a soft squeeze.
Henry breaks down, then and there, his body wracked with sobs. He gives in, leaning into the warmth on his shoulder, and the left side of his body is enveloped as well. He feels it. He feels a body beside him, holding steady against the weight of his own, a body he will always recognize. His father.
It takes him a minute to gasp through his crying.
“Have you been here all this time?”
A squeeze.
“Am I keeping you here?”
The hesitation before the second squeeze occurs makes his heart hurt so much.
Now, he begins to cry for something entirely different. He cries over the years his heart refused to move on. The endless grief he endured over a man he thought was gone, when in reality, his own grief is what kept that man from finally resting.
The warm hand grounds him. The solid, invisible body he leans into keeps him steady.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” he cries, “I am. I am so sorry.”
Henry’s hands release the tight grip they previously held on his bedsheets, lifting up to curl into his chest, above his heart. It hurts so bad. He thinks of all the other nights he’s spent in this exact position, weeping as he tries to hold his heart and stop it from aching, as he stares into pitch black and desperately wishes all this sadness to go away. And what hurts the most is that, now he knows how much he took for granted—how truly lonely he feels now, without David in his arms.
And yet.
He feels heaviness settle into his lap. He looks down, vision distorted as he sees nothing, just his joggers, wrinkled and unwashed.
But he knows.
Henry knows it’s his beloved dog, doing what he does best. Henry’s right hand trembles as he lowers it down over his lap, inching it closer and closer to his leg. A startled laugh cuts through an incoming sob as he feels him. The soft fur he used to stroke as he cried over his dad in this exact position. Despite there still being nothing to see below him, he can see the big puppy dog eyes looking up at him, begging him to stop crying.
“I’m sorry, David. I’m sorry you’re still stuck here, too, because of me,” he whimpers out. His hand curls into invisible fur and feels a rumble of a silent whine vibrate through his fingers in response. “You should be resting. You did so good. You were so good for me. My good boy, David.”
Henry doesn’t know how much time passes, as he pets his dog and leans into the warmth of his dad.
Eventually, though, his cries stop. He sniffles every few seconds but feels his body finally relaxing. For the first time ever, he knows what to do.
He nods to himself.
“Okay.”
He nods again.
“Okay. I think—I think I’m ready.”
He looks down at his lap and up to his side. He’s only met with the details of his room. It doesn’t deter him.
“I’m ready to move on. I am. You deserve to rest. Both of you.” He pauses before speaking again. “All of us.”
He doesn’t feel his heart break into pieces when his body eventually loses the warmth of his loved ones. Instead, his knees wobble as he stands, slowly making his way into the living room, where his previously abandoned phone sits on the couch. His fingers tremble, but don’t pause as he opens Alex’s contact name and types in: I’m ready.
He feels the hint of a smile spread on his lips as he sees a message bubble appear in less than a minute. Alex responds: okay sweetheart. i can come whenever
Tomorrow. 6 PM. Thank you.
❤️
Alex comes crashing back into Henry’s life like a tornado of light and love. Alongside a tornado of anxious rambling, of course.
As soon as Henry opens the door to an exasperated face, Alex is pushing through, frowning and spilling out, “Henry, I am so fucking sorry. I was being an absolute asshole. I don’t even know how I didn’t realize how personal that name was to you, and of course, you wouldn't want to get rid of David; he sounded so wonderful. I am a fucking idiot, I am so sorry.”
“Alex—”
“I brought some other stuff. I can actually strengthen the ties, believe it or not! Usually, it’s used by people in the business of hurting people, if you know what I mean. This stuff is usually meant to incite harm against others, since you’d essentially be ramping up the activity in this place. But I swear, sweetheart, I have never used this stuff before.”
“Alex—”
“Not that I don’t know how to do this! My friend Nora gave me a rundown on this, and honestly, it’s not even that hard, which is a little concerning given what I just said before, but whatever, as long as I can provide what you need, I will absolutely do so—”
Henry finds no other way to shut Alex up except to grip the front of Alex’s shirt and pull him into a fierce kiss.
It's clumsy, with Alex’s teeth accidentally catching Henry’s bottom lip in the beginning, caught off guard. Henry’s heart stutters when Alex’s lips remain still for more than 4 seconds. But as he starts to pull away, ready to apologize, his cheeks warm at the touch of Alex's palms, carefully cradling Henry’s face like he’s porcelain.
The kiss remains soft, sweet. But Henry can feel so much being said without a word. So many apologies, echoed into each movement of their lips, from both sides.
When they pull apart, Alex makes a soft sound. Henry smiles.
“Thank you,” he whispers, Alex’s eyelashes fluttering as Henry’s breath kisses his lips. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, Alex. Truly. You don't know how much this has helped.”
Alex’s eyebrows crinkle, like the idea of Henry thanking him is absurd. But he doesn't question it. Instead, his hands move to wrap around Henry, and his angelic voice whispers back, “Of course, Henry. Anything for you.”
Henry can’t resist leaning back in for another kiss. Alex doesn’t complain.
Eventually, though, Henry knows he has to continue. Before any ounce of doubt slips back in, before any semblance of guilt or fear washes over him again and ruins all the progress he’s made in the last 24 hours.
So he pulls away and says, “I am ready, though. To let them go.” His eyes cast down at the glimmer of Alex’s keychain necklace against the living room light, Alex’s steady breathing calming Henry’s nerves as he admits, “I had a…one-on-one, if you could say. Well, I guess a two-on-one.” When he returns his gaze, Alex is blinking at him with continued confusion. Henry shrugs, “We talked it out.”
Alex slowly nods and shuffles his feet, clearing his throat, “Alright. Then let’s do this?”
Henry nods and leads him back into the living room, like all those weeks ago.
They prep like before, the familiar objects placed on the floor in their specific order. Henry notices that Alex’s tote bag isn’t completely emptied out. His heart clenches at the thought of Alex actually preparing to heighten their connection to David and his father, despite his initial objections. This beautiful, wonderful man would have tried to appease Henry in any way that he could, despite how awfully Henry treated him that day. No words can describe what Henry feels as he sits across Alex on his living room floor, watching the look of concentration on his face as he flips through his journal, oblivious to the way Henry’s heart is filling with something powerful, at this very moment.
When Alex begins to utter the same words used before, and the lit candle set between them begins to flicker in that same exact manner, Henry feels himself…relax. He stays silent as he watches Alex, breathing steadily. When Alex reaches the second part of the ritual, the words that coated Henry in rage and desperation before, Henry takes a deep breath and realizes he feels okay.
Alex still hesitates, though, after the word disconnection leaves his lips. He looks up, dark brown eyes nervously shimmering with warm candlelight. “You sure, Henry?"
This time, Henry doesn’t need Alex to look over to know where his dad and dog are. Henry turns his head to the doorway that leads to the kitchen. His eyes naturally level at a certain height in between the door frame—he knows his dad is looking back at him, encouraging and patient. And when his gaze falls down, he knows where to stop; he knows his anxiety-ridden dog would be staring back at him with a wagging tail and slobbery tongue. He’s ready, and they are too.
Henry smiles and nods, turning back to Alex.
“I’m sure. Go ahead.”
The rest of the incantation is quick and easy, like Alex said all those months ago. No huge display of paranormal activity occurs. Nothing levitates, no drops in temperature or frightening whispers are heard. Alex nods at Henry to indicate the end, before blowing out the candle and returning everything back into his bag.
Henry breathes deeply as he feels his surroundings remain stagnant in their energy. Nothing feels different, really. His apartment is the same. The darkness of the night holds the same gentle quiet as before.
All that’s left is the beautiful, soft, understanding human being in front of him and the question he can’t leave unanswered.
Alex is awkwardly hoisting his bag onto his shoulder again, preparing to leave, as if Henry would ever think to let him do so without a proper goodbye. No. Not after he just kissed the selfless man he’s been head over heels for this whole time.
When Alex makes his first step towards the front door, Henry’s hand reaches out without thinking.
“Would you like to stay? For dinner?”
There’s a quick flash of surprise on Alex’s face as he stops in his tracks and looks at Henry. If Henry weren’t so in love with this man, it would annoy him, really, that Alex would think Henry would just kick him out, after everything.
But that surprise quickly vanishes, replaced with soft eyes and a soft smile. Alex’s hand meets his and squeezes.
“Yeah, I would love to.”
After dinner, they find themselves settled into the couch, the first episode of Yellowjackets on the TV in front of them.
The cold of the winter doesn’t touch them, as they cuddle close under a warm blanket, Henry’s thigh warm as it rests next to Alex’s.
Tonight will be the first night in weeks that Henry won’t suddenly startle at the cries of his dog. The days to come will stop being interrupted by a lamp falling over or the fruit bowl sporadically losing an apple. He will no longer be tormented by the spiritual manifestation of his grief and anxiety.
Instead, he feels an arm settle around his shoulder and turns his head to see the beautiful man who will keep him company and will stay by his side, on purpose.
He leans into the warmth of Alex’s body and smiles.