Forever and After

Obscenely loud and equally vulgar hip hop music blasting through the air.  Half-eaten pizza and corresponding box discarded to the side. Bottle of peppermint schnapps in one hand. Lit cigarette in the other. No shirt. Jeans open and pulled down a little further than appropriate in public. And a heavily tattooed woman on her knees in front of him.

Gus was in his element.

Unfortunately – and much to the young mans chagrin – things weren’t exactly as they appeared. The buzz of the tattoo gun would’ve gave that away if it wasn’t drowned out by the loud music. The tattoo gun cutting through skin and flesh over his hip would’ve been apparent if not obscured by the tattooist’s head in the reflection of the mirror against the back wall. 

It was in the mirror that he saw the approaching reflection. And there goes that smile.

Once they were finally locked in eye contact, Gus used the bottle to toast their arrival before lifting it to his lips and drinking.

“You know,” This time he spoke through a wince, the burn of the liquor sliding down his throat effecting him a lot more than usual. “I woke up with a sore back for the first time ever this morning.” Gus paused for a moment, replacing the bottle for the cigarette. He drew in deep whilst the tattoo artist set the gun down and started dabbing at the piece. 

“Is that how they wake all the time? What a fuckin’ trip, man.”

He had to have gotten turned around somehow... He’d found a tattoo shop, but it looked nothing like the neatly kept little place that stood by the flower shop; Garbage littered the premises, and something with an unidentifiable baseline blared from the sound system, which seemed awfully distracting to the ghost, but to each their own. It didn’t look particularly open, and as he hadn’t been capable of opening the door, he wondered fleetingly if perhaps squatters had taken up residence. 

Wes follows the noise until he stumbles upon a couple, at first glance enjoying a private moment, but the buzzing sound, paired with the woman’s entirely disinterested expression, tells a different story, thankfully. The room in general smells of mint and old grease, and Wes’ nose crinkles at the scent. 

“E-excuse me?” he calls, one hand raised in an awkward wave, the other clutching his sweater’s hem like a lifeline. “I-I wouldn’t know, um, but. Sorry, but I think I got a bit turned around, you wouldn’t happen to know if the flower shop is nearby?”

“It’s fine.” Spoiler alert: it was not fine. Tai was well aware that nothing about the current predicament was fine, especially not for Wesley who was stranded in such a hard state to begin with. It was his job to reassure him though, his job to make sure that if there was comfort to offer, he would provide it. Tai didn’t mind this, he was more than willing to give the world, or burn it down, if it was all for Wes.

“No, I mean seriously. It will be fine. It’ll come back, and even if it didn’t, I would love you anyway, and no corporeal body changes that, you should know that. But, I will…find a way. We didn’t come this far to turn back now, and I have plans for you, Mr. Devereux.” 

@spoookywesley

Tai is a tear fogged blur before Wes, and if this were his typical overreaction panic attack, he’d be reaching out, letting his ever solid form ground him. He’d tried, and his hands had passed right through, restless fear sparking trough him. He’d gone centuries without a corporeal form, and it’d been actual, literal hell. His skin is crawling, as if a limb had fallen asleep and had yet to wake up. His fingertips still have the muscle memory holding Tai’s hand, but it’s just out of reach.

“I can’t- Tai, I c-can’t do this again, I can’t be... I can’t touch you, o-or the table, and Chonkers is scared of me...” 

Misty gaze seeks Tai’s steady one. 

He couldn’t touch. Something was horribly wrong, because he couldn’t touch anything, or anyone, and what if they couldn’t see him, and it was all just a dream; what if he was back where he started, alone, unseen and touch starved? 

Small form sat curled into an even smaller ball in the middle of the walkway. He’d tried to lean against the wall, but had passed right through it, same with the front door, and the kitchen table. He’d started out in their apartment, but in his panic had ended up out in the hallway, the best place to have a mental breakdown, of course. 

The floor was all he had to ground him and it was doing a subpar job. He was shaking, hands gripping knees in a death grip, and gaze flitted around the empty hall, before settling warily on the stairs, which someone was walking down. 

Please see me, please see me, please see me, his mind begs.

Tipene had stepped to Wesley’s side, noticing before words were spoken how tense the other man was. He looked to the other, offering a smile, hoping, if nothing else, to not make things worse. At best, to be soothing. “I’m sure you’re still fantastic company, Wesley.” He said, words soft. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Sad eyes make wary contact with the man, not sure how much he wants to dump on him.