Page 37
He popped up from his bed like a mole emerging from his hole, blind, blinking hard as he searched for me without the use of his glasses.
I flicked the light on and flooded the room with luminescence, racing to his side and forcing his glasses from the side table onto his face.
“Where is my equipment?” I demanded.
“W-wha?” Owain frowned sleepily. I didn’t have the time to think it was cute.
“There’s a ghost in my room trying to eat me.”
Owain’s eyes snapped open and he sprang up into a sitting position. He looked terrified. Finally a normal fucking reaction to having ghosts breathing down your neck.
“Eat you?” he asked, voice high but rough with sleep.
“Yup!” I said. “My stuff, love. Where is it?”
“But we don’t have any guests like that.” Owain shook his head. “Our ghosts are all friendly folk.”
“Well you have a squatter, then. And she’s not friendly. Where is my equipment?” I began searching around the room, keeping an eye on our surroundings in case the thing popped up unexpectedly.
Owain’s room was exactly what I’d expected, in that it was a mishmash of random trinkets and weirdness with no rhyme or reason other than what Owain clearly thought was normal. Occult items mixed with cutesy paraphernalia, every surface covered with some kind of tiny trinket. There were glittery pens and stacks of crossword puzzle books and unfinished pamphlets. Novelty rubbers and stickers stuck to everything in sight. There were at least three different vision boards, half-finished and wildly differing in vibes. The room was overflowing with personality and charm, bright and messy and screaming Owain without having to say anything at all.
Owain crawled out of bed. “Wait. She?”
“Looked like a she to me. I might be assuming things here, but I didn’t have a lot to go on.”
Owain slumped for a second looking almost relieved before snapping straight again.
“What are you going to do to her?”
“Save us from being torn apart?” I said with a roll of my eyes that abruptly got cut off when I saw what Owain was wearing.
He was in shorts again, because obviously. And they were clearly another Tristan creation; holey, lacy, frilly, and showing more skin than they covered.
The floral details hugged his plush curves, and where one leg rode up the indents of the pattern showed on his soft skin. As if he weren’t fucking delicious enough, he now had flowers blooming on those silvery lines he wanted to lotion out of existence. Fuck. Me.
He’d paired the shorts with a matching long-sleeved shirt. And you’d think that would help because it was long-sleeved, but NOPE. It was also cropped and showed way too much skin.
“Owain…” I said, voice pained as I tried to make my brain forget about the warm body next to mine and focus on keeping us warm and alive.
A bloodcurdling scream reverberated off the walls and the air grew colder. Owain shoved himself against my side, plastering his half-naked body all over me.
“She sounds scared,” he said, voice trembling as he looked around.
The room phased in and out of focus like a bad projection. Like a black-and-white movie on a shitty film strip. More of that goo started seeping out of the floral wallpaper, sliding down and leaving thick, sticky trails in its wake.
“So do you,” I said.
“I’m not scared!” Owain squeaked, just as another scream tore through the silence.
“OI! Keep it down!” The new voice sounded from somewhere inside the house, complete with a resounding bang like Bronwyn was pissed off someone was screaming louder than her.
It only served to make the hungry ghost angrier.
The screams picked up. The air grew icy cold around us and the room started flickering faster. I needed to do something. Now.
“Where did you hide my stuff?” I asked Owain, who was now staring at the trails of goo in fascination.
“We should talk to her,” he suggested.
