Chapter Text
How long had it been? 100 years? 200? Gale Dekarios had lost track after the first 70 years or so. Long enough for the world to forget him and his family line, considering he was quite sure his mother never had any other children after his demise.
His mother... Every day he missed her so. Even before his death he hadn’t seen her in years. He hadn’t seen anyone in years, due to the danger of his condition. It hurt so much. How Gale craved for a kind voice, a gentle touch; even a slap in the face would’ve been preferable to the endless nothingness of his existence, imprisoned in the house he once called home. How fortunate, then, that he would get visitors.
He'd seen many faces over the years. Faces that came, smiling, excited and eager. Faces that went, wide eyed, nervous, and paranoid. It wasn’t that he meant to be scaring them off—quite the opposite. Gale yearned for connection, and so he would reach out, do what he could to interact, and to share the space. But time and time again they would ignore him, chalk up the cold to a broken thermostat, the flashes of his face seen in mirrors to a trick of the light, the whispers of his voice to a draft. Desperately he would escalate to slamming doors and pushing dishes off counters, anything to be noticed. And then they would leave.
But a new face has arrived. It’d been a while since he’d seen a new one; two, maybe three years. Gale watched from the window as an unfamiliar man arrived. He was curious, yet apprehensive; would this one notice him? Or would he run away as all the rest had?
The man who’d arrived was silver-haired and bedraggled, wearing threadbare clothing and carrying a duffelbag with him. Surely that wasn’t all he had? Gale was used to moving trucks and furniture, new things filling the townhome almost oppressively. Now it seemed he would be left on the other end of the scale; an empty space for the two of them. Well, Gale could certainly fill the rooms with conversation, if nothing else.
The man entered the house, leaving Gale’s sight of him from the window. Gale drifted towards the stairs down to the first floor (While he could go through the floor, it was quite uncomfortable, so he avoided it wherever possible) and descended.
A chill seeped into the room as he entered, acquiring a better look at his new housemate as he was crouched down on the floor to... unpack his one bag. His pale skin was drawn tight over elegant bones, silver hair mussed and unkempt. Clearly he had been through some sort of hardship. Gale frowned in empathy, but quickly adjusted to a smile for an introduction.
“Ah, hello there!” he began, his voice the barest hint of a whisper—often not audible at all—distorted as if blown through a nonexistent wind. “My name is Gale Dekarios. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance; I do so hope we can become more than that as we share this–”
Humble abode, he’d meant to say, but was interrupted by the man standing and walking right through him. Gale shivered, as did the other man, but while Gale had to recover from the displeasure of being walked through, the man continued on upstairs. Gale followed hurriedly.
“One moment! I merely wanted to introduce myself, seeing as we’ll be sharing the same living space– Or, I suppose, haunting space in my case. If you could–”
The bathroom door slammed into Gale’s face, leaving his head halfway through the wood. He’d almost begun talking again before the man started stripping, and Gale quickly drew his face back from inside the bathroom. Ah, well, he could understand the man wanting a quick clean, considering the current state of him.
Only it was not a very quick clean. Gale didn’t hang about the bathroom door—No, that would be rude—but he could hear the shower from downstairs for quite a while. So to pass the time he took a look at the man’s belongings, strewn out on the floor of the living room. There was not much to look at. A few pieces of clothing, a thin blanket, and a very cracked cellular telephone lay out on the floor. There were a few more items inside the bag—paper plates and plastic cutlery were among them—but that was it.
There were two bedrooms in his townhome, usually attracting young couples or new parents. This might’ve been the first time a singular man has claimed the space, and with nothing to fill it. Gale frowned again, and wondered what he had gone through to have so little to his name. Alas, there was not much he could do but offer companionship—though even just that was difficult with being an apparition and all.
Even when the water turned off it was still quite a while before the bathroom door opened once more. The man came downstairs in a fresh change of clothes, and Gale stepped aside so as to not be walked through again. Perhaps another ghost might’ve recognized the futility of speaking with someone who couldn’t hear them, but Gale was nothing if not a prattler.
“Ah, did you enjoy your shower? It was quite a long time you were in there—I was nearly afraid I’d have a new haunting partner. But I’m glad to see you safe, sound, and clean to boot. Oh!”
The man had crouched down, put the cellphone in his pants pocket, and produced a packet along with a small pot from his bag, then stood and made for the kitchen. As he filled the pot with water and set it on the stove Gale wondered what it was he was going to cook. As he neared the counter and looked down at the colorful little packet, though, his hopes were dashed. Instant ramen, it seemed. Gale was vaguely familiar with the... ‘dish,’ having seen it a few times, and found it very unappealing. But the man had only just moved in; perhaps he’d bring in some groceries later and make something more exciting.
Once the noodles were in the pot, the man took out his cellphone, presumably to entertain himself while they waited. Gale wasn’t usually one to pry, but... there wasn’t much else to be done. As he floated over the man’s shoulder to view the screen, cheerful music began pouring from the device’s speakers, accompanied by a colorful display that was perhaps a bit gaudy. The title came up: Candy Crush Saga.
It looked to be some sort of puzzle game. Gale just adored puzzles. Perhaps there was a way to use the device on his own to entertain himself. As it was, he watched the screen, quickly gathering the rules of the puzzle. Then he spotted a particularly effective move, which he was quite sure the other hadn’t seen yet, considering he was looking at the pot for a moment. Gale reached his hand out, and... there. The little piece of candy moved, knocking out several rows and columns.
The other man looked back down at his screen as the noises sounded, brows knitting together and breath pausing for a moment. He stared, then shoved the cellphone back into his pants pocket. A pity.
The noodles were placed in the water, boiled, and flavored with a little packet. The man took a plastic fork and ate them straight out of the pot, sitting on the floor of the kitchen. The cellphone returned, set on the floor next to him to play a little video. Gale understood some of the words coming from the video, but not many. It seemed the video was explaining how someone was rude to someone else, with the reaction of the world at large. Gale didn’t understand the point of it, but it seemed to amuse the man, who after finishing his ‘meal’ started tapping away on the cellphone.
After that, he unpacked the rest of his things—paper plates and plastic cutlery in the kitchen, and his clothes and thin blanket on the floor of one of the bedrooms upstairs. He stood over the blanket on the floor, then laughed—a harsh, bubbling thing. Then he lowered down onto the blanket, pulled the other half over himself, and entertained himself on his phone.
Well then, Gale supposed he would have to entertain himself. So he stood (hovered?) some distance away and began to give a lecture on stoichiometry. It was a good way to keep himself sharp, as well as pass the time, and it was nice to do it with an audience. Even if the audience didn’t acknowledge his presence. Ah, well, beggars couldn’t be choosers. As the time passed, his lectures rambled and changed from topic to topic, filling a few hours until the man sighed and turned off his cellphone. The man startled and whipped towards Gale—he must’ve shown up in the reflection.
“Hello!” Gale said cheerily. “There’s no need to startle; I assure you, I’m not here to hurt you. I am merely another resident of this home.”
The man stared at where Gale was, and for a second he wondered if he could actually see him, hear him. But then his head turned away, a fist hitting the floor.
“Fuck,” the man said. “Fuck!”
Gale reached towards him as if to comfort, before drawing his hand back with a frown.
“Get it together, Astarion. He’s not... I’m alone.”
So the man’s name was Astarion. But who was this mysterious ‘he’?
“...You’re not alone,” Gale found himself saying quietly.
Astarion’s head twitched like he wanted to turn to look back at where Gale was, but didn’t. He was still for a few moments, then reached out to turn his phone face-down before retreating into his blanket.
So much for an introduction.
Gale sighed, closed his eyes. It seemed as if this one would go the way of the others; ignoring him until they left. He felt his mood lower—Astarion held his blanket tighter around himself, so Gale imagined the room’s temperature fell with it.
But he had to try.
The next morning Astarion woke to an alarm, presumably for work as he left quite soon after. Gale was left terribly alone in the house again, which left him time to think. There weren’t many things he could move in the house, but he did what he could. He opened all the doors, a task which took a not insignificant amount of time with his incorporeality, but with some effort and focus he could affect the corporeal world a little.
By the time he finished Astarion came back from work, stepping into the townhome with a tiredness obvious in his face. Gale awaited his notice of his work with the doors, and he did get some reaction. At every open door Astarion would pause, but after that he would just walk through. Drat.
The next day he tried leaving the faucets on—not so much to run up the water bill, but enough to be noticed. Astarion definitely noticed; the man was visibly spooked, but seemed determined not to connect any dots, going around to turn off the faucets.
Every day that week Gale tried a different strategy. Moving things around, knocking things to the floor, turning on and off the lights. Astarion weathered it all. Gale was getting frustrated, but never resorted to anything dangerous. All he wanted was to be noticed, recognized, acknowledged. It was just so... so...
Ugh.
Gale had nearly given up. No, not given up—he just needed some time to think. That day he hadn’t even tried anything, just sat at the bottom of the stairs and waited for Astarion to come home. At the very least it was nice to not be alone. When the key turned in the lock and the door opened, Gale perked up. Astarion came in, and...
Oh dear.
He unscrewed the wine bottle he’d brought with him (How cheap was it to not bother with a cork?) and took a big, long drink of it, straight from the bottle. He lowered to the floor, set the wine bottle beside him, and laid down.
Perhaps... Perhaps Gale had gone too far? He’d certainly never meant to push Astarion into drinking to excess.
Hm. He would have to fix this.