Ghosts & Mirages-18+ Smut Series

5: Cherished Spirits (2/2)

The bright light from the bathroom mixed with the mellowed light in his room illuminated his form perfectly. He stood completely shirtless, dressed in nothing but a clean pair of jeans. It only occurred to you now that this was the first time you officially saw his face in fair lighting, without grease paint shadowing a fourth of his features.

Beads of water clung to every curve and ridge of his muscles, rippling downwards like rain on a window. Thin, ripples of water from his wet hair, darkened to a more burnt brown shade, rolling down the sides of his head and dripping off his jaw. Without those layers, you were left staring at each scar on his body, at every murky bruise, each the color of jarred olives. Your eyes lingered on the beaded chain that secured his tags on his neck, pure surprise running through you.

It was quite hard not to stare, unable to help yourself from sparing a worried glance along his torso before returning to his solemn, exhausted eyes.

The skin around those bright, gorgeous eyes of his, now free from charcoal paint, revealed an intense weariness, the lower skin darkened an off shade of purple. Despite your growing concerns, he was still an incredibly handsome man, a man you harbored such strong emotions for.

"You need something?" He walked closer, clutching hold of his wet towel as he wiped away the remaining water around his face and neck.

"Um, look. I can come back later." You gestured your head towards the door, feeling yourself losing proper focus the longer you stayed in here.

"A bit too late for that, you're already here." He saw through your slight flustered state, lowering his towel. "'Bout to wash my hair before you showed up."

"Sorry, I just wanted to check up on you." You look him in the eyes the entire time, letting him know you were serious.

He didn't question you further, didn't push for a what for or why. He simply walked past you, approaching his desk to drape his towel over his workspace chair before sitting at the edge of his bed.

To your odd surprise, his neatly made bed was small. Well, not small to you, but for him. You didn't know why you thought they'd give him a bigger bed, be barely fit yours.

From another innocent glance along his broad shoulders and arms, your attention trailed from his tattoos over to his hands as you approached him. You couldn't help looking, his rugged figure was simply beautiful.

His attention was too focused on his weathered knuckles, darkened with bruises, the skin broken with multiple light scabs patching over the surface.

"What happened?" You took a step closer, seeing him eye you before glancing back down at both his hands.

"Tripped."

You frowned, glaring at him. "Tripped? Let me see."

He watched you cup his palms, raising your hands closer to get a better view. Your concentrated gaze during your examination on his minor wounds almost made his lip curl, watching you treat his hands like newborn kittens.

"You get them cleaned?"

He shook his head no. "Just showered."

"Simon."

"It's nothing I haven't dealt with before."

"Right, it was nothing before I showed up." Turning away, you headed towards the bathroom, turning the light on to see though the misty ambience, your reflection hidden by the fog kissed surface.

"What're you up to?" You smile a bit at his words, looking through some areas where you assumed he had some personal first aid supplies.

"Oh, you know. Just invading your personal space, hoping to swipe some Vicodin while I'm at it."