𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘿𝙀𝙑𝙄𝙇'𝙎 𝘿𝙀𝘼𝙇 - 𝙔𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍𝙀 𝘼𝙇𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙊𝙍 𝙓 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍

15.

━━━

My mind will never leave his silhouette. Defined, clear, as the reflection of the water under me. 

Alastor.

That name which haunts me. 

Alastor. 

That name which claims me. 

Alastor. 

Yet his claim is one of which I have unconsciously placed upon myself. 

How pathetic am I.

The gentle strum of the guitar which layers over each instrument, buzzing musically by the radio beside the bathtub in which I warmly envelop myself in surrounds me. Each soapy bubble shifts and moves with a crackle, my legs gently raising and lowering, seeping from the warm water, before lowering back and drowning under in a continuous, thoughtful daze. 

Alastor. 

A soft exhale flows from my nostrils, my eyes darkening for a pondering moment. To dwell on him is to willingly torture my innocent thoughts. To experience developing limerence is to suffer. 

Yet I let myself suffer.

For a man who may never meet my eyes in the same form I meet his. 

The warm, steam-filled room tightens my lungs, my bare body rising from the soapy pool of water under me. The water drips and trickles from my body and as the slosh of the water moves against the sound of the radio, I step against the bathmat, drying my body against a towel. 

Alastor. 

My towel wraps around my figure, and as I run my hands across my face, my breath shakes. 

I'm aware of myself, my thoughts, and my feelings. Yet how his name dwells upon me in such a torturous, repetitive cycle, and how it has completely passed me without my awareness tells me more than I need to know. 

I am too willing. 

━━━

The night settles within its peeking moonlight, seeping into each unblocked window across the halls of the hotel.

Though most souls who reside within these walls are already sleeping, my wandering figure explores the main level of the hotel, approaching Husk's bar in my silk robe. The sight of Husk running a clean cloth across each glass, polishing each off with careful awareness fills my view.

Though, as I approach with closer inspection, something catches and fills my view. 

Someone catches my view. 

An unknown woman, sitting on one of the barstools with a sloshing glass in her gloved hand seems to hold the attention of Husk, and my curious gaze fixes on her. 

"Oh, Why're you still up?" The rough voice of Husk calls towards me, and my rigid, standing figure eases as my ears perk to his tone. And as my eyes lift with attention, the woman's head shifts and faces me. 

I approach the bar with slight hesitation, and with the way Husk's bothered expression falters for a moment, he's quite aware of my cautiousness over this unknown woman. "I'll fix you a drink," Husk expresses, and as I nod quite faintly with my figure slipping into the barstool furthest from her, I attempt to keep my gaze averted. 

"Furball, who's this gal?" 

The woman's voice attempts to draw Husk's attention, but his head doesn't lift from his body hunched over a glass he is preparing for me.