Kongpob, a 25-year-old CEO to a big company. He is hopelessly in love with his husband and his muse, Arthit Rojnapat. But when a tragedy takes his muse away, how will he find the strength to go on?
A ghost story with a happy ending
Kongpob lay his body down on the hard packed earth next to the destroyed canvases that still managed to maintain a slow burn to sleep as he's already weak from being tired and sick. For now, it seemed like too much work to trudge back to the house and climb into bed. That's way. He doesn't care anymore. The smelled of acrid smoke assaulted his olfactory organs and Kongpob does hoped that it would seep into his skin and suffocate his brain. Or maybe an errant cinder would jump onto his alcohol soaked clothes and he would burn to death in his sleep. Maybe a sudden temperature drop would freeze him to the ground where he lay. He's no longer care where he was. Either way, without his muse, this home wasn't a home anymore. Kongpob laughed weakly, he wished more than anything that he could just find the quickest and most efficient way to die.
He hates night. Locked into sleep, he had the same dream, over and over of Arthit falling from the ladder. Kongpob had hoped that he would black out, surrender to oblivion where time passed by but he would have no memory of it. At some point before dawn, Kongpob heard a rustle like footfalls in the dirt, and he struggled through the fog in his brain to open his eyes. If he was going to be attacked by coyotes, or even a mountain lion, he wanted to know. But what he saw was a man, at least what looked like a man, and a beautiful man at that, approaching the pile slowly. Kongpob was lying in a heap just a few feet away. The man bent over the pile of burnt canvases, a shaking hand pressed to his lips, and a small, pained gasp escaped his mouth.
Kongpob groaned, trying to form words with his dry, sticky mouth. Kongpob had an urge to reach out to the man, to apologize for setting the paintings on fire, but for what reason, he couldn't explain. He rolled slightly, blinking his eyes to get a better look at his paintings' solitary mourner, but when he opened his eyes again, the man was gone.
Kongpob was awoken again after sunrise by the sound of laughter. It broke through the haze of his alcohol and fever-induced stupor. It was high-pitched and familiar. It sounded like heaven and home. It sounded like the future Kongpob had always dreamed of having, even back in those days when Arthit hazing him during his first year of studies. That time, they could barely stand to be around each other. It was all a game back then, and it was a fun game to play...until it wasn't. Until he realized that he didn't want to play games any more.
He just wanted Arthit
Kongpob focused his eyes and rolled his head in search of it, training his eyes back on the house and the patio that he planned to tear out brick by brick by hand as soon as he was physically able. Somewhere in the midst of his pounding headache and the fog that refused to lift he saw piercing blue eyes – blue like the sky in summer – staring back at him from behind a golden hibiscus. Kongpob sat up too quickly in hopes of seeing whose the eyes belong to, but his head started to swim, his stomach lurched, and before he knew it, he was on his hands and knees, vomiting violently all over the ground.
Kongpob emptying his stomach until there was nothing left in him. He looked back at the house with watery eyes but this time he saw nothing. He got a glimpse of himself, black Armani suit stained with dirt and vomit, and knew that if Arthit could see him, he would tear him a new one. So slowly, he crawled back to the house on his hands and knees. He still burned with fever, but his head began to clear. His decision seemed pretty clear.
He would settle his affairs, complete his obligation
And when the houses were put up on the market, and all was said and done, he would find the quickest, foolproof, and most surefire way of being reunited with his husband again. Kongpob didn't want to live, not without Arthit, and even though he could hear the voices of his family and friends trying to convince himself otherwise, his mind was made up.
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A/N: Look who's on a roll updating. Is it a good plot. The chapter can be short or long depending on my plot. For this chapter, I actually put Arthit character/scene in it, but just as an entity (ghost) in that house. Hopefully you guys can reading it carefully and find that Arthit/Kongpob moment.
Thanks you so much for reading, vote as well as comment my story. Frankly speaking, at first I didn't really care the significant of the number. But i do feel happy when I looked at it. So thank you so much ^_^
