48th PAWW’s story

Another fanfiction for you all! Time flies, and I don’t write as much as I’d like to, but here’s to something you still like. This is a story settled in my current city, Montreal, featuring a psychic and medium man and a policeman, with lots of homo sexual tension as I love it. I’ll divide this in three parts, so keep an eye for the other two.

Dorian woke up to the voices of children singing Christmas songs outside. It was that time of the year again. He groaned and fumbled around to find his cellphone through his pillows. When he did, it took him a few more seconds before he squeezed his eyes open to see what time it was. A barely acceptable hour to be this happy, that’s what time it was.

A kid laughed when another one sang the wrong lyrics. He normally didn’t mind, but not when he’d fell asleep two hours earlier. He shifted on his stomach while browsing his social media with blurred eyes, not even bothering with putting on his glasses. He had a reminder for two appointments today, but they were only this afternoon.

His sixth sense suddenly kicked in, telling him he wasn’t alone in his bedroom anymore. He sighed in annoyance, ready to dismiss whoever or whatever was disturbing him, but when he spread his powers in search of the entity, he was met with a familiar presence.

He glanced behind his shoulder, and sure enough, Felix was seated at the end of the bed, reading a book.

“You’re here early,” he told him, sliding his glasses on. He threw the covers away and finally got up from bed, knowing he wouldn’t get any more sleep with Felix around. He made his way to the kitchen to start his coffee maker. Felix leaned against the counter, sans book, and they stared at each other in the silence punctured by the coffee brewing and dropping in the pot.

“I don’t understand why you keep coming here, Felix,” Dorian scratched a spot above his left ear. “Is it because of your father?”

No reply. Felix continued to look at him, face ashy as his body glimmered.

“Did you check on him? He’s married again now, has been for a few years. He’s moving on, yet here you still are.”

He turned to prepare a well-needed cup of coffee, adding just a spoon of sugar small black pool. He felt Felix’ presence go away, but he always stayed close. Dorian needed to answer some emails, then go downstairs to open his shop.

Felix appeared to Dorian at random times and liked to just be nearby and read or sit beside him when he watched Youtube videos. Dorian didn’t really know why he haunted him. It’d been like that ever since his death a few years ago. It wasn’t even about giving a message, because Dorian tried to communicate with him and he still wouldn’t say anything. Ghosts were weird sometimes.  He was used to more dreadful apparitions, however, so he didn’t really mind the ghost of his dead best friend to hang around him.

Once he was ready, he went downstairs to his shop, the Black Emporium, to open. He was selling some incents, books and tarot decks, but it was mainly to do séances with his customers. They whether called for an appointment or came in after stumbling on his shop, mostly hidden through the midst of Montreal’s downtown. It was a good spot; he was close to about six different coffee shops, including the Tim Hortons Canadians loved so much. (The holiday’s ginger molasses’ cookies were delightful, he had to admit.)

He brought his computer down with him, intending on polishing his website for once the holidays were over and he could remove those hideous garlands from the background. It was to appeal to the customers, he kept telling himself, but he hated it.

Dorian hated December. The decorations, the trees, the high spirit, all things he loathed. Those who decided to dedicate a whole month to happiness and thankfulness and all that crap probably had huge families to spend cold nights with, eating and laughing together while giving each other gifts wrapped with love; something he never had. His parents would sometimes try to contact him, but not to tell him they loved him, he didn’t even remember if they ever sputtered those three words at him. No, they called to try to convince him to return “home” so he could continue their legacy, but he refused. He refused to be someone he was not and waste his happiness for his parents’ decisions of having only one child, and if that meant he was a selfish man, so be it.

Christmas time always brought back memories of his family, how he never had any real love from them. At least he had his friends and his cat – and even then, Snoufleur usually hid from him during the day and only came back for food.

The first customer of the day came in early, a Qunari with bright purple hair framed by horns, all decorated with silver ornaments. It suited her aura. It wasn’t the first time she was coming to see him, she liked to take an appointment every few months after he’d helped her settle down in the city. She was an immigrant like him and had no idea what to do at first, now that she had so many opportunities, hence the reason she needed the help of a psychic.

“Hello, Adaar.”

“Good day, Dorian.” Despite her height, her movements were graceful as she removed her coat and leaned down to kiss his cheeks. A kiss for each cheek, the commodity here. “How have you been?”

“Good, thank you. Congratulations on your new job, darling.”

There was a second of confusion on Adaar’s face before a grin appeared. She hadn’t told him about it yet.

“Thank you, but I have so many questions I need answers to.”

There was a coffee maker beside the intimate area where he did his readings or séances, and he prepared her a coffee with lots of cream and sugar. He brought it to the table where they sat down. Adaar liked to have the tarot cards read to her, even though Dorian didn’t need them to know what she wanted to hear. Many thoughts and images circled around her, coming from her conscious and unconscious, and he was like a magnet, catching some of them; glimpses of memories and what ifs. Touching the person always helped, but it wasn’t necessary. That took energy from Dorian, and some people drained Dorian more than some others, leaving him raw and vulnerable and in great need of a nap.

Adaar was like that. Reading her sucked Dorian dry, made him oversensitive and dizzy. He had to lay down once she left, not even remembering everything he told her. He found out she left him a big tip once he came back from his slumber, later in the afternoon.

The PAWW Project