Dead people don’t make good boyfriends. At least, that’s what Grant tries to remind himself. A painter, Grant moved into his apartment to be alone and to work on his art, only to discover the resident ghost, Joey. It’s not all bad. Joey is a pretty good listener, a good model – and he’s hot. (M/M)
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Grant blinks slowly; reaching back to rub his head, but there’s no blood. Thank God. He might faint if there was. Joey’s panicked eyes dart all over him, and Grant realizes just how close they are. Close enough to touch… if they could touch.
His cheeks flush in embarrassment and a little of something else as he tries to shift, pushing himself up.
“Do you have a concussion?” Joey demands, pressing his hands together since he can’t do anything else. He reaches forward, and Grant watches his hand pass the side of his face, a ghost of a touch. He swears he can feel the breeze, but that’s insane. Joey can’t even sit down. He can’t make air move.
Something aches deep inside Grant as he stares up at Joey. If only he were real, if only he could reach up and touch him. He shakes himself sharply, though. Joey is dead, has been for a while. Maybe he does spend too much time with his paints.