My first "Cherimon" I don't own much, only half of this plot which came to me form listening to Alex Day's "She walks right through me" About him dating a ghost lady, but I doubt it's a lady, so in my mind he's dating a ghost! Charlie. Onwards! Really short. Will update soon.
New houses suck. Alex Day walked in through the doorway, raising an eyebrow at the dust that had most likely accumulated from old age. The house wasn't technically new, but new for Alex. And it was more like a large flat than a real house anyway.
He drops the box in his arms by the doorway, adjusting the guitar on his back. There are two bedrooms and a bathroom, with a small kitchen that didn't deserve said title. He walks on, heading over to where he knew the bedroom was. He walked on, entering and tossing his guitar on the desk. He had furnished the house, but hadn't cleaned it. He was putting that off as long as he could.
He threw himself on the bed, feeling the first bit of tiredness washing over him. He flicks on the television, not even caring what came on. He slowly starts to drift off, his eyes fluttering shut just in time for him to miss the fact that a boy who wasn't quite there was now strumming his guitar.
He woke to annoying light streaming all in his room, nearly blinding him. His face crinkled, as he slowly sat up, before swinging a leg over the bed and rising. He stretches out, before stumbling over to his bathroom.
He gets through his morning routine, emptying his bladder, showering. And then keeping up with basic hygienic jobs. He's brushing his puffy hair when he hears the crash.
He runs out the door, forgetting about modesty, he lived alone after all. He quickly sees what's wrong.
All the Cd's he had stacked weeks earlier had been torn down. Swearing, he bent down, focusing on the the Cd's but not enough, because he still heard the slight cough behind him. He turns around rapidly, only to let out a tiny scream when he realized what was in front of him.
He's mostly solid, and very pale. His hair is tinged bright red, and dressed in black and white as if he was going to a funeral.
"Please, but on some pants."
His voice is light, like this was some joke and he wasn't dead and Alex's house.
Alex however, isn't as calm. He's almost certain he's dreaming. Or finally snapped, he's not quite sure yet. Forgetting about his nakedness, he stands up fully.
"Who – Who are you?" He hates the way he sounds so scared.
"I'm Charlie. You?"
