I had rejected every applicant. HR must have got infuriated with me, because they turned to another recruitment company for help. An hour ago, HR had informed me that my new employee is starting today. He is due to arrive any minute now.
I didn’t expect a lot. It’s probs some young twink looking for some quick cash, or some older guy with a bad back who won’t last the week.
People assume that being a cleaner is easy. They never understand the ritual of it like I do. The rhythm and intimacy of maintenance. The power of noticing what others discard.
My door clicks open. I mentally prepare myself and ensure my expectations are low.
Thenhesteps in.
My heart stops, trips over itself and falls face first into my stomach only to land on the floor.
He has wavy black curls. Same build. Same cheekbones. The same…God, they are thesameamber eyes.
“Hi,” he says. He smiles cheekily, like he always had done. “I am Edward James, here for the janitor role? But you can call me—”
“Eddy,” I say simply, and his smile softens with memory. My throat goes dry.
“The Rot had owed me a favour,” he adds with a wink. “Also helps when your best friend in the afterlife is the king. You… look happy, Oscar.”
His voice. It’s softer. Brighter. Not quite the gravel-slick whisper of Ghost-hood but stillhim. It’s still the one who had haunted my workdays and had made them better.
“You remember.”
“I remember everything,” he breathes. “Even if I’m nothimin the same way. Iwas. I am, and the version I became, withall the same memories… I chose this.” He looks around the dingy janitor's office as if it were a chapel. “I came back here. For you.”
My knees buckle.
I reach for him—gently. Like too fast a movement will break the spell and make him disappear again.
“You don’t have to be around trash anymore,” I whisper. “You don’t owe anyone anything.”
He leans in. “Maybe not. But I enjoy trash. Cleaning it now, anyway. And I like you.” I stop resisting and shut the door behind him. With a grin, I let out an exhale and smile.
“Fuck it!” I throw my clipboard down behind me and drag him closer to me.
We kiss.
It isn’t ghostly. It isn’t cursed.
It wasours.
And that is enough.
There is something sacred about Oscar’s janitor’s closet at night. Maybe it is the flickering fluorescent light. Maybe it’s the faint smell of bleach, eucalyptus disinfectant, or the muted yet ever-present rancid scent of old banana peel. Or maybe it is the fact I am finally here again—alive, warm-blooded, and horny as all hell—with the man who once made my ghost-heart, beat.
Oscar stands at the edge of the mop sink; his jumpsuit is unzipped down to his navel, his brown pubes and belly hair sticking out. The fluorescent lights above us buzz like they know what is coming.
And what is coming would be us both.
“You sure no one’s around?” I ask, nudging the door shut with my foot and clicking the latch.
Oscar just smirks. “Everyone goes home at five. It’s nearly nine.”
“What about those other two?”
“The Fanger and the Feline Accountant?”
“Yes.”
