Remembering Too Much

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REMEMBERING TOO MUCH
A ghost and a witch walk into a bar. Grant/Magdy. PG-13???. 1,538 Words.

he has always surprised
you into surprising yourself.
because he’s an angel hiding his halo
behind his back and
nothing has ever felt so filthy
as plucking the wings from his shoulders—
undressing his softness
one feather at a time.
- PROFANE (Ashe Vernon)

It's an early Sunday morning when Grant finds himself in Magdy's apartment. It smells of paint and wax. And Grant runs his fingers over a recently finished piece of art. It reminds him of something, of Georgia O'Keefe's Cow Skull With Calico Roses * - maybe just because of the flowers.

The pads of his fingers can feel the texture beneath them, or maybe they can't and he's finally losing his mind. He can feel Magdy's eyes on him - something that would have made him the slightest bit nervous in life. In death? All he remembers is the way they'd been red and glossy, like marbles, the entire week after he'd found out what had happened.

"I like it," he says, and he does. But he's not giving Magdy much chance to respond before he moves closer and reaches out a hand with the same intense delicacy. 'I like you,' he doesn't say, but it's obvious, if not blatantly now. His thumb brushes over some forgotten pigment on Magdy's cheek, gentle like everything might fall apart if he applies more pressure to the touch.

The dark blue on his chin reminds him of the sky the night he'd died. His touch isn't warm, but it isn't cold - it's room temperature; all of death is room temperature. He can feel the heat he's leeching from Magdy's skin in his fingertips. Lips look like they're going to start moving and Grant doesn't want that, he doesn't want another withdrawal or excuse. He does what he can think of to lengthen the moment, to keep them caught away from memories of things less nice.

Grant swipes a thumb over Magdy's lower lip, once, twice, softly, smoothly. He feels air sucked past it, and knows he's trapped him at least a little longer somewhere that they can try to forget it all. For now they're in a glass bubble where Grant can pretend to be alive again, have a real reason to exist like love or adventure.

Grant finds himself pulled towards Magdy's orbit, but before he can lean up and in much, the sound of a phone alert chimes, tearing them both away from one another's gaze, touch, and orbit, startling them into the present - reminding them that Magdy is a painter and Grant was a painter.

"You remember too much," Grant tells him, pulling away, ending the connection, bringing them back fully and shattering their glass sanctuary.

Another ding.

"Shit, it's Ells," Magdy says, throat dry, tongue heavy. Grant is already heading to the door.

"Goeienag," he says instead of 'ignore him.'

---

Late into Monday, Elliot is passed out on a bean bag chair he stole from god knows where after taking a fist full of white pills. Grant sits down next to Magdy on the couch, back against the arm rest, facing him instead of the television that casts dull blues and greens into the room. Everything is that odd shade of colour in between as Grant stares at Magdy's eyes.

"Your eyes always reminded me of seafoam. They've got the most interesting specks of blue and green. I remember when we first met and I couldn't stop staring at them. I bet you thought I was a proper weirdo, that my brain was fried."

"I thought I had something on my face," Magdy tells him with a muted laugh.

"Is that why you kept rubbing it?" Grant asks, a smile cracking his face open.

"Yeah, I mean, I'm used to it now."

"My staring or having paint all over yourself?"

Magdy doesn't reply, because he's not sure. Is he used to Grant staring? He sure isn't used to the way Elliot watches him, sometimes like he's reading some ancient tome of horror stories that fascinate him and other times like prey. The latter unnerves him exponentially, it's always during his more manic, more self-destructive times. Grant has the same almost black eyes, but he watches him in a way Magdy can't put his thumb on, the closest he can get is how Grant used to stare at his canvases.

At some point, while Magdy is lost in thought Grant finally gets the nerve to lean forward, like he had wanted to before. He expects Magdy not to be following along, or to reject him, push him away and say 'sure, mate I love ya, but no fucking way.' So when he presses his lips against the other male's, it's a pleasant surprise to feel them move against his own. Before either of them can even think properly, he's kissing him desperately, teeth, and tongue, and hands pulling at his shirt, tugging roughly in an attempt to bring the brunet closer.

He's room temperature but he can easily feel the rise in temperature of Magdy's skin as Grant settles for pulling the other witch practically on top of him, fingers sneaking under fabric to grip at the warm skin of his waist, needing.

He remembers when he was fifteen and had his first real horrific taste of embarrassing hormones. Elliot had deemed it "the awkward boner situation," and who fucking knew a patch of skin above someone's waistband peeking out during a stretch could be so horrifyingly devastating. He'd avoided Magdy for a week afterwards, even though Elliot had insisted he hadn't realised what was going on.

Fifteen year old him would be highfiving him right now.

He's glad Magdy has to break away for him to all but yank his shirt over his head, mussing dark locks in a way that Grant somehow found attractive. The moment of air and thought - mostly of which is that Magdy should never wear a shirt again - gives him pause to remember Elliot in the room. Mags follows Grants gaze to the other twin and seems to have similar thoughts. Or maybe not, because when Grant pushes him back to his original spot on the couch, he can swear he sees disappointment.

He's tempted to drag Magdy back to his room, but Elliot took a handful of pills. He sighs, and Mags pulls his shirt back on.

The rest of the night is filled with Bob Ross, awkward shifting and the occasional attempt at small talk until light begins leaking into the kitchen window and into the living room. It's a weird night Grant thinks he'll never forget.

By afternoon Elliot's still alive and Grant isn't.

---

Early Tuesday evening Grant gives Magdy no warning or explanation - the shorter of the two is suddenly in his flat, yanking Magdy up from his seat and shoving him backwards against the nearest wall. Clumsily his mouth finds the brunet's and it's all fire and desperation once again.

"Give me your phone," Grant demands when he pulls away slightly. He doesn't care if Magdy was painting, he doesn't care if Magdy has plans. He's going to be selfish for once.

"What?" Despite the question, Magdy complies, reaching into his pocket and handing it to him. In a matter of seconds it's turned off and dropped on the chair Mags had been inhabiting.

"I remember when we first met, you introduced yourself as Jackson, you still prefer that, right?" Grant speaks the words against the skin of Magdy's neck, sucking and biting a spot he's decided he likes as he awaits an answer. He can feel him nod his head and suck in a breath.

"You remember too much," Magdy tells him, echoing a sentiment Grant had had days before. The taller witch is certain his name is not the thing he wants to be thinking about as Grant's hands work deftly at the button of his trousers and the feeling of sharp teeth graze his skin.

---

Later, when Magdy wakes up naked and wrapped around Grant in his bed, he understands the question and has to think about grannies and unattractive fruit like pineapples to keep the memory of how Grant had been saying his name earlier in check. The blond feels alive, Magdy's own body heat having warmed him up enough to feel living again. For a moment his sleep riddled brain had been hopeful.

Had he had nightmares?

Grant shifts to turn around in Magdy's arms, those dark eyes admiring him like he was art again.

"Sorry about your neck," he says and Magdy's confusion leads him to laughter, a light and airy sound that reminds him of something in the back of his mind. He's too busy appreciating the smile on Grant's face to think about anything else. "Nevermind," he says and Magdy lets it go.

Grant manages to keep him in bed longer with languid kisses and wandering warm hands. It's not until his stomach starts complaining that he bothers to get dressed and get out of bed. At first, the light shining through the windows confuses him, until he finds his phone and realises he slept a lot longer and more peacefully than he'd expected. A whole day had passed with Grant, and surprisingly, he has no missed texts.

When he returns to his room, ready to ask Grant if he'd slept or been awake the entire time, it's empty. All that's left is a ghost of the warmth that hadn't even been his to begin with.

Magdy wonders if Grant was right, maybe he remembers too much. But if he does, certainly so does Grant.