Chapter Text
Fadel looks around the old second-hand store he knows well. He hasn't been here in a while, not since their band became popular. Not so popular that they have to have security guards everywhere, and no one expects to see a star in a second-hand store. A simple mask and cap are enough here. Previously, almost all of his clothes were bought here, as he didn't have enough money for other stores. Sometimes he missed those times. That's what brought him here today. T-shirts with silly messages or beautiful things, you could find anything here.
Fadel picked out a couple of T-shirts with silly words on them. He walked a few rows to get to the fitting room. It looked like a toilet on the beach, maybe it used to be. Plain plastic walls and a dark green curtain. A large mirror hung in the middle. Fadel took off his black T-shirt and heard:
"Wow, what a cool-looking bicep! "
Fadel looked up and saw something strange in the mirror. An unfamiliar young man was standing behind him at the curtain.
“Get out,” Fadel said in a harsh voice.
“Fuck, do you see me?” The stranger had a surprised grimace on his face.
“Am I not supposed to?” Fadel said without changing his expression.
“Fuck, you can hear me?!!” he raised an eyebrow and continued to change his clothes, “Wait, wait, wait!” the stranger stood in front of him, “My name is Stile".
"Move away,” the guy said in the same voice, holding out his hand to push the other man away.
"Hey, you can touch me! "
Fadel looked him up and down. First, the face, then the neck, the white crop top with the car and the waist, so graceful, where his gaze stopped. Style lifted his arms defiantly, revealing even more of his slender figure. Fadel slowly brought his face closer to the strange guy. There were only a few millimeters between them. He put his hands on Style's hips and squeezed them. And he kicked the crazy guy out of the fucking fitting room. Before Fadel could put his T-shirt back on, a face with a smug smile appeared behind him.
But here's what was strange. On the solid dark green background of the curtain, there was only the face of the Style. There was no other part of his body, no hole to poke his head through. It was just a head in the middle of the fabric.
“Are you some kind of ghost?” Fadel wondered, a completely logical question forming in his head.
“Exactly,” now there were hands pointing at Fadel with finger guns, ”and you're the only one who can see me. God, it's been so long since I've talked to anyone. By the way, your face looks familiar...
Style continued his monologue, making ridiculous comments about everything he saw. Fadel tried not to pay attention. If he responded, he would attract the attention of others. And the news would have headlines like “A member of a famous band has lost his mind” or “How JASP.ER writes their songs. Loss of mind or drugs?” That's how Fadel got home.
He lived in an ordinary house: two floors, and a small yard. He and his brother inherited this house from their parents. Going inside, Fadel took off his mask and cap and threw them on the nearest coat rack. When he turned around, Style was standing in front of him again, looking at him carefully.
"I've seen you before. I'm sure I've seen you...” the guy said thoughtfully. His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth and added, “That's right! On the store manager's phone. You're from some kind of popular band! "
In response, Fadel just nodded. He walked into the kitchen, and Style followed, shaking his head. Despite the fame, the house didn't look expensive. Everything was too ordinary. Taking the meat out of the freezer, Fadel decided to talk to the annoying ghost:
“Are you going to follow me around all the time?
“That's right,” he said, and again he pointed to the guns with his hands.
"What do you want?"
“Well, first of all, your name. You never introduced yourself. It's not nice, you know".
These words also went completely ignored. In a few minutes, the sky was colored in different colors from orange to lilac purple. It is said that when an artist dies, they are allowed to paint the sunset sky the way they wish. Fadel continued to cook the meat while listening to the lascivious comments of the fucking ghost that had picked on him in the thrift store.
The day was drawing to a close, giving way to the darkness. I heard the sound of keys unlocking the front door. A second later, the figure of a young man appeared in the doorway. He was clearly younger than Fadel and looked small.
“Wow, how cute. Is this your son or brother?” This question again went unanswered.
“Fadel, I'm home,” the young man shouted.
“So your name is Fa...” and the ghost vanished into thin air.
Fadel cautiously raised his head and looked around. The ghost had really disappeared. Then the young man changed his expression to a small gentle smile and asked
"How are your studies?"
"It's the same as always, very hard'.