Ghost Boyfriend Anthology.

#1 - Cotton Candy.

Chester woke up that cursed morning parched and sore all over. His first thought went to Brock as he reached over to the other side of the bed for warmth. The harsh cold stung his fingers— It's been long he'd lain on it.

Then he listened closely for anything; his eardrums picked on a sneeze coming from the living room.

Brock was up early again

It was becoming more often these days which led Chester to believe it was because of the harsh fever which held him down most nights and knowing the sort of man he'd married, Chester was sure Brock would refuse medication at all possible cost.

He craned his head over the headboard and sat up, shamelessly aware of his nudity. The little trimmed room that'd always been neat sat in chaos before him, with the blanket ripped in shreds and dangling from the ceiling fan, clothes piled up in a line out the door, and the hot passion of the night before bringing a hasty smile to his lips. s*x had never been a bore with Brock in control and with the way things currently were between them, it'd be long before such occasion repeated itself.

He picked up his Calvin Klein shorts and slipped it on without a word, wandering into the sitting with his fingers running through his broad locks. He saw that Brock had already fixed himself a coffee and was now perched on the double settee scrolling through the emails on his tablet — dressed for court too.

Chester noiselessly slid an arm around his waist — Brock stiffened, shutting the tablet at once, his full attention on his husband. He placed the gadget on the medium-sized footstool and turned — leaning in for a kiss.

“Good morning squirt,” he murmured, his lips moist and demanding as he hoisted Chester up to straddle him. It was becoming a tradition. “Why up so early?”

“I feel sore,” Chester squirmed, pulling back to search his face. “Last night had me wrecked.”

“You enjoyed it huh?” Brock stated, smug enough to make Chester blush.

“You know I did. Were you disturbed so much by the fever that you'd have to leave now?” Chester followed him into the kitchen — taking out a doughnut from the refrigerator.

Brock sighed, pouring the rest of his black coffee into the sink, and walked back into the living room. “The Beasley case is proving a hard nut to crack.”

“What's the prosecutor saying?” though he hardly involved himself with such matters, Chester felt the court was just dragging the case on and on for so long so it'd be dropped on thrown out. He hated seeing his partner stressed even to the point of having no personal space or spare time for fun. Brock had been determined to help Rita Beasly — the young skirmish widow who looked half as innocent as she claims. She was becoming a regular guest in their small starter home with his husband growing fond of her charm. That on its own unsettled him so much he began to loathe her.

Brock shrugged. “Ay, the same stuff. She killed her husband for wealth, got jealous when she heard he had a mistress downtown...bla bla bla. Rita feels helpless. She says it's all false and would have hurt herself right there in court.”

“Oh God,” Chester clumped a palm tightly across his lips. “Poor her.”

Although his sympathy was born more out of spite than pity, he was careful enough to mask it well in front of Brock who'd get upset if he found out his partner hated a client all because he felt insecure. “I send my regards to her. Hope she feels better.”

Brock nodded wistfully, twisting the doorknob, and drew the entrance door open. Chester glimpsed the bustle outside. “Thanks, I'll have to be going now.”

“Goodbye.” he leaned in for peck Brock, then withdrew — feeling awkward. He watched the door slammed, loneliness sinking in gradually. A lot of things were changing and he hated it.

Humming quietly as he took out the trash and tidied the room, Chester reflected on the advice he'd given his sales assistant; Preston, the previous day. Had it been wrong telling the boy to take things calmly with his boyfriend Rex even though it was clear from all believable doubt that he was emotionally abused? Shouldn't Rex be charged to Court for inflicting pain on the poor little boy unintentionally? But whatever happened, he knew quite well that relationships had their ups and downs and maybe it was time for theirs.

Sometimes he found himself wondering if these past five years with Brock had ever happened. Surely their marriage missed the usual feel to it all because Brock insisted on rushing into things. He wasn't the typical knight in shining armor which Chester had always dreamed about in his childhood days but he was more than he'd ever been thought to be. Their home had been calm, filled with light-hearted conversations and s*x — lots of it. Chester missed those days when Brock never got tired of making the rounds at night when he wasn't so bothered by the Beasley case and would sit back most mornings to ask how his previous days went and what he'd like to eat for dinner — but most of all, Chester missed those days when Rita didn't have to step foot in their home each day like she owned it.

After showering and downing a bowl of Cheerios, he placed a few calls over to Chock Candy; the little sweet shop he owned. Preston would be there by now, filling out their last batch for their Quedines birthday party. The hard purple sugared confection was becoming a novelty everyone in town had to try.

It took ages for him to get the business to boom like this. The recipe had been a godsend — a mere paper suddenly becoming a cure for Brock's throaty long coughs. When he'd first prepared the candy two months ago, he'd been apprehensive it'd work, but when administered and seeing his husband sleep soundly for days, Chester became sure that this would be the changing point and true to his expectations, Chock Candy currently ranked among the best selling businesses in Massachusetts.

Judy picked up at the fourth ring, much to his surprise. The sharp-mouthed twenty-year-old fellow had earlier proved a nuisance to the business due to how much he talked. “You made it first today. Has Preston come in yet? If so give him the phone.”

“No Sir,” Judy answered a bit too muffled that it made his brow hitch. “Is something wrong? How's the batch coming along??”

Judy hesitated. “Sir, I think you should head over fast before things get out of hand.”

This made Chester's heart leap. Perhaps the shop was under fire or worse.

“I'm on my way.”

—

The air was drenched in sugary steam when Chester let himself into the kitchen through the tight door. Judy stepped back from the pot, his forehead creased with sweat and butter.

“Go vacuum the carpet,” he ordered, picking up a huge spoon and plunging it into the pot to stir the boiling liquid. The molds need to be increased if they ever dreamed of meeting all sales for that day. Resting the spoon against the pot's interim, he began pouring more sugar and water and corn syrup into it, only to resume stirring all over again.

Changing from baked bread to candy had been one of the biggest decisions Chester had ever taken; aside from marrying Brock of course. He found himself stressed for days on end, continuously stirring and getting involved with powdered sugar and syrup till midnight when Brock would come in to lure him off with his hot tongue and soft caresses. He'd find himself locking up at once, hasty to get home to finish up their love play. When Brock's charm eventually cleared, he'd wake by four to resume stirring again, in the same copper pots, in the same molds.

Yet it still didn't feel enough, and this made him frustrated.

Up until then, the idea of hiring an additional hand hadn't kicked in yet. He was convinced he could manage it all just fine...that was until Preston popped out from the blue. The thin lad, though gullible and shy spoke volumes of how the business would progress if he was given the bar and such good looks and smartness had partly contributed to the success. Chock Candy became a lead, all other shops found worthy to follow.

Pot in hand, he began to pour the lemon liquid onto small round molds to harden. He enjoyed this very much when he could finally stand back and admire his accomplishment.

The back door opened almost immediately — Preston chucked his head in first then his slender frame. Chester nodded at him, subtly noting the slight pink blush stains splashed on both cheeks but he said nothing.

Having Preston take over from him, he padded upstairs to his private office to take in orders and mails on the Android phone. Brock had been reluctant to let him have it for the business because he felt Chester wasn't used to modern technologies as such having used a T-Mobile sidekick a great deal of his teen and adulthood.

But Chester had been adamant to have it and now he not only used it for bills and orders but for leisure as well. He set aside a special forty minutes each day when he'd slingback from work and played Roblox. It was his little secret, a guilty pleasure, and a very cool addiction.

The paperwork that morning was slightly much — remnants of the previous day orders. He managed to wrap things off in two hours. The phone sat on the table, not buzzing at all. He picked it up and began to worry if perhaps the data had run out. It was clocking the twenty-seventh tomorrow which meant the monthly subscription was supposed to last till midnight but chosen to finish early.

If only Brock hadn't been using it so much.

He sighed, partly irritated. The day wasn't getting any better and he felt airtight as those dying. Displeased, he began to scroll through the previous mails, most especially the ones belonging to Brock. It was a privacy violation but he wouldn't know, right? It was therefore wise to die once than twice and over again.

He earnestly began, tapping on one that had its capitalization scrawled. It was from a Tech company downtown Boston — an invoice for a new candy making machine. A grin slowly pulled at the corner of his lips — how thoughtful of Brock! With the new machine, he could fill in orders faster and sales would increase. He'd expand the shop further down the street and finally, only finally he'd persuade Brock so they'd have a child through surrogacy. The money saved up would be able to handle it all.

For the first time in weeks, he laughed.

Maybe Brock meant it to be a surprise for their anniversary which came up in a month. It was ruined now and Chester almost regretted reading the mails at all. It wasn't a surprise anymore but he'd pretend to be shocked all the same.

Brock's feelings wouldn't be hurt.

He surfed through the rest quietly, his attention was drawn to one from Rita Beasly. It was no surprise; she, being a client and all but this particular message was categorized under spam instead of important which all his business messages were and it came in last night. Brock had either forgotten to read it or had chosen to hide it. He double-tapped on it, his breath hitched as he took in the whole lettered body.

“My darling Brock,” it began. “It's midnight right now but I can't sleep. I can't stop thinking about you.....” the words poured out passionately.

He sat frozen, dread crawling in the pit of his stomach. He placed that particular mail under lock and pushed the phone away. So Brock had been cheating with that lousy woman. He should have known it'd come this far.

A relationship not of business, but something much more s****l.

Mutely, he sauntered downstairs — downcast. Preston and Judy worked hand in hand filling in the transparent containers with candy for the birthday party. They stopped now, alert as he flipped the open sign which hung on the entrance door to close.

“We're all taking the day off.”

—

As Chester found out forty minutes later when he'd successfully turned the whole house upside down and had gone through all of Brock's files and journals, the affair had been going on even before he became her lawyer. Rita Beasly had been Brock's childhood sweetheart and he'd earlier promised to get married to her before he discovered his sexuality. Chester choked in tears as he skimmed through the heartfelt notes and poems Brock had written her for Christmas last year.

He'd been fooled all along and what made his heart heave the more was that his husband still had feelings for her and they'd hooked up for most weeks now.

Right under his nose.

Through the letter, he also learned that Rita had been urging Brock to divorce him. She listened to a couple of reasons; that Chester didn't worth much and was too engrossed with his miniature candy business to ever care about him and also she pointedly told him that she'd give him a legal child - preferably a male if he could do this. After all, she was a woman and surrogacy wasn't in vogue these days.

The messages grew more demanding, more s****l following the new year. Brock told her that he wasn't getting satisfied anymore and Chester wasn't always in the mood to talk with him - to share his interests, his passions. All they ever did was s*x and ask about how each of their days went. Rita told him that the romantic feelings were wearing off and she could make a difference. Maybe Chester was tired of him.

He dumped it all on the table and sank onto the bed - gloomy. All these years, all these time Brock had felt dissatisfied with him. It made his heartache; that his efforts at making the marriage work weren't appreciated. That no matter what he did he still couldn't be enough.

His business was stressful alright and there hadn't been time to sit back and chit chat like normal couples did. He'd tried severally to fit Brock into his schedule but things didn't look up the way he'd planned.

He became an object of scorn with Rita always on hand to list out his weaknesses. She referred to him as 'little husband' like he was a disgusting old rag or a dwarf. He laid back to calm nausea spreading all over.

Noon snuck upon him in a matter of minutes.

Reluctantly stepping onto the shower, he let the dripping cold water take over his thoughts. Standing before the bathroom mirror, he examined his ragged cheeks and the fierce bags beneath his eyes - his skin pales like silver dust. He was aging and it increased his contempt. Maybe that was why Brock found her beautiful. Now that her husband was dead, She had enough money to spend and keep her young and full of life for a hundred more years to come.

Perhaps it was time to change that perception.

He couldn't leave. His parents would laugh out loud and long if they found out he'd quit his marriage and he couldn't allow them the pleasure. It was time to face the obstacles. It was time to confront them.

He hurried downstairs to prepare lunch. Preston had mentioned once about knowing a thing or two about makeovers. Although the idea made him cringe, he was all the more willing to seek help and see how it'll all go.

A soft rap distracted him from the frozen beef casserole he was poking. It sounded from the front door and as he unlocked it and stepped aside, Preston hopped in.

"I'm sorry for showing up unannounced," his bright green eyes scanned the living room discreetly. "But I have nothing to do back home. Rex comes back by half past midnight and I was wondering if I could spend the day here. I promise to be good and help - "

"Actually, " Chester cut him off breathlessly, barely able to contain himself. "There is a way you could help me. I need a makeover and you're right - a lady's makeover. I trust you're still familiar with the works?"

Preston raised a brow conspicuously. "What do you need a makeover for?"

He was staring at Chester intensely now, slowly stepping forward - too late forward. Chester found this daring but masculine too fair enough.

Suppressing a sigh, he narrated all that happened - Brock's affair with his client. As he replayed all he knew, Preston gaped in disbelief then fright. The Vampelts never had squabbles or misunderstandings so this was a disappointment to the young employee. He might as well learn that relationships could also be smeared no matter how perfect they seemed to be.

"Okay, I'll help." he looked Chester over. "But I can't guarantee that whatever you have in mind would play out. A simple appearance change won't keep him if he has decided to leave."

Chester gave him a wary look. "That'd be up to me. I'm willing to risk anything. Be anything for him."

"Humph," Preston scoffed. "You're sure he's worth all the trouble? He may be warming up to throw you out of this house once he gets back."

Chester's face hardened. " Things are a little bit heated but I want him back. Every bit of him."

"I'm with you then. Let's go shopping!"

-

Downtown at Schuster's accessories, Chester took one look at the price tag on a multicolored plaid shirt and blinked in annoyance. "Forty-three dollars?! For this nitpick!"

Preston tried on some jeans. "Take it as a piece of motivation. You'll cherish and wear it more because you want to get the best out of your hard-earned cash."

After shopping, Preston led Chester to his basement where his cozy salon still functioned. He washed his hair, dried and applied a soft white substance that smelt of roses. He sterilized a black short curt wig and fitted it on.

When Chester glanced at his shapely enhanced features in the mirror, he tried not to squirm in delight. "It looks lovely. I can't believe you pulled this one-off. I'm paying you." he declared.

Preston blushed quietly. "Don't be silly Sir..." but before he could say anything further, Chester stuffed a twenty into his pocket and retreated into the main house.

—

By six-fifty, Chester peeled of the wig and sat down through the fifth episode of stranger things. Brock came in. He plopped beside him, wrapping an arm around his torso. “Hey, love.”

He picked up the remote, flipping the channel to sports then leaned back and drew Chester closer. “How was your day?”

“Busy per usual,” Chester stated simply while turning to give him a quick kiss. Brock shifted to the side, trying to deepen it but Chester smartly pulled away — turning his attention back to the TV. So many evenings he'd felt pity, hoping that their passionate make-out sessions and hasty s*x served as amendments for the time they spent apart from each other. Chester was tired of sacrificing, tired of being fooled. Now he was prepared to be more careful and deal with the hurdles with twice as much wisdom.

Brock tilted his head back, noting his appearance for the first time. “You look... different. Did you go to the spa?”

Chester grinned. “I thought I might surprise you tonight, so I called Preston over to give me a few brush-ups. I hope you like it?”

He nodded. “It's beautiful. You look great.”

Chester forced a smile. “Why, thank you so much.”

If he kept up the element of surprise, Brock would finally realize just how wonderful he could be.

Chester continued smiling at him, wondering if he'd detect his pain, anger. Brock chose not to notice for he kept his eyes glued to the screen, tired lines appearing on his forehead out of nowhere. Chester patted himself mentally, moving entirely to the other side of the couch — out of Brock's reach. Changes felt good when blended with the right dose of revenge. Brock eyed him discreetly, sighing over and over again in frustration. Chester had always been the one to initiate the s*x routine but tonight... seemed confusing. At last, he flicked the TV off just as Chester yawned. “Ugh, I'm so sleepy. Guess I'll turn in early.”

He stood up, navigating past Brock who blinked in increasing confusion. No goodnight kiss or tease — Chester had him in a really good loop.

The nights wore on and at the first gusts of dawn, Chester swung his legs off the bed, padding into the kitchen to fix coffee. Brock laid till six, then got up to check the emails. When he finally emerged, Chester had set out the breakfast table and was picking around the garden outside.

“You're different now hun,” he held Chester's gaze as they discussed while eating. “Not that I'm complaining. It's a miracle to finally get you to start working around here. Why the sudden change of heart?”

“It's nothing.” Chester mused, feeling appreciated. “There's gonna be a whole new Chester from now on, that's for sure.”

He looked dubious. “What do you have in mind?”

Chester felt relieved at the opening. “Well, I was thinking why don't I accompany you to your lawsuit today, I trust the Beasley case is still on so I want to see how far things have gone and perhaps meet some of your colleagues.”

Brock choked on his juice, setting the glass down. “Today? You want to visit?”

Chester steeled himself. “Yeah. Why do you seem shocked? It's just a suggestion.”

Brock shook his head adamantly. “No. I'm just... you can't come.”

Chester's heart sank at this, confirming his suspicions. “But why not?”

“Come on dear, it's a lawsuit we're talking about here. There's always a lot of noise and arguments with men hurling curses here and there... you don't want to see that.”

“It's my type of scene if you ask me.” Chester struggled to sound cheerful, light-headed while his heart was cutting up in bits. Up until now, he'd hoped he was wrong. That those notes were false.

“I'm sorry hun but it's final. You can't come, don't push it.”

“But tell me why — ”

“I've just told you, there's gonna be a lot of action and swearing and you shouldn't be there. This is a man thing.”

“Oh, now you think I'm not man enough to be there with you?”

“It's not what I meant. What I'm saying is that you're too sensitive and might want to leave early. By then I won't be able to bring you home.”

“My father was a lawyer,” Chester fumed. “And I spent most of my days with him in court. I can handle anything.”

Brock's face hardened. “When I say you can't come, you can't come.”

Chester whirled out in defiance, making sure to slam the bedroom door so hard that the neighborhood trembled. The house lapsed into silence until moments later, he came out of the room again and strutted over to his seat in the dining room. Brock did not comment as he downed his juice.

They ate in silence.

“I want to come with you Brock, but why can't you let me? I swear I'm not so busy.” he pleaded softly.

“This is the final lawsuit for the Beasley. I trust there would be a lot of people and events to prevent me from keeping an eye on you... and your candy shop? Your customers would be devastated if they don't find you.”

“They'll understand.” Chester was sure his voice sounded so far away. “I just want people to see us together more often. I want to support you.”

“I know you do,” Brock sighed sympathetically. Chester was seized with an idea to ram his head into the buttered bread he was eating. That would have made him feel better. “But you can't. There are a lot of ways we could spend time together. Dinner maybe?”

Chester hesitated. “I'll think about it.”

He watched him stomp off to the shower, partly annoyed at his schemes. He would need to get them both red-handed but Brock wasn't making it any easier.

He left the house afterward, leading Chester to sprint off upstairs. He found the Android phone chunked in a tuxedo pocket — straight-up dead. No worry though, he thought. The computer was pretty much alive.

He plugged it with a USB cord and powered it on. True to his suspicions, Brock had informed Rita of all the latest happenings starting from last night and was urging her to change plans.

But Rita was as thick-headed as anyone shameless could be. “No. I've missed you so much to wait another day. I've already made plans at the hotel. There's no going back now.” She wrote. “I'm not someone you can joke about with and when I want something, I want it complete. I'll send Sven to come to pick you up once the court proceedings end.”

A wave of fear swept all over him. They had a hookup planned. What a perfect day to get exposed.