✝ I still press your letters to my lips

And cherish them in parts of me that savor every kiss ✝

--- *** ---
--- Two Weeks Later ---
--- 20th of December, 1964 ---

Once two weeks of a heavenly catharsis infectiously rumbled up to chase its recent prey of resigning from the church became a valley of prominently inexorable events, consequently a couple of days beatifically leaked its vibrantly divine light up to the winter holidays that couldn't be skipped just to be marked not only on the calendar, but also gauging each household's pearly dedication to celebrate it. Even though in the past two weeks you and Timothy spent more time together whenever you had the chance to fuel your leisure and each gathering for the regular meals, nevertheless, you solemnly took in your hands to emigrate permanently into his privately owned residence in the countryside, in order to not arouse your neighbours' hideously fiendish, vermillion prejudices and doubts behind the unsolved murder of your former manager that has being a question on investigation by the whole neighbourhood without an efficiently certain response.

Your former home was already being sold by your bare hands after you emphatically have gathered your luggage and confining each authentically majestic, rare paraphernalia inside your suitcases and lugging them to the luggage carrier of the former devotional clergyman's sable cab that was pulled off the same day after his official resignation from the diocese at last. Even when inexorable encounter with the bleakly fiendish homesickness that was possible to respawn as relentlessly bloodthirsty wight of the past and your former property, the categorical decision commenced to contagiously perpetual carding every ounce of your nostalgia to rail eagerly you train of thoughts nonetheless.

Sometimes the decisions for better life and dodging every feasible trouble that might be the trinklet of your oscillation even without opting to be donned up were less touchable of the celestially gilt sanctum of your untouchable heavenly nirvana guarding your very soul and flimsy heart. You couldn't hazard to reside for any longer in the flat where your neighbours didn't trade the best platonic bond with you, nor the worst even during the briefest interactions. Sometimes the most hazardous, versatile decisions could cost you even a split second to save your life or somebody's pearly precious well-being. You couldn't put a finger on how immensely grateful you appeared to be in the end after your ever-lasting emigration in the British aristocrat's two-story house.

Even when in the first two weeks he spent as unemployed yet, nevertheless, every time when you were back from your day shift at the cafeteria, consequently majestically breathtaking, exquisitely scrumptious dinner meal accompanied by additional attributes such as salads and flimsy goblets elegantly engulfing its freshly poured delicious red liquor shimmered past your eyesight and waltzing its remarkably unique glint that rhymithically was escorted in the corner of your eye. The hours of great deal of efforts and two masculinely mammoth, starkly veiny hands cortoring at each manipulated twitch of his long fingers to prepare the meals remorseless.

Clamminess marvelously thick coated his fingertips, pads of his fingers and palms. The pleasantly pungnent fragrance of freshly prepared dinner wafted infectively your very tender nostrils promptly. Stronger than a recited in a mumble divinely inward prayer. Weaker than the most numbing, megawattly unnerving bicker you exchanged with the last person that got on your very nerves.

Sweltering heat fiercely roared to ripple his tender flesh his overall arms even when he was still educating himself in the culinary and to opt to delightfully pamper you after having even the toughest day of the week. The great deal of efforts to pamper you altruistically sweetened your tongue and bestowing its authentically one of a kind sweet flavor permeating inside your oral caverns, enforcing ferociously to bit the inside of your cheek.

You couldn't express your gratitude in more specifically accurate, imaginative method rather than in the series of mewled bluntly silver-tongued, coy sweet nothings and compliments tingling its truly elating angelic anthems into the British aristocrat's amenable ears and subsequently rippling its very waves of inevitably stormy tempest's coherent storm of jovial encouragement hypodermically surging through his veins and arteries. Just like the serene prong of syringe to hypodermically headstrong wiredrawing its naturally translucent, perfectly down-to-earth blood to fuel the tube's patchy emptiness with the gory liquid.

During your day shift in the cafeteria in the wee hours of the afternoon as the winter leaked its tremendously explicit true colours with the wee inkling of obscuring entirely the autumn season and the profoundly vibrant warmness no longer looming with the moderately gauged filter of the gilt sun altruistically shrouding the façades and the other abutting, the aggressive howl of the ferociously ceaseless glacial gale exhaling sharply outside and meekly pursuing its rhythmical waltz outdoors and fanning stubbornly the living beings that passed each site down the snowy streets of Boston. The winter's indubitably wonderful illustration savagely inexorable stitched each discrete detail to throng every patchy shallow niche that could deface slowly but surely the genuine hardwork of the Mother Nature. The rich snowfall pelted down sluggishly the Boston streets bluntly restless, bearing a semblance of the vehement joggle of a snowball glass after the pair of dexteriously arduous fingers manifested to work on the manipulations onward and downward until the effect's ultimate delightful performance.

The quantity of clients populated almost every inch of the cafeteria interior outnumbered viciously the outdoor that was a small part regularly maintained the utmostly megawatt difference, formatting its huge number. You haven't encountered any utmost issues even if they plummeted down its significance with your manager or certain co-workers of yours.

"The Sun comes up and brings the dawn! As usual when I awake I'll find you gone as usual!" As Usual by Brenda Lee thrumming eloquently its angelic anthems into the clients' ears reckoning your and your colleagues' amenable, potently infective suffusing its serene ambience that was fueled with beehive of aggressively howling bees that could be interpreted in the nobodies' bluntly refreshing chats they swapped with the companies that separated from their time to escort them inside the site. The hours ticked unnervingly timeless as if the centuries could be rather the genuine notion of the advancing work epoch for every prey whose daily routine was partly fueled by its shift.

At the moment, you docilely managed to dawdle your petite-frame immobile as you seated on the chair before the bar that was solely accessible to your manager and your colleagues reckoning your one of a kind persona. During your day shift at work, the former pious man of the cloth rather preferred to stay at home according to his solemn meager daily schedule even if he'd a couple of chores to do over your current property you shared a roof together.

The haphazardness of the phone's ruthlessly shrill hum catching you off guard momentarily, consequently you channelized one of your petite, femininely creamy hands' long fingers to yank balefully the jet-black earpiece in no time as it clung to your delicate ear shell to adjust its poise ultimately. A straight line nonchalantly buffed smoothly your naturally roseate, angelically cherub lips, reconsidering the recent phone call you might be maintained with another self-conscious customer that has scarcely any idea about the site's hot offers and location as well or otherwise another leisure colloquy between you and one of your pals.

"This is Y/N L/N!" In the interval, your wet, strawberry-coloured tongue registered deftly to conjugate the ocean of vowels and syllables greatly commingling to formate your neutral address, being oblivious to the phone number that you recently earned its phone call.

Your E/C rotund jewels manipulated to roll up once the sole response in approval you obtained was a hitched breath echoing through the earpiece, whereas you lulled out of your tongue graciously sleek to lick your upper and lower pink lip as it slipped to contact the tenderly fleshy cortex. Unlike the unevenly subconscious insecure drum of your fingertips against the entity binded stably by the pads of your creamy fingers, consequently your E/C jewels ushered to dart to the enormous mass of nobodies to catch a glimpse of them for a split second, in order to not obtain the rich swarm of childlikely inquisitive, big-headed twain of eyes heartily swilling every ounce of your anatomy from head to toes.

"H-Hello?" An unevenly icy, bashful stutter sloppily foamed your nude pink mouth while the hair-risingly obdurate attempts to sort your mind neatly during the awkwardness building on the maintenance of the phone conversation sent monumental avalanche twining in the pit of your stomach balefully and frosting the insides hypodermically beneath your lower abdomen's stable armor. "Hello? Who's calling at the moment?" Your front pearly white teeth maneuvered to worry on your bottom brim lip promptly, in order to stifle the despondently incoherent, childishly blunt whimpers that might escape your oral caverns bolt from the blue anytime, guesstimating precisely the explicit scenario.

The spontaneous acceleration of your heart pulses hammered into your eardrums, bearing a semblance of high-pitched music piercing the very walls of the nightclubs in a serenely delighting summer night. Little did you know whose hitched breathing could emulate its vocalist's ballad. It was so foreign. It was so untouchable. The obscene of the untouchable and the cryptic.

The flabbergastingly embarrassment extraordinarily darkened its hue of your full profile and a heavy, jaded sigh emerging from your brittle lungs in a jiffy while stilling the sort mission of your vortex of thoughts at the moment. What it could happen if it's a prank call just to baffle you and its preys that have accepted amenably the phone call and accelerated the heart pulses megawatt? What it could happen if it's an ill-famed, bloodthirstily spine-chilling psychopath whose specialism were the cunning manipulations and the razor-edged vortex of thoughts' versatile function was aiming to intentionally pop up from nowhere and coveting to fulfill the gory Gehenna's disaster even through the phone?

The mouth-wateringly graceful fragrance of freshly brewed beverages and prepared meals fantastically whisked doubtlessly with the pungent reek of human flesh and sweat wafted across your tiny, flexible nostrils. The ordinary scent of the cafeteria or other public site that had hundreds of customers daily even if at times they were less than a hundred as well.

"I don't have a time for games!" Channelizing the back of your elvish, delicately velvet solely free hand to bedaub its bountiful crystally luminous layer of perspiration thickly fabulous, sardonic laminating your temple, your rosy-coloured, brim mouth struggled to tangle a bewildered, disgruntledly cold-blooded exhale puffing up its soft O gaping your oral slit. You couldn't any longer bear those childlikely hazardous, strong-willedly grave games that could be worth even a living being's pearly precious life.

"Oh hi, Y/N!" The suddenness of the broken ice of one of your true blue buddies Frederic's pleasant Michigan lilt puncturing the sardonically kindhearted undertones deflating his cheerful nature in his utterance, whereas you managed to incline perkily an eyebrow.

"Oh Frederic! Hey!" Squinting up your E/C roundish bijous at the swarm of nobodies for awhile to recollect your train of thoughts during your colloquy with the Michiganian, a coyly huge grin curved upon your mouth promisingly, invitingly and muffling with the palm of your hand fashionably the brittle, notoriously squeaky guttural chuckle as your throat flexed its vibration bubbling up from its armor. "You almost scared the pants off me, not gonna lie!"

"But I can't find a way to let this crazy heart of mine forget, I pretend you're still beside me as usual!"

"I'm sincerely sorry, Y/N! I didn't think you have that thick skin as Dana."

"It truly depends of the situation as well!" Stifling another bluntly emitted girlishly humble giggle, throughout hypodermically contagious blush jovially mischievous tickled your well-carved, chubby cheeks promptly. "How are you doing anyway, fellow fella?"

"The things are great. I'm planning to celebrate Christmas with Barb and some pals, while Dana is aiming to celebrate it with her whole family."

"Oh! How fantastically it is scenting of, I have to admit, pal!"

"Indeed! What are your plans for Christmas, Y/N?" Suddenly you registered a cold-bloodedly pensive, cryptically adorable purse wedging your rosy-coloured mouth abruptly at the enquiry and the sheerly despondent homesickness of the relentlessly stormy tempest inundating your hurricane of thoughts at the reminiscence of your earlier years and the Christian holiday's annual celebration that tore off your heart on thousand of glassily flimsy pieces in a handful of bloody slashes.

Notwithstanding your entire family's spine-chilling demise banishing their very mortal presences out of the crudely cold, nevertheless, grand world, yet the preciously golden, celestially heartwarming blended with heartaching memories of your past such as adolescence and childhood eagerly chased you down to bestow you with its intoxicatingly salty doze of hysterically restless, endless drizzle of tears staining your façade and mirroring your disastrous despondency. During your high school years you could ideally recall the very scenarios of spending each Christmas at your grandparents' humble household and spending hours drinking and eating and chatting with one another, besides treasuring dearly every elapsing second in the modestly doting company of your Todd and Claudia.

The luxuriously vast cloud overcastting prominently unique its contagious dimness to strangle vindictively its low-spiritedness even though the poor attempts due to the angelical euphoria richly sousing your, Todd and Claudia's laughters and chitchats. A brilliantly crystal, luminously stealthy tear gushed down your lower eyelids subconsciously, unknowledgeably as your pure oblivion to the sublt indication of your heartaching nostalgia you yearned to discuss immediately the least.

"Oh! I'm just planning to celebrate Christmas with Timothy since I have no one else special." Dozens of childlikely self-conscious, thoughtfully dreamy stammers emerging from your mouth, whilst picturing vividly explicit the scenarios of celebrating Christmas with nobody else than the British compatriot graced you with an innoconously demure, modestly mellow smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth at the very thought of him tarnishing each functioning cell and muscle that trembled every progressing second. "Since I have lost my family and I have solely friends that I could number only on one of my hands' fingers,"

"Each evening I take a walk as usual! I make believe that we still talk
as usual!" As Usual lingered its infectively peacefully mirthful tunes dancing and immersing the very ears of its victims of the lull.

"At least, it's something to suppress that severe pain and heavy loneliness during the holidays," A coarse snort surged through the older gentleman's nose as soon as you maneuvered your only free hand's pristinely satin fingers to coil mischievously gentle a fistful of your H/L lion mane of unblemishedly youthful, freshly silken locks brushing your digit. "You know! You remember clearly well you shared a Christmas with me and Barb the last year?"

"Oh yeah!" Bobbing meekly your head in solemn agreement, thus a featherly-soft quirk of your knitted eyebrows towards the bridge of your nose formulated your actual facial expression's real prospect. "Yeah! Howsoever, it was much different compared to the last Christmases I have ever had with my family before their eventual death."

--- *** ---

--- Later that Day ---

"Wah!" Mewling a ruthlessly high-pitched, desperate shriek at the top of his lungs subconsciously while writhing recklessly hysterical his frail skeleton beneath its bundled comfortably warm duvet and his muscular, toned back cortoring on ripples the bed sheets, consequently Timothy struggled to find a comfy slumber pose and the thickly sticky sable blotches of his former shift in his possessed version tinted shamelessly his pinched widely shut his eyelids and hurricane of thoughts, chaotically operating its frostbite.

Just a handful of hours after nonchalantly crawling in your own individual beds to drown in the mistily abysmal, sinisterly inebriating ocean of your very reveries and senselessness in scarce twitch of your fleshy muscles, besides having a mouth-wateringly amicable dinner where you spent its preciously celestial minutes of chatting with one another about your daily routine and certain interesting topics instead of masticating and taking freshly hot and steamy showers individually, a severe snowfall pelted down the small city of Massachusetts and the truculently villainous winds howled nervously outside.

Two weeks after the second and lethally final exorcism of Timothy and bashing the vile essence that once resided unremittingly his larger frame, it wasn't an efficiently phenomenon to drastically cleanse its shadows and demons of the bleakly somber past and his possession surreptitiously sneaking inside his reverie realm as uninvited guests. They were always in charge of their crucial mission to grace with its corrupting, frequent nightmares its former victim of spiritual possession.

Meantime, the former aspiring Monsignor straightened his posture as he seated on the edge of his king-sized bed and hopping up in comfortable pair of slippers to shoe his bare, amusingly warm feet, consequently thoughtlessly bolting out of his bedroom in no time and timidly tiptoeing up to the guests room in the profoundly long hallway of the second floor shortly after stinging broadly opened his coffee brown optics to scan his surroundings that were profusely mantled beneath its fat ebony, rigid pallium obscuring its distinction embracing his vista. The bashfully villainous, guiltless long strides were drumming against the wooden planked flooring when the former ambitious Monsignor arrived before his imminent, final destination nonetheless. The guests' room.

A couple of gentlemanly raps caught you off guard slowly but surely from your beauty coma you were sweetly solemn surrending your realm shortly after Timothy managed to curl his virginally colossal, orthodoxy velvet hands into balled fists to contact the wooden material sifting the both sites eventually. The feather-soft midnight echo of further background noise except the wintery ode playing on loop unevenly braced the two-story mansion tightly tingled alarming tones into your vulnerable ears.

"Damn!" The haphazardness of coming to your senses and conjugating to purr a soft, ironically rueful grunt curling your upper lip didn't cease its contagious hoarseness stemming from your calm slumber, whereas manifesting to shake your head instantly shortly before shifting your groggy, glossy E/C cabochons to be transfixed on the wooden door. "Timothy, is everything okay?"

"I really can't sleep. It's all chasing me down again like an overcasted sky of clouds obscuring the sun to shine." In the meantime, the older gentleman's hand mousy perched on the doorknob and subsequently turning it as the door nefariously ominous whined its creaky, brief symphony and stepping inside the guests' room without thinking twice, whereas shutting the door behind him promptly. "I didn't mean truly to trouble you, Y/N!"

"It's okay, honey!" The friendly nickname molted candidly enchanting the former devotional member of the church followed by a sharp exhale when his strong-willedly rebellious attempts to sort his mind even when flashes of demons and shadows stalking every ounce of track of his very being, in order to track down his current destination as well. A kindheartedly angelic, peacefully childlike smile bloomed to twist across his ghostly pale, yet youthful complexion. A maintenance of adequately sufficient long, nevertheless, subtle proximity impaled abruptly once Timothy crept inside the conveniently warm, welcoming duvet and diminishing your actual distance at last as you returned the smile with a wide, beamingly sunny grin cradling your mouth. "You shouldn't be scared of anything at any cost."

"It's still for almost two weeks haunting me,"

"Don't worry, Tim!" Meanwhile, you pressed an affectionately reassuring peck on top of his temple and throwing your satin, protective arms to brace his upper muscly, toned upper back firmly, whereas on reflex his muscular, strong arms snaked around your middle in a jiffy and his piercing, yet blamelessly doe chocolate brown huge, rotund depths speared yours kindly. The intimacy genuinely grave intensified its tension and ambience eventually. "Everything will be good. We'll arrange an appointment with Dana's mother who's a well-known, excellent professional psychologist who will grant you what the nightmares exactly fearing of are."

"Rare bird," A despondently uncontrollable, demonic sob escaped his Adam's apple and writhing iron-willedly brass in your grip, whereas you manipulated one of your elvish, feather-soft hands smoothly to knead his back consolingly on reflex, gifting him with its necessary myriad of unconditional love, vast warmness and vibrant understanding even when the nightmares' potently intoxicating flame spectacularly kindled his thoughts and inner voices in his head to haunt him vigorously.

"No, no, no, Tim! I genuinely promise you will be on your feet in a New York minute by the following week before Christmas!" The heavy rain of salty, brilliantly luminous tears drenched the crook of your neck once the older man managed to bury his face innocently, sensing truly the safety and the consolation you offered him strongly. "You are not alone! I am always with you, regardless the circumstances. Regardless what the others think of us. Regardless what even the nigh neighbours might think of us. We have our own lives and we are supposed to fight for ourselves and for our happiness, not for our misery that is worth somebody's hedonistically growling satisfaction watching us being tormented."

"I have never loved truly somebody as much as you, my rare bird!" Then one of his mammoth, amusingly warm hand's long, slim fingers channelized to rake your halo ringlet of silky strands uneasily, admiring its youthful crispiness. "You were the only one who cared about my soul's salvation thanks to that exorcism and rescuing my very being from the demon's tormenting punishment he has prepared for me even rumbled up highlands and valleys to track me down like an amenable prey."

"I am rather thankful to that divine power that reigns or somehow has utter control over the karma has gathered us as a specific destiny. Thank you for everything, Timothy!"

"I am rather more grateful for anything you have done for me, my bird!"

"I love you more than you can imagine!" A silver-tongued, mousy coo dripped sloppily from your mouth as you planted a tenderly loving, heartmelting kiss to Timothy's well-sculptured, tear-stained cheek and then daubing with your brim, soft lips each tiny rivulet of bitter tears. The smooth tremble of fingertips tracing invitingly the very curve of your cheekbone and cupping in the palm of his dumbfoundingly warm, soothing hand your cheek as the pads of his fingers, the warm, scrumptious food-stained breathing lightly fanned each other's delicate facial skins.

Another serene night like the others. The early winter's ode eloquency accentuating the rich tones of warmongeringly wild howls of frosty gales plaguing the small city of Massachusetts even in the darkest and the calmest hours of the day. Midnight or any hour of the night's twilight. It smelled of opulent tranquility that lulled its children of the grogginess and insomnia to eavesdropping up the commonly encountered extraordinary nocturnal ballds. 

Author's Note:  Since that is the 30th chapter and there are a few days until Christmas chapter with the female reader and Timothy, what are your genuine thoughts on this story up to now? Are you more interested than before? What are your very thoughts on the plot twists that played out perkily in the story from the 21st up to now for example? 

I'd like to hear your thoughts on those important questions as a reader!

A special thanks to the most loyal readers that have ever separated from their time to support me and this story especially southernauthor, sociopathsis, -httpslut, stallonesgirl, winnieandrs,  cherryannesausa, NeahMyah and Celeste-Moore! It truly means a lot to me and I'm genuinely pleased and scarcely regretting for finding such amazing writers like you! I hope you like and enjoy the imminent chapters of the book as we're in the middle and the journey hasn't ended yet! :))