Chapter Text

At the top of a hill, shrouded in an inescapable gray that stretches for countless miles, there stands a house that has never known an owner.

He has always been here, wandering the corridors once built with the explicit purpose to contain life. To be a home. But this is not a home. A home contains life, but nobody lives here. Nobody has ever lived here. Not for as long as he can recall.

Not that he can remember. There's nothing to remember. It's only ever been this house. With its yellowed walls that display only paintings of the home's exterior and almost pointedly not a single photo of any previous inhabitants. With its rustic brickwork, worn and aged, a fine moss enveloping the cold stone. With vaulted ceilings so high and impossible to clean, you might imagine it would be full of cobwebs, but it's practically pristine.

Nothing lives here.

He is content with being nothing. There’s not much else to be, except here.

Sometimes he'll spot a mirror in the endless halls of the estate. The face that looks back is unremarkable. There is a face; spotted with freckles, though he’s never once seen the sun. Shaggy ginger hair frames his features. Or is it ginger? There’s definitely a tint of it, but whatever colour may have been, there has all but since washed out. Dusty grey eyes peer back at him, though they can never hold his focus. It's like staring too long at a sofa, you'll only glean so much in its careful study. You understand its function, and that's about it. That's all he needs to see.

He is content with being forgotten.

Then, one day - though it’s not as if he could fully understand the concept of a “day” - a small sound pricks his ear. It's faint, but deeply unfamiliar. It's not the rocking of the chair. It's not the trembling of the shutters. It's…new.

Following the sound, he identifies its source. It's a door. An old, mahogany door that leads outside. He's known it's here, but never had any need for it. Just another useless thing, left forgotten. But now it's calling to him. Or rather, something is calling to him. A voice from the other side.

“...tin? You there? H-Hello?”

The voice isn't like anything he's ever heard before. So foreign that he doesn't possess the vocabulary to properly describe it. Whatever it is, it sounds anxious. Or perhaps frightened.

He has to admit, for the first time in forever, he's frightened too.

His hand finds the knob, turning open the old lock, and the voice is still. Waiting. The wood groans in agony as it's shaken from its slumber, called to perform its duty after an eternity of neglect.

The door swings open and he looks down. Somebody is on his front step. An honest to goodness somebody. The first he's ever known.

They appear to be a man, whatever that means. Shorter, with dark skin that nearly matches the old wood, though much more vibrant than the muted tones that make up his surroundings. Almost blindingly so. The man is wearing a forest green jumper, a bit like his own, with long, dark hair banded with streaks of grey tied up into some sort of bun. The man is thin. Much thinner than himself. Nearly a polar opposite in many respects.

It's the eyes, though. That's what captivates him the most. An eerie green light flickers behind them, more dazzling than anything he's ever witnessed in his entire existence. Those eyes scan his face, his body - or rather the shell that meanders through these long abandoned rooms. He's not entirely sure what is so interesting for the man to observe him with such scrutiny, but under that intense gaze, he suddenly feels as if he's the most important thing in the world. An odd feeling, to say the least. Almost laughable, had he the mirth to produce one.

“I'm sorry, but…are you a – person?”

These aren't the first words he's ever spoken. He enjoys talking, frankly. Usually to the walls, the furniture, (though never the mirror). But this feels foreign, as now he should expect an answer.

The man snaps to attention and lunges forward, one foot past the threshold. “Oh Christ, it's – it's you!” A choked sob follows. Tears pool in those haunting eyes, but the man is…smiling. “I-I found you. Thank god, I – I finally found you.”

“Who…is ‘you’?”

For whatever reason, that steals the man's smile away. He curses himself for that. It was pretty, but now it's gone. All that's left is confusion, an expression he’s much more accustomed to.

“Y-You, your-” The man gawks at him, taking a cautious step forward. “You don't – know who I am, do you?”

He shakes his head.

“You don't…you don't know who you are, do you...?”

Who…what a funny way of seeing him. He simply shrugs.

“W-We need to go. Escape. Here just – I know the way, we – we can-” The man's hand jerks forward, reaching for his. It simply passes through.

The man tries again, but nothing. He can't even feel as the corporeal form slips into his own, then out again. After a third attempt, a pulse of static spreads through the air and the man stops. Those wild eyes dance with colour, watching him with a look of dawning horror. “Oh…Oh, no, you're – you can't leave…can you?”

“I’m not – I don't know if I am a ‘you’. Not beyond these walls.” He attempts to clarify. Not that he knows much better. Still, this man seems determined. He seems… “Do I know…you?”

“Yes…you – you did, at least.” The man replies.

That can't be right, but the man is so adamant. And, if he's being honest, a part of him hopes that it's true.

“...Would you like to come in?” He steps to the side, ushering the man in, but not particularly waiting for an answer. Even still, the man follows, stepping in from the thick wall of fog, and the old door latches shut once again.