Chapter Text
This place is a death trap. You came to realize that the day you moved in.
During day the sun beat down on everything and cooked you alive, while the nights froze you half to death.
Not to mention the people in town... It felt like everyone was insane, on the verge of collapse. And you were starting to feel it coming over you too.
Life had become a never ending cycle of work and sleep: get up, go to your soul-crushing job, go home, and collapse in bed. Then get up again and repeat the cycle. The only thing that changed day-to-day was the temperature or the weather or the clothes you wore.
The amount of times you've lost track of what day it was or what was happening around you was worrying. It’s started to feel like working yourself to death, with no way out and no way to make it feel any better.
The place you lived in didn't make anything any less draining, either. The walk to and from work each day took just a little bit too long to not be tiring, the house you lived in was shitty and run-down and the temperature was always the opposite of what you needed.
Not to mention the fact that you lived right across the street from someone that everyone else in the neighborhood felt the need to warn you about the second you moved in; and that said individual was always doing really, really loud things at the latest possible hours at night.
It sounded like he was always building something or breaking things every time you tried to sleep. Every night, day in and day out, you'd be kept up by strange noises and delusional-sounding ramblings.
Tonight was another one of those nights.
In your struggle to sleep, you began planning and overthinking the day ahead of you. Might as well spend the time well-ish.
Get groceries, get Halloween decorations, get something to fix the lights in the kitchen, do this, get that, go to some place for something. It all felt so overwhelming, and the constant rambling and sounds coming from the nearby house just made it harder to sleep and near-impossible to think.
You stared at the wall for what felt like hours as the intermittent thumps kept you awake and exhausted. What the hell was he doing in there anyways? And at this time?
What time was it, anyways?
You roll over to your other side, eyes straining for the alarm clock next to your bed. It was eleven at night. At this rate... You'd rather be dead than do everything you had to do tomorrow.
Your eyes make weird shapes out of the darkness of the room - human-shaped shadows and various shifts in the lighting of the room. The tiredness is really getting to you, and you just want the noise to stop and to finally get some rest.
And you finally do, for a second, before being scared awake by another loud thud from your neighbors house.
You rub your eyes harshly and groan. Checking the time again, it reads at about ten minutes past eleven. You have to do something about this.
Since you don't really want to go outside in the freezing cold you consider your other options.
You drag yourself out of bed, into the living room, and onto the couch, before reaching over for the dingy home phone. Your fingers hover over all the dials and buttons as you try to recall if you've ever actually talked to this guy over the phone.
Now that you think of it… Have you even made any contact with him at all? You search through all your memories regarding the guy. Brief moments of eye contact from the only front-facing window of his house as you go outside for work or go back inside to get some rest. There was one time where you both looked at each other for longer than a few seconds, and that's really the most you've interacted with him.
You remember it happened about a month after you moved in. By then you’d heard all the warnings about the guy, the rambling, the weird behavior, almost everything.
You were leaving to go to some bar in town with work friends you’ve now lost all contact with on a Friday evening, and you briefly looked straight at the window as you closed the door behind you at the same time he was staring outside through the blinds. He stared at you for a good minute and you didn’t think to move or do anything until he slunk back into the confines of his house. You didn’t catch sight of him for a good week or so after that.
A sudden thump, louder than the other ones, rips you from your thoughts. The loud noises from his house still haven't stopped, so you guess there's really no other option.
You find yourself outside a few minutes later wearing the same stuff you wore in bed, but with an oversized coat and shoes on so you don't literally freeze to death. The front door closes behind you with a creak.
The journey to the other side of the street begins. Half-melted snow crunches under your shoes and you have to be careful to not slip and fall over. After just a few seconds of being outside you feel your face and hands freezing in the cold air.
As you stuff your hands in the pockets of the coat a part of you wishes that you properly dressed for the weather.
Still, you carry forward.
The paranoia starts to kick in while walking to the dude's house. A feeling of fear washes over you as you pass through the fence surrounding the run-down property.
Your head snaps towards the window as you hear the blinds moving around. The two of you lock eyes almost instantly.
The mold on the windowsill and the various stains on the glass highlight just how run-down his house is. Compared to the other places in the neighborhood, it’s definitely… Something. The dim lighting lets you make out what seems to be a look of fear or anxiety or something similar to that on his face. He looks kind of greasy, but you cant really tell in this lighting.
When you take a few hesitant steps closer to his front door he jumps back from the window. Sounds of clattering and various drawers and doors shutting quickly fill the air, like he's trying to hide something.
Weird.
Just as you lift your hand up to knock on the dingy front door it swings open faster than you thought possible, and you're met with an eerie figure almost looming over you. Your neighbor. You have to crane your neck up just to look at him properly. He looks terrified. It takes only a second to notice that he’s sweating like hes just been out running or something. You see that his hands are shaking uncontrollably, too.
He leans down slightly closer to your height. “C-Can…” You hear vaguely him mumbling something out at you.
“What?”
He clears his throat. “Can you leave?” He’s still too quiet.
“Not yet,” You sound annoyed, but rightfully so- it sounds like he’s constructing something in the middle of the goddamn night. You speak up again with a sigh, “What’s with all the noise?”
No response. It doesn’t seem like he wants to explain. Sighing again, you look down, scuffing your shoes along the barely-used welcome mat. “Listen, man, I’ve gotta get up at six tomorrow, and…” You crane your neck back up to look him in the eye. Where you think his eyes are, at least. Your voice is meek. It feels mean to be at his house in the middle of the night berating him for being noisy, but…
You start to complain about everything you have to get done tomorrow, and how the noise is keeping you up and how that’s going to make your life harder and everything sucks about everything ever and he’s just making it worse. This goes on for what you soon realize is way too long.
A feeling of embarrasment takes over you after your rant. You can barely look in his direction, let along make eye contact again. “Sorry…” It sounds like hes about to cry. Oh god, what have you done? Now the guy you’ve never talked to before in your whole life thinks you’re mean.
Your mind scrambles for some way to apologize to him. “No, I’m-” A look of confusion crosses his face but you can’t see it. “I’m sorry,” The rambling starts again. “I know it’s kind of.. Rude to be showing up in the middle of the night and practically yelling at you,” In reality you’ve just skittishly asked him to be quiet, “But, I just… I really need to sleep…”
An uncomfortable silence settles over the both of you. The air feels tense.
“I’m sorry- I'm gonna... I’ll go now.” You stutter out, taking a step back on the slippery stairs.
A barely audible “Okay.” comes from the guy you believe you just harassed.
The walk back is quick. You close the door behind you as you step back into your home. The click as it closes and as you turn the lock feels deafening against the new found silence. It doesn’t seem that there’s going to be any more loud disruptive noises from his place tonight but you can only hope.
Your coat gets flung carelessly onto the couch while you walk back to your room. The bed sinks down as you sit on it to take off your shoes. A quick glance at the alarm clock reveals that barely any time has passed. That felt like it took a lot longer.
A loud crackling sound rips you out of sleep. You look around sporadically, eyes darting around every corner of your room. Fireworks? Doesn’t quite sound like those. Your head then snaps towards the alarm clock. It hasn’t gone off yet, and it’s still dark out so it can’t be too late. Your eyes squint at and try to focus on the bright red numbers.
Four.
It’s four in the morning and someone’s doing fireworks?
The first thought to cross your head as you start to properly wake up is that it’s your weird neighbor… Again. He seemed so remorseful, though, so why would he be doing all that again? Or did he just wait until you’d be asleep and unbothered before resuming whatever it is he does?
Goddammit…
You’ll need to get up and do all that again.
You groan as you pull yourself out of bed. The warmth from the covers evaporates off your body as you sit up. It’s freezing. The wind outside kicks up slightly and tosses the curtains of your bedroom window around before settling again. With how cold it is, you thought you would have closed it.
You quickly get up to shut it. If the room gets any colder you feel like you’ll get hypothermia. But now that you’re actually out of bed you have to prepare yourself to face the cold outside.
The shoes you wore earlier are lying on the floor next to your bed, tossed haphazardly. You collect them and put them on. You also take a plain long-sleeved shirt that was lying around your room somewhere. It feels a little less freezing now. But only a little bit. The door to your bedroom closes quietly and you start walking to the front door. The coat you tossed onto the couch is grabbed again and put back on. Your hand reaches for the handle of the front door. For the cold outside and for the freezing, eerie walk to his house. Do you really need to do all that again?
You stand there, completely still, for a good minute before making a decision.
The wind hits you immediately, making you regret your decision almost as quickly. But… It’ll just be worse in the long run if you go back inside. You have to talk to the guy. You have to storm up to his house and tell him to shut up again.
You step off your porch and start trudging through the fresh layer of snow on the ground. When did it start snowing? As you keep walking it becomes painfully obvious just how ill-prepared you are for this. The cold air and the wind against your skin makes you shiver. Your legs feel wet from practically wading through the snow.
Before you realize it you’re already banging on his front door. Definitely a lot less patiently and apologetically than last time.
It takes a noticeably long while before anyone comes to the door. You were considering just giving up and going back when it creaks out again and finally opens.
You barely even think before talking. “I-” You huff from both annoyance and the biting cold, “I told you to stop making so much noise. It’s fucking four in the morning and you’re doing, what, fireworks? Fucking target practice or something?” He stays silent. It’s impossible to tell what face he’s making at your outburst with how dark it is. The sinking dread kicks in as you realize what you just said - and how you said it. “I’m so sorry, um…” You curse under your breath, mentally berating yourself for acting like that. “I just… Dude, listen, you woke me up with whatever it is you’re doing, and…” You trail off again, rubbing your eyes out of frustration when out of nowhere the door flings open and all of a sudden he’s grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you around.
“How do you know my name?!” It sounds like he wants to kill you.
“What?” You yelp out, “What are you talking about?” There's no way his name is Dude. That’s ridiculous.
“Listen-” His voice is dripping with anxiety. You feel yourself being pushed or dragged inside his house. The door slams shut. “How do you know my name?” You’re being shaken around again. He’s practically throttling you.
“What do you mean- how do I know your name? I don’t!”
“Then why’d you say it?" His voice raises, "Who told you!?”
“What?” He stops shaking you and you can finally see him properly. He looks terrified. “Are you saying your name is fucking Dude?”
He nods frenziedly.
“Really?”
‘Dude’ stares at you with a slightly shocked look. It’s like he doesn’t believe that you don’t believe him. The look on his face make you freeze.
“You’re serious?” You ask.
He nods again.
You let out an unintentional laugh at that, and how ridiculous you feel it is. “Is it, like… A nickname? Or…” It has to be a nickname.
“That’s my real name.” He mumbles.
You laugh again, “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.”
“Oh.” You stop chuckling at the absurdity of it. “That’s your… Your actual name?”
He nods.
“Fuck-” You’ve just yelled at him and now you’re making fun of his name? “I’m sorry.. That was… Um.”
He finally lets go of you, his arms resting awkwardly by his sides. “It’s fine.” Judging by the way he says that, it’s probably not fine. Your shoulders sting slightly from how tight his grip on them was.
“No, no… I’m sorry, that was just unexpected.” Your eyes dart around everywhere, not wanting to look him in the eyes after that. Your eyes stop in their tracks when your mind catches up to your surroundings- guns. Everywhere. Along with a thick layer of grime and trash all over the place. But that’s not as immediately dangerous, so it doesn’t count right now.
The whole living room looks like an absolute mess. There's a couch stuffed into a corner, and next to it is a pile of accumulated bottles and tissues and plastic food wrappers. You see the lights are on in another room. Probably the kitchen, considering the smell of stale food coming from the area.
He lives like this?
“Where…” You stutter. “Where am I?” You start looking around again, not really able to comprehend the amount of mess he lives in.
Is that what this guys house looks like? Is this why everyone warned you about him? Because of this? You turn your head back to Dude. He looks… Nervous? Embarrassed? Probably about the state of his home.“What is all this?” You ask.
“What- What do you mean?” He stutters out.
“What’s with all the…” You look over at the walls and the floor and the furniture. Everything either has trash lying on top of it or some kind of firearm. You just gesture towards everything in the room. It gets the point across all the same.
He steps away from you, looking at the room. “What’s wrong with it?” He sounds so painfully insecure that you feel bad bringing it up.
“It’s, well… You know…”
“What?”
“Um…” You can’t really explain whats wrong with it because all of it’s wrong. “I don’t want to be rude or anything, but…” You hesitate. You’ve already insulted him enough today. “When was the last time you had anyone over? Or- Or even left the house?” There's no response. You can see from the look on his face that he’s trying to think of the last time that it happened, but it seems that the answer is probably never. You’ve never actually seen anyone go to his house, either. It’s entirely possible that no one, other than the two of you, have stepped into his home since he moved in. Dude still hasn’t answered the question and it sort of looks like he’s given up on trying to remember. That’s… Sad. “Has anyone ever been over?” You start asking again, “Like, family, or friends, or…” At this point the better question is whether or not he even has any of those.
“N-No, but…” You can barely hear what he’s saying. “I go outside, sometimes… That counts, right?”
“Um…” You’re pretty sure he’s lying about occasionally going outside, too. “Not really.” With an absolutely defeated look on his face, Dude moves back from the space in front of you to the dingy couch in the corner of the room. He slumps down on it and puts his head in his hands. You hesitate between just standing there or going and sitting down next to him. You don’t really want to make contact with whatever has been fused into that couch.
The floor creaks under you as you continue to stand there, shifting your weight from side to side. Dude looks like if you say anything else he’ll break down. You’re torn between getting the hell out of there and staying to comfort him. It’s then that your mind starts to wonder; when was the last time he even talked to someone? When was the last time he even had any type of interaction with another person?
The pity you have for him is messing with you. You don’t know if you’ll be able to forgive yourself if you leave him there like that.
You sit down next to him.
The springs in the couch creak and he jolts up from the noise. His head snaps over at you. You notice that he’s making the same kind of dissociative, shocked stare like that one time you made eye contact with each other from the window.
“You’re-” His voice is barely audible, “You’re staying?” A painful amount of hope is in those words.
You nod slightly. “Just for a while.”
“How long is a while?” His hands are shaking as he pulls back a strand of hair from his face, tucking it behind his ear. It’s the first time you’ve been able to get a proper look at him. He’s less grimy than you had expected. Only a little bit.
“I’m not sure…” He’s staring at you. You can’t quite understand the emotion that he’s feeling. It looks both desperate and afraid. Dude twists and wrings his hands together before picking away at scabs on the skin. “It’s kind of late…” You explain, “And I have to get up in a few hours.”
“That's okay-” His voice is heart-wrenchingly desperate. “I can… I could get you some coffee?”
You sigh, the guilt building up in your stomach like bile. You can’t just leave him like this. “Alright.” His eyes open wildly at that, like he doesn’t believe that you agreed. “I’ll have to leave around seven, though. Y’know, to get ready for work.”
“That’s good, yeah.” There’s a noticeable level of barely-contained excitement in his voice. “I’ll go get you some coffee.”
He leaves the room before you can say anything else.
It takes a little while for you to come to terms with what just happened.
You’re alone in some guys living room, sitting on some grimy couch and waiting for him to make coffee when all you wanted to do was finally get some sleep.
There’s a noticeable smell lingering in the room. It reminds you somewhat of coffee, beer and stale food. The lights are on in the kitchen but they’re barely making a difference where you are. You can’t fully make out the extent of the mess but that’s probably for the better.
You can hear the sounds of Dude making coffee in the next room over.
What kind of name is ‘Dude’, anyway? If your parents named you that, you’d probably cut contact with them after moving out, too. Maybe that's why no ones visited him - he just cut contact fully. Or maybe… He did something to make people stop talking to him. Is that why everyone warned you about him?
Your eyes flick over everything in the room. Maybe you’ll find an answer to that question somewhere in here.
The first thing you look at is the coffee table. It’s in front of the couch and covered in stains and various papers and notes. There’s a particularly interesting letter; you see the big red writing stating ‘Eviction Notice’. Squinting in the darkness, you can hardly make out the following text of ‘five day notice’ and something about ‘non-payment’. You get off the couch after reading the notice, looking around at the walls.
You spot a well used cork board. It’s covered in pictures and notes of what looks like the neighborhood and there’s some cuttings from the local newspapers.
There’s a lot of hastily written things pinned into the board, and the stereotypical red string connecting the various items to each other. There seems to be a timetable or calendar or sorts. It’s hard to read, but you can make out a few names and events. Each thing seems to happen at the same time each day, like a schedule. You think you can make out your name and daily schedule on the list. It’s a little bit more scrambled than the others. You’re not sure if that’s good or bad. Is he judging you for that?
Now that you think about it, it’s weird that he’s tracking everyone, but at the same time it’s hardly a surprise.
As you snoop around your focus moves from the cork board to a desk. There’s a bulky computer covered in a thick layer of dust. You walk away from the cork board and sit down at the chair in front of the desk. It squeaks loudly.
Almost as soon as you sit down you start to flick through the scattered sheets of paper. It feels a little bit like taking a look inside his brain, at how it works and what it lives in. There’s some frantically scribbled ones, and some that look a little neater, and some that are just disturbing. Judging by the writing you can actually make out (about one fifth of all of it) he seems to have some very interesting thoughts about the government.
The clattering sounds from the kitchen stop, and you hear him walking back to the living room. You hurriedly put all the papers back to where you think they originally were, before making a mad dash for the couch in an attempt to make your investigation a little less obvious.
Dude comes into the living room a split second after you make it. If he saw you run and flop back down he doesn’t say anything about it. You look up at him and nervously smile. It’s probably the first time you’ve smiled at him within a ten meter radius. Dude smiles back a little too much, glancing around the room quickly.
He makes his way over to you and sits down at an oddly close distance, before offering you a cup of coffee. You notice that he made one for himself too. The thought crosses your mind that he was actually asleep before you came pounding at his door.. You don’t actually know if it was him making the noise.
The coffee feels warm in your hands, making you remember just how cold it actually is. Dude clears his throat before speaking. He nervously tries to make small talk about how your day was.
You recap the last ten-ish minutes of your night.
He looks away awkwardly before mumbling out a response. “Right…”
A slight laugh escapes from you at his reaction. “Did you forget?”
Dude lets out a quiet hum of what sounds like agreement. You smile and chuckle a little bit before taking a sip from the cup in your hands. It’s pretty decent coffee, even if the cup smells a little weird.
“So,” You start up, trying to make small talk too. He looks at you expectantly and your mind goes blank for some reason. “Um…”
“Yeah?” Dudes face twists with worry, like he’s already expecting the worst possible outcome.
“Tell me about yourself,” You take another sip. “Like, uh, any hobbies, or..?”
He proceeds to go on some rant about whatever the fuck. You start listening again as he mentions Doom, the game.
“You played that too?” You ask. It’s the first time you’ve spoken in a while; you've noticed there isn't really any room to speak when he starts talking about something he’s passionate about.
“Yeah- Yeah. Are you into it too?”
“Uh-huh,” taking another sip of coffee, you continue on talking, “I used to play it pretty much all the time.” You put your arm up against the backrest of the couch as you turn your body towards him, putting your drink down on the cluttered table in front of you before resting your head on your hand.
Dude looks ecstatic. He proceeds to go on some long talk about the game that you zone in and out of. It starts to sink in just how tired you are. It’s almost like the coffee is trying its best but not really doing anything.
You lean in closer without noticing it. Dudes ramble about the game becomes less and less coherent. Eventually he stops talking altogether.
There’s a full minute of silence before you zone in again, but still even then you’re half-awake. You jump up slightly as you feel his arms gently wrapping around your lower back. It takes a little too long for you to register the position you’re in - somewhere during Dudes rant you started resting against him, head on his shoulder and everything.
“Sorry, I…” You try to sit back up, embarrassed that you almost fell asleep against him. His arms tense up and keep you stuck in place. “Um…” You try and get out of his hold again.
“It’s-” His voice is almost too quiet to hear. You look back up at him and see that his face is bright red, “It’s okay, uh…” His body is warm against yours and he’s visibly flustered, “I don’t mind.”
“Okay…” The thought crosses your mind for a second that that’s actually kind of weird. “Are you sure?”
“Uh-huh, yeah,” He sounds a little too eager. It's an odd situation to be in, but there isn't really any reason to not stay like this... It's pretty comfortable.
You let your head rest against Dudes shoulder fully. He’s breathing heavily and you feel his hands are shaking uncontrollably as he holds you. This is probably a rare experience for him, considering everything you’ve seen. You fall asleep in his arms.