Chapter Text
Yesenin wasn't one for romance.
He never really gave it much thought or importance. He was no virgin, of course, and dabbled in the dating scene a few times in his life, though never for much longer than a few weeks. He's had quick nights, devoid of feelings that go much further than simple hunger, a desire for contact that wasn't from his own hand, a want for satisfaction that wouldn't entail anything else.
He never really felt much at all, at least anything directed to other people. He never managed to connect with them enough to form something that he wanted to indulge in, something he'd be willing to let bloom into an attraction of any kind, romantic or sexual. He never wanted to woo any special someone, or make love, or feel desired. Never cared, really, though his opinions on it weren't strictly opposed to the idea, per se.
He just found people annoying, usually.
That wasn't to say he was a lonely man, though. While the romantic or sexual side of relationships was rather lacking in his life, he managed a few shallow friendships here and there, to compensate with his absent family as well. Companionship between fellow men at bars he frequented on occasion. Nothing trespassed the borders of good acquaintances, as again, he couldn't be bothered, and his rather abrasive, honest and pessimistic personality, while it could be the reason company came to him, usually just lead people away after a while. He never cared much. If people couldn't handle him angry at the world, they didn't deserve him at peace.
Anger was an emotion he felt much too often. Drunk or sober, it was almost his default. Whether it be directed at society, at some random person who didn't deserve any thought, or at himself, he always found something to yell about. Some said they appreciated his harsh honesty, his lack of sugar-coating, his confidence to speak his mind, but those miserable fucks were the same ones who kicked him out of the bar they all took shelter at when the end of the world finally started. They couldn't handle the truth. They didn't want to hear it. So, Yesenin was sort of glad he was out of there.
A part of him wished he had died under the blazing sun, just to put an end to his pointless existence, to satisfy a morbid curiosity of what came after, but his aimless wandering stopped on an old, decrepit porch of a less than welcoming house.
He didn't lie to the homeowner. He wasn't one to twist the truth. So it came as a surprise to him to see the front door open and the man step aside to let him in. Perhaps the other part of him didn't want to die. Just a small one. He had smiled for the first time in ages, relief flooding through his body, and thanked the homeowner as if he were a friend. He stopped himself from blabbing much more, not allowing himself to make a promise he couldn't guarantee he could keep.
Apart from the both of them, and a strange, flat-faced cat, the house was empty. It was as if all action had been frozen in time inside, like the inhabitants had died, and their belongings stayed right where they left them. The homeowner seemed alive, but his home - if you could call it that - seemed all but lived in.
Judging by the poster on the wall, he wasn't much of a fan of company, though by the picture frame on the small table near the front door, he once had it and mustn't have disliked it. Regardless, Yesenin felt as though he was intruding. While sure, he was a guest in a stranger's house, it felt like simply setting foot into the old building was walking in on something… painful. Vulnerable, private, perhaps. It almost felt like he was violating something.
His designated spot became the living room. There too, it was as if he had entered something somber, not meant to be seen. An old children's toy on a shelf, gathering dust. A wooden cross looming behind him. Dents in the walls, comparable to a fist in size. It felt eerie and heavy, he could feel the weight this room, hell, the whole house carried on his shoulders, in his lungs.
The energy within it seemed to have leeched onto the homeowner long ago, having sucked the life out of the man. Perhaps he could be reading too much into it. Perhaps it was fully due to the raging Hell just outside the walls, or even him. Yesenin simply couldn't help but notice how uncomfortable the stranger that had so generously let him inside his house, not really a home, seemed as his eyes tried so hard to avoid every inch of wallpaper, of furniture, of picture frames.
All of that, and here they both were. Safe, for now.
He felt indebted to the other man. For someone seemingly so opposed to company, for someone with such a haunting house, he looked rather tolerant of Yesenin. Really, the taller owed him his life. He was honestly shocked he felt so grateful, as just a few days ago, he would have gladly died any death that would've been as kind as to strip him of all life. Even before that, long before the cataclysm, in his apartment, he would've accepted an end to it all. He always had. He kept a rope in his closet for a reason. So why did he feel this way? The mere question made him groan and sense a headache coming. He chose to think it was due to finally being shown some human decency in these harsh times.
He hasn't even spoken to the guy much yet, apart from the first night through the front door. He wasn't exactly someone who initiated conversations, and Yesenin didn't feel like starting any either. He could read the room. Better play it safe and stay out of the guy's way. He was a guest, after all, he had manners. Plus, the man had a gun strapped to him at all times, so much so that Yesenin wondered if he fucking slept with the thing. He would rather die by his own hands than someone else's.
Everyday, the homeowner would come in the living room and ask to test him. If you asked him, those tests were absolutely ridiculous. Red eyes? Dirty hands? White teeth? Good luck living if you have pink eye, don't wash your hands, or go to the dentist apparently. Still, he complied, not without muttering snark in response. Eyes. Hands. Teeth. Showing him his armpit made him feel an odd mix of appalment and downright indignation. Showing him his ear just left him confused and annoyed. He even let him take a picture of him, though it just showed an ugly green blob. He had huffed and scrunched his nose at it. Those "aura cameras" were just stupid gimmicks.
Twice a day, food would be prepared. He felt somewhat pampered to not have to cook for himself, only having to fetch his plate from the kitchen counter and retreat back to the living room, while the homeowner locked himself up in his bedroom to eat. It was the typical apocalypse meal, but it was much more than he felt like he deserved. Lots and lots of potatoes and pickles of all kinds. He was surprised he bothered to eat. Perhaps he entered the default mindset nowadays, 'survival'. Perhaps he simply wanted to be polite, and take what was so generously given to him without complaint. Or Hell, perhaps the food was just that good. For simple combinations of ground vegetables and pickles, it was delicious. He had to admit, for being a hermit grump, the other man was a good cook.
He had also been graced with the privilege of borrowing his shower to bathe. Thank fuck for that. The house might protect its inhabitants from the raging sun's scorching rays, it didn't stop the heat from penetrating through the walls and drag the water out of people's pores. He was sticky and sweaty all the time, and hadn't been smart enough to bring any toiletries or extra clothes when he left his grim apartment to stay at the bar. No, he had been too exhausted at the world and too drunk off his own despair to have any logical thinking. He felt disgusting, more than usual, so he was grateful to be able to clean up. He was even allowed to use the washing machine and dryer on occasion, to avoid putting all the sweat and grime back on himself after just washing up.
They had settled into an automatic routine after a few days. Wake up, breakfast, clean up, mope around, supper, go to sleep. The homeowner didn't bother with tests anymore, and busied himself with the radio and the phone at times, while Yesenin allowed himself to read the books collecting dust on the shelves.
At night, both of them got woken up by incessant knocks at the front door. Strangers begged the man to be let in, to be spared of the agony of burning under the sun, shared their stories to be shown some empathy. None of them entered the house. Yesenin didn't know what to think of the man's decisions. Surely it was to be safe, but to let people die? To leave them out there, to fend for themselves, not knowing if they'd find another shelter? While Yesenin remained outraged of the supposed 'symptoms' of infection, of course some of those people could be one of them. Hell, they could still be human, but be dangerous regardless. It still left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Tonight was one of those nights. The heat from outdoors kept Yesenin wide awake, much to his dismay. He could hear the knocks and footsteps, and the muffled conversations between the homeowner and whoever wasted their chance knocking at his door. Not long after the last person, loud thumps were heard that made him jump out his own skin. It was as if someone was whacking the wood with a fucking hammer. They were slow and forceful, demanding attention, and something didn't feel right. So, he stood up, almost stumbled from his aching knees, and exited the living room. He walked slowly, quietly down the hallway, stopping in front of the storage closet to spy on the scene.
The other man paid him no mind, gun in hand, yelling at the stranger to stop their stupid knocking as he leaned towards the wall to look in the peephole.
Fear wasn't uncommon nowadays, but this was the first time Yesenin saw it in the other. He saw how quickly he froze, shoulders tensing up and breath stopping in a low gasp. He saw the gun tremble from his hands, he could see the cold sweat dripping down his nape, he could feel the terror constricting him and its heavy tendrils stretched out to wrap themselves around Yesenin as well.
"Howdy!"
The voice sounded… off. Human, he supposed, but the croak and rasp sent a shiver down his spine.
"What do you want." The homeowner muttered between gritted teeth, jaw tensed to steady his voice.
"…Spacious house you got yourself here. I like it."
"I've got a gun." The man warned, getting louder, a pathetic attempt at intimidation.
"Delicious!" The thing drawled, its smile audible. "Despair gives courage to the coward, yes?"
It cackled, as if finding humor in the situation.
"Sooooo… You alone?"
Yesenin gulped. He's heard of this guy. News reports played on the bar TV's when he was still there, warning people of a crazed pale man who attacked if you were on your own.
"What the hell…" He mumbled, stumbling back slightly
"No, I'm not alone."
They heard a grunt from the other side of the door.
"It's your lucky day." It muttered, voice now flat. "I can hear someone whispering inside. But who knows where they'll be in a few days?"
Then, it left. Sloppy footsteps stomped farther and farther, until the noise vanished completely. With it went the tar-like terror both men had been submerged in. They slumped, exhaling breaths they had held in for much too long. The homeowner stumbled into the chair near the door, and Yesenin leaned all his weight against the wall. He hadn't even seen the creature, only heard its rattling voice, so he couldn't imagine what the other felt like. He had seen police sketches on the news, but nothing real. Nothing like this.
They both sat there, catching their breaths, trying to shake off the tremors. Yesenin considered speaking to the other man, ask something rhetorical like if he was alright, but held his tongue. No, what good would that do? The answer was obvious, and anything else he could say would just be stupid.
That was scary, huh?
That guy's insane.
Thank fuck he left us alone.
No, there was nothing he could say. There was nothing that needed to be said. Plus, the homeowner looked like he needed some time to collect himself, so on gelatin legs, Yesenin wandered off, going back into the living room.
It's not like he was trying to sleep. Not like he could. While the adrenaline wore off, making him feel weak and exhausted, the lingering fear of the pale man coming back kept his eyes peeled back. His mind was too jumbled to read, so he sat there, legs crossed, leaning on the armrest of the couch, and simply stared off into space.
Time had passed, he was sure, when the living room door opened, revealing the other man. He looked exhausted, but held two cans of beer in his hands, as if planning on staying there for a bit.
He sat down heavily on the other end of the couch, offering Yesenin a drink, which he took gratefully. Silence hung above them like an awkward cloud, but surprisingly, it was the homeowner who chased it away.
"I'm… fucking scared…" He admitted.
It was nice to see him act so human for once. Yesenin had gotten used to his somewhat robotic personality.
"Same here…"
"Just… What the hell is going on? Why is this happening, what sort of sick game is this?!"
"Fuck if I know. I'm fucking sick of all this.."
He scoffed. "You tell me. FEMA's roaming the streets like snakes, and now that sick fuck is stalking my house?! I fucking hate this, and I'm terrified. We could really die any day, and every way is worst than the next. The sun, visitors, FEMA… I just don't know what to do. I just want things to go back to how they were, goddammit…"
Yesenin picked at his can tab. "I… I know I'm intruding, but I'm really grateful you've let me in that day. You didn't have to, but thanks to you, I'm alive… For how long, I have no clue, but hopefully long enough to see the end of this." He turned his head to look at the shorter man, who looked down at his lap. "Really, thank you."
The homeowner cleared his throat awkwardly, taking a sip of his drink.
"No problem..."
Yesenin figured he had said too much then the man suddenly left. He had let his mouth run again, and made him uncomfortable. It miffed him that expressing his gratitude for having his life saved earned him such a response, but he supposed not everyone appreciated vulnerability.
…Only, the man soon came back, this time carrying a whole eight-pack of beer. This shocked him, to put it lightly, but it also slightly amused him.
The homeowner sat back down with a sigh, putting the beer between them. He caught a glance of Yesenin's raised brow and slight smirk, and just shrugged in response.
"What? Thought we could use them up for once."
"Oh, I didn't say anything, my good man."
Yesenin was no lightweight. He could handle his alcohol just fine, capable of drinking lots before getting truly inebriated. He didn't let it get to extreme levels too often, even as an alcoholic. He didn't like losing so much control, he didn't like feeling so disgusting the next day. He preferred drinking until he felt just woozy enough. He liked feeling just a bit as if he were a spectator of his own body, he liked being able to feel things and express emotions where people would blame his state instead of questioning how much of a man he really was. When he was drunk, it just felt easier. He could laugh and cry and scream and people would say its the toxins coursing through his veins, not his painfully repressed emotions finally being released. He could feel things. Things what were often anger, but never limited to it. He could talk for hours without ever worrying what the others think. He could finally feel as though he wasn't such an anomaly within this world, because alcohol made everyone stoop to the same level.
It appeared as though the homeowner felt somewhat similarly. He seemed drunker than he was even with fewer drinks, but for once, he looked more alive. He had more facial expressions than just his usual, stern blank face. His voice wasn't so monotone anymore. He talked more than short sentences that didn't need further conversation. He had a healthy flush over his pale skin, and by god, Yesenin didn't even think the man could smile, but here he was.
Here they both were. Smiling and laughing as if the world around them wasn't collapsing into ash, talking about things they'd never dare say to anyone else.
"I used to have a wife, y'know…" The homeowner mumbled, words starting to slur.
"Really now? That's surprising." Yesenin retorted playfully, the earned punch on his shoulder making him cackle.
"Shut up."
"Is she the woman in the picture at the entrance? What happened to you two?"
The man looked down at his half-emptied can, picking at the metal.
"Yeah, that's her… We got a divorce seven years ago."
"Yeah? That's rough, sorry to hear that."
"It's fine. It was better that way. She loved going out and meeting people, and I… I mostly just held her back. I was never much of a people's guy… Even with her. I get why she got sick of me." He sighed heavily, leaning back against the couch. "I just hope she's alright. We might've went our separate ways, but I still care about her. She's… the best thing that's ever happened to me."
Yesenin hummed. He didn't really know what to say in response, as nothing would really help.
"Anyway. What about you?" He asked.
"Me?"
"Yeah. Got a wife back at home? Ex? Kids? You look old enough for older kids."
Yesenin scoffed, crossing his arms loosely.
"I'm not that old, I'm not even forty."
"Could've fooled me."
He rolled his eyes.
"I don't. No kids, no wife, no ex-wife. I live alone in a studio apartment on the edge of the city, though that whole building's probably burnt down by now." He sighed. "Never cared much for relationships, to be honest. I find them rather boring."
The homeowner remained silent for a little bit, lips in a sort of pout against the rim of his can. He seemed somewhat lost in thought, a bit… down.
"Hm. I'm surprised." Was all he said in response.
He raised a brow at the shorter man.
"You're awfully talkative tonight. That's a first."
"Yeah, well, s'pose alcohol does that to ya. I don't usually talk to people, not if I can avoid it. I fucking hate people, I like living alone."
Yesenin cringed internally at that.
"Ah. I suppose that's why you turn down everyone that knocks on the door then?"
"Mm. Don't know if they're a fucking zombie from underground of if they're human anymore, they all look the same. Plus, either way, it'd be a fucking chore to have them around."
Perhaps that was his way of telling him he wasn't welcome anymore, that he had overstayed. Yesenin swallowed thickly, picking at the metal can with his thumb nail.
"Right."
Silence hung above them for a moment, then the homeowner broke it.
"I… I don't mind having you around though. You're okay."
"Oh. I'm glad to hear that."
"Mm. Don't get me wrong, I was annoyed at first, and I thought you were an ass, but, eh. You grew on me."
He huffed.
"I could say the same thing about you. You're not exactly the pinnacle of kindness."
The homeowner cackled, giving him a playful slap on the arm. He was drunk off his ass for sure, just from a few beers. Yesenin wondered if that meant he'd forget about this moment, if things would go back to being silent.
The man's laugh suited him. It made his arched nose scrunch up, made the beginnings of crow's feet near his eyes visible. It sparked a shine in his green eyes and gave him a gummy smile that was nearly contagious. He almost sounded like he had the hiccups, or like he was crying silently, but he was laughing. The sight made Yesenin snort, amused.
He hoped he wouldn't forget.