Chapter Text
Normally, this time of year I'm going to Christmas parties, putting on a big smile, giving and receiving gifts from people I'd rather not be making eye contact with for every other month of the year. Things are different this year, for better or worse. Mostly worse. Maybe better in the long run. Because in roughly two weeks an asteroid is going to slam into this garbage planet we call Earth. And honestly, I'm still not sure how I feel about it.
Merry Christmas. We’re all fucked.
Ok, look, what I wanted was a quiet night. Peaceful. I decided to have champagne tonight because why the hell not? It was nice, a bubbly sort of tipsy taking hold making me wander to the grand piano my mother bought when I was ten. She thought it would help me with focus. After about the third time my instructor hit my knuckles I bit him on the arm.
I distinctly remember the term lockjaw, among other colorful words.
The piano, in all its high gloss black lacquer glory became a giant centerpiece of nothing. But this isn't about the piano, or maybe it is, because I thought it would be a great idea to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.
Which leads me to now, freaking out holding a kitchen knife trying to not die. Fuck off with your irony, I want my last two weeks.
About twenty minutes into trying and failing to playing this dumb song is when the front door begins rattling, knob twisting back and forth.
I had vaguely worried about the possibility of a break in but with just two weeks left I thought the coast was clear. This is NOT how I want to go out. I turned for the balcony, the fire escape, figuring I could climb down and find someplace to hide.
Except, standing outside on the balcony, staring right at me, some fucking creep with the bluest eyes I've ever seen. This kind of thing would be a fun story a few weeks ago. I met a stranger on my balcony, we shared a few drinks and had a few laughs, can you believe it?
The problem is there's no one left to tell those stories to. The problem is we're all going to die in two weeks. Maybe sooner in my case, the way this lunatic is watching me.
Fantastic.
And right now, all I can think of is that maybe I should've drank the kool-aid at the end of the world party three weeks back.
Three weeks ago I woke up to a text from Tyler Breeze, the prettiest little socialite you’ll ever meet, telling me he was hosting an end of the world party. I thought it sounded funny, cute, very Tyler. Then I heard the police sirens, screaming, an explosion off in the distance. I rolled out of bed more annoyed than anything. You know that kind of feeling when you really have to piss but the bed’s too comfy? Whatever, explosions, smoke in the air. The morning skyline wasn’t great.
Turns out the world was actually ending. A giant fucking rock hurdling through space that was supposed to get nudged out of the way, or blown up, or something. I had just gotten out of a month long fling with a guy from Switzerland. I didn’t want to read about it and he gave me the bullet points, anyway. We weren’t going to die. We weren’t going to die. Come on, sit on my lap, darling, we’re not going to die.
Well.
We’re going to die.
To say this party was over the top would be an understatement. Everyone decked out in their absolute best. The street littered with luxury cars parked everywhere because who cares? The world’s ending, don’t hold back. I half expected someone to be vomiting diamonds.
Tyler sees me, smiles wide and shouts me over. He’s drunk but I don’t think I’ve seen him sober in years, kisses me and tells me he loves me. He’s so damn dramatic. I say that’s great and ask who’s here.
“Everyone.”
I roll my eyes. “Anyone worth anything?”
“Does it matter?” He smirks and for a moment it’s as though the party goes silent. Oh yea, the world’s ending.
“Guess it doesn’t.”
And that’s how I ended up with Randy. I had never really been interested in him. My parents had oh so gently shoved him at me years ago. We’d be great together, they said. One dinner party conversation and I knew I didn’t want anything to do with him. Angry, ego driven relationships are great when you’re nineteen and desperate to make yourself known, I’m twenty-six and have better things to do.
Randy and I split a bottle of scotch and I learn he’s a lot more tolerable when he’s plastered. He’s almost cute. He calls me babe while I ride him and I try not to laugh. The music downstairs is so loud I don’t think he hears me. At some point we change positions and I’m struggling to breathe into a pillow. Suffocate or die in three weeks, least this way I’ll get to cum.
When I wake up Randy’s shaking me telling me to get dressed. I tell him to leave me alone but he doesn’t stop. There’s panic in his voice and the music’s stopped. It’s silent.
“What’s going on?”
“Get dressed.” He says throwing my clothes at me.
Bodies. The whole first floor is covered in bodies, unmoving, broken toasting glasses everywhere. I wanted puke and diamonds and I got it. Along with all of my friends dead, bile on their lips like it’s the latest trend.
“Holy shit…” I mumble, clinging onto Randy’s arm as we make our way through. “Do you think…?”
“I don’t know.”
Half of these people are terrible at being consistent. The ‘oh just give me five minutes’ types. How the fuck could they do this so flawlessly?
Outside I let go of Randy’s arm and draw in a deep breath of cold night air. He looks at me and I shiver, not because of him, it’s wintertime and I left my jacket somewhere in that massacre. Randy takes off his coat and drapes it over my shoulders. It’s sweet, maybe we could’ve been something. But after tonight I don’t think I ever want to see him again.
“You going to be ok?” He asks.
What a question.
“Yea, I…” I put on my best sympathetic smile. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
He doesn’t seem hurt by the words, nods and kisses me on the temple. I watch him walk away then head home. There’s three weeks left and everyone I know is dead.
So, back to the blue eyed maniac here. The balcony’s unlocked because I’m a fucking idiot who never imagined someone climbing up here. My loft is on the fourth floor, tucked away in an odd little cul de sac you’d never get to unless told where to go. It’s absolutely unremarkable from the outside but my parents offered it to me and all my things were here anyway.
He lets himself in and I run to the kitchen pulling a knife from its holder. He’s got this wild eye look to him underneath a disheveled mess of dirty blond hair. A sort of rebellious look that’d be attractive if I wasn’t worried about being murdered. Suddenly I’m thinking of The Shining and waiting to hear an axe break through my front door. This is just great.
“Hey, listen, I’m not here to hurt you.” He says holding up his hands carefully side stepping around the living room.
“Then get the fuck out!” I point the knife at him and gesture to the balcony.
A few more steps and he’s at the front door, unlocks it and I feel like slitting my own throat for being so stupid. Standing at the doorway is this guy, he’s built in all the right places, long black hair. Again, pretty attractive if I wasn’t about to be murdered by him and blue eyes.
“The fuck do you want?!” I shout, hoping that I seem somewhat threatening.
I’m back to thinking of The Shining where the wife flails a kitchen knife wildly. That’s me.
“We were downstairs,” says the blond, “and we heard someone playing the piano. Wanted to know who it was.”
“Thought the place was abandoned.” The brunette adds, putting on some kind of reassuring smile. Like that makes any of this better.
“Well it’s not.” I glare, gripping the knife tightly. “So you can leave.”
“Sorry, but if it’s all the same to you there are three empty flats downstairs and this place is pretty quiet. Safe.” The blond laughs, probably at his choice of words. Safe has become a vague term lately. “We’ll take the bottom floor. You won’t even know we’re here.”
“I’ll know you’re here.”
“Seriously? I’m tryin’ to be nice here. We’re stayin’ anyways, deal with it.”
The brunette sighs. “We won’t bother you. Look, with how much time there’s left we just… Just want a place to chill out.”
“You do know breaking into my place is a really shitty way to make your case, right? Don’t mind us we’re gonna let ourselves in but we’re cool.”
Blue eyes snorts, leaning back against the threshold. “You got a point. But subtlety is pretty pointless nowadays, ya know?”
And I don’t know what to do. How the hell am I supposed to make them leave? I let out a slow calming exhale and lower the knife. There’s nothing I can do. I can’t overpower them and maybe they’re not so… I mean, the place is empty.
“Fine. Whatever.” I narrow my eyes at them both. “Take the bottom floor but stay the fuck away from me.”
The brunette nods, gives what I guess is an appreciative smile and turns away for the stairs. Blue eyes glances from the piano back to me.
“Sounded nice, by the way.” He says. “For a lullaby.”
“...I’m not very good at it.”
I don’t know why I tell him that. It’s not something that matters. I’m used to fake compliments, it’s a large chunk of my night life. You’re so handsome, I don’t care who your parents are. You’re so smart, it’s not about the sex it’s about your personality.
Just bend me over already, I’m getting bored.
We stare at each other a moment longer than necessary and I hear the brunette calling his name. Dean.
“What’s his name?” I look past him to the hallway.
“Roman.”
I hum in acknowledgement walking from the kitchen towards my bedroom, becoming too tired for all of this.
“Close the door on your way out.”
“Didn’t catch your name.”
Two weeks plus two strangers living floors below me. And I’m still not sure how I feel about this whole end of the world thing.
“Goodnight, Dean.”
I couldn’t rest much that night. Not because of Dean or Roman, I’ve just had trouble sleeping without some assistance. Usually in the form of an award winning bottle. But I didn’t feel like it last night. I stared at the half lit skyline, a fire blazing miles away.
Went down to the third floor and let myself into the flat. Which, I know is hypocritical but I actually live in this building and she didn't come back home after the news hit. Left her door wide open and everything. I never bothered to learn her name and don’t care to, my mourning list is long enough as is. We made eye contact once, brief but enough time to know she’d have a medicine cabinet full of pills. You don’t get to have a face that taught without a mountain of painkillers.
Her place was ornate, golds and reds, everything perfectly placed for display. Had an old Hollywood aura about it. Maybe she had been an actress, or an attempted one. A flip of a switch in the bathroom and I’m practically blinded. Vanity lights, not a soft yellow but an unforgiving daylight blue. A large mirror at the center of them revealing every line, pore, and blemish. It’d make anyone go a little overboard.
I looked like shit. My hair’s a wreck and my beard could stand a trim. God, I’m actually embarrassed those two saw me like this. I might be dead soon but that’s no excuse. Anyway, the pills, that’s what I was here for. Something to take the edge off.
There I am sitting on the bathroom floor with over a dozen pill bottles on my lap scanning over the labels for something recognizable. Tyler was good at this, he fucked a plastic surgeon on the side and knew all the ins and out. He thought it was fascinating, would go on and on about it. You’d think I’d pick something up along the way.
And suddenly my vision’s blurry. My jaw aching, clenched too tight.
How could he have given up like that? How could all of them just casually poison themselves?
Finally there’s a bottle that seems vaguely familiar and I take a few capsules, flopping down onto the would be actress’s bed. The sheets smelled of roses, soft and delicate. Maybe she went to a party like Tyler’s. But as my eyes grew heavy I wanted to imagine something else. This woman I don’t know or care about, I want to think she ran off. Escaped the bright lights of her bathroom and went somewhere that felt like home.
Whatever I took must’ve been strong. I’m not one for heartwarming endings. Maybe I’m in the denial stage of grief. Over Tyler, my friends, the actress… and myself.
We’re going to die. No, they’re already dead. It’s just me and two strangers.
In the haze of tired thoughts and last second limb twitches I think of introducing myself to them. They’re essentially guests, after all.
Hello, I’m Seth Rollins. I’ve done nothing with my life and it’s almost over.