Chapter Text
Sounds of chattering teeth filled the room.
He had appeared overnight. The man from the bar waking to find a bundled up stranger sat next to him. They did not talk, though they shared a look upon first meeting. Acknowledging the other’s presence but nothing more. Everyone was on edge these days, afraid to make connections when deceit was so common. Even as a skeptic himself, Yesenin noted the strangeness of the new guest. Not strange enough to murder, but just strange within the context of their current situation. Strange that someone would need so many layers of clothing when the sun was hot enough to reduce human beings to scorched corpses. But Yesenin wasn’t one to jump to conclusions, like reddened eyes from weeping, there was always a rational reason for explaining one’s “visitor” like traits. Perhaps he had a condition, or was just a bit thin skinned. There were numerous explanations that could explain away this poor man’s ailment, and none justified a shotgun shell to the head.
So he let it be. Existing in the semi-silence of the house, lost in his own thoughts until day made way for night. The cold man being situationally aware enough to move to the arm chair when the tall man began to yawn. Allowing him to stretch his body freely on the homeowner’s dusty old couch. Just another night to this endless cataclysm.
Until the chattering started.
The bar man shifted his body on the couch, trying to shove his ear into the duvet of the cushions, covering the other covertly with his hand. The position proved successful but wildly uncomfortable. Giving up, he laid there, twiddling his thumbs, staring at the ceiling as the man across from him blubbered uncontrollably. It was annoying as much as it was concerning. It reminded him of the drunks he would see, passed out face first in the snow of those filthy slums. Drunks he would step over as he walked himself into the bar, dooming himself to a similar fate.
A shiver ran up his spine.
Sighing loudly, he sat up and pushed himself off the couch.
The man in the coat flinched at his sudden movement, locking eyes with the towering person who looked down at him. He must’ve assumed he was sleeping, since he gave Yesenin a confused look. As if asking why he was getting up. Yesenin gave him a curt glance, stretching his arms as he walked to the door. “I’m going to ask if there’s any blankets.”
For a moment, the other only blinked at him, like he was surprised he was being addressed. But as the moment passed his face fell, shaking his head slowly. “There’s n-n-no need. I w–wont feel any w-warmer. But th–ank you for offering anyways.”
His body looked like he was forcing out every syllable, like the very act of talking was painful. If Yesenin knew any better, he would’ve assumed that the man was on death’s door.
He bit his cheek, fingers lingering on the door handle as he once again raked over the coated man’s appearance. He was practically blue, nose and cheeks flushed a dark hue. Images of frostbite coming to mind, blackened fingers full of pooling blood, threatening to snap off. He was a glaring contradiction in this warming world, and it made the tall man ill just by looking at him. But again, his own biases were pushed aside as he thought back to how the homeowner had once held a gun to his face.
There was something seriously wrong with this man. But that didn’t mean he was a visitor.
“Are you sure? You sound like you just came in from a damn blizzard.”
The man in the coat shrank into the seat. “I-i’m sorry, I-i-i can move to another room, If it’ll-”
Yesenin waved his hand dismissively, trying to sound less put off than he was. “Well don’t go and make it someone else’s problem. I’ll look for a blanket, and if it doesn’t work you can tell me to fuck off. You didn’t sound this bad earlier.”
The man in the coat frowned, and then looked nowhere in particular. “I-if that's what you wish, but I doubt it w-will be much help in the end.”
In the end.
Another point to Yesenin’s dying theory.
Without another word he pushed the door open and walked into the quiet hallway. Most were asleep, but he guessed that the homeowner was still up, keeping watch for any wayward souls. He didn’t like the idea of snooping in a stranger’s house, so he was glad to see that his assumptions were correct.
The guy was slumped on the floor, shotgun cradled in one hand while the other caressed the home’s most recent tenant. An orange cat, that had entered with another -not as cuddly- visitor, leaned into his touch. The smell of viscera and gore came to mind when Yesenin looked at it. Remembering the cat lady’s eviscerated torso slumped over the furniture, and the blood that had sprayed on his face. For as much as he did not fully trust this homeowner, Yesenin held some semblance of respect for him. He was the closest thing to a leader in this place, a role nobody really wanted to have. Not with the burdens the position required.
The cat was the first to notice him, signaling to the homeowner who startled from his trance. Yesenin raised his arms half way in a peaceful, inoffensive gesture. “Just me.”
The homeowner relaxed, but only slightly. “Can’t sleep?”
“Mm. My new roommate is not the silent type. Peace and quiet is a luxury nowadays, but I say I've grown used to having that space all to myself.”
The armed man nodded, glancing at the door next to him. “There’s space in the storage closet.”
Yesenin gave him a weird look. “I’d rather not.”
“I wasn’t suggesting you.”
“Still- I’m not forcing someone to sleep in there.”
“Then do you need the bathroom or-”
“I was coming to ask if you had any spare bedding.”
“...Bedding?”
“Oh my God- yes. Blankets, something warm, those things people typically sleep with?” Despite all his efforts, it was easy to fall back into old habits.
“Relax, I know what you mean…” The homeowner’s tone drifted, miffed by Yesenin’s spike in attitude.
The armed man’s eyes -again- fell upon the storage closet, only for a moment before snapping back to the tall man. “Isn’t it too hot for that? I rarely sleep under my own covers now.”
Yesenin shook his head. “It's not for me, It’s for that poor sap you let in last night. M’surprised you didn’t already supply him with something warmer, what with how he sounds like he’s one less jacket away from hypothermia.” He kept his voice to a flat murmur, but the snide judgement still found its way through.
“I’m hesitant to be giving out limited supplies to anyone, but especially towards people I’m still suspicious of.”
Yesenin breathed, refraining from reigniting old arguments. “You think he’s a visitor.”
The homeowner raised an eyebrow at him, as if to say “Is it even a question?”
“His teeth were pure white, but I decided not to jump the gun. His eyes are strange, but not red I guess. And fingernails… He didn’t have many left to check,” The man hit his head against the wall a few times. “Nobody died today, but his story is so inconsistent..how he survived out in that sun.. He may be harmless now, but if I let my guard down-” The words died in his throat.
For a moment, Yesenin felt pity. A judge, jury and executioner sat below him, grappling with conflicting information.
“I do not envy the position you're in.” Yesenin mumbled.
He wasn’t sure how he would have run things, if visitors were knocking on his front door. Perhaps his stubbornness would have killed him already.
The homeowner often forgot to think for himself, fear (and what Yesenin assumed was social ineptitude) guiding his every action. It was scary to live with someone who could blow your brains out, just because the TV told them to.
…Despite it all though, he had been a decent host.
“All this conflicting shit they’re spreading. It drives you crazy.” He shrugged, laughing a bit, despite it all. “I won't say your suspicions are wrong, at least for this one. Still- I would like the blankets.”
The homeowner’s gaze was exhausted. He gripped the shotgun barrel, squeezing and letting go, over and over again. Defeated, he pointed towards the storage closet. “There might be some old quilts in there.”
–
Yesenin dumped the pile of blankets unceremoniously at the coated man’s feet.
The cold man stared at them, wide eyed, astonished by the size of the pile. His mouth opened and closed a few times, struggling to start his response. Yesenin decided to speak first. “Turns out one of the original residents liked to knit.” He took one blanket from the top of the pile, rolling it into a bundle. “This one is mine, I needed a pillow, but the rest are yours. So go nuts.”
“I-...”
Trembling hands reached for one of the quilts, holding it up like it was some strange foreign object. “I- no- Th–thank you. You really didn’t have to do this though..”
Despite his words, the cold man held the blanket to his face, inspecting its surface with closed eyes. A content sigh left his mouth as the yarn moved over his skin. “A good texture.. Even i-i-if I remain c–cold, I will be more comfortable, y-yes..thank you.”
Yesenin thought to say something comforting, but nothing of substance came to mind. Huffing, he returned to the couch and placed the bundled up blanked under his head. “I only did it for selfish reasons, try to sleep if you can.”
Yesenin had turned away from him, prepared to tune out those chattering teeth. Shuffling of fabric filled the room, a few shaky breathes and exhalations followed after. There was a moment of silence, and then a sigh of contentment.
“Thank you…”
Even if not by much, it seemed to have helped. Yesenin closed his eyes, nodding to no one but himself.
Perhaps death would pass by their house once more.