Chapter Text
“And you won't come back, if you know what's good for you!”
Yesenin stumbles out of the door, unable to look back until he's meters away. There it stands, the only place he thought fitting for him, abandoning him just as the night settles. It's cowardice, not kindness, that they don't send him out in the morning sun. They wouldn't be able to stand the sight of his burnt corpse outside their haven of self-pity and loathing. Fine then, if he needed to be gone, he'd be gone.
They were bound to be rid of him sooner or later anyway.
The walk along the roads is near silent aside from his own footsteps, crunching against rocks and then dry grass. His head is on more of a swivel than he'd like, feeling far too conscious of himself outside of that bar. Long legs carrying a long body with long arms that could touch the stars if they reached high enough. He's known all these things since he was a boy, growing and growing and growing until he couldn't stand up straight in his own home.
He looks off into the distant night, heavy eyes widening at the sight of a house. A lonely house down a lonely path with another nearby, just barely close enough to call a neighbor. The only light is a small porch lamp that glows an uncomfortable white. The house looks small and feels no larger even as he begins to approach it. Now standing before the door, his hand hovers for a moment before he knocks.
It's swallowed by the still air, the world falling into silence once again. There's a chance no one is home, he thinks in the back of his mind, though it's more likely that there would just be no one willing to answer.
His doubts don't get time to fully settle as footsteps grow louder, then stop. No voice on the other end greets him, but Yesenin speaks anyway, hoping whoever is on the other end will hear him out.
“Can I come in?”
He punctuates the sentence with a cough, leaning into his fist to muffle the rest that follows. What a first impression. He clears his throat and continues.
“I was taking shelter at a bar down the road, but…They kicked me out. Just like that.”
The words hang in the air, not even broken by the sounds of flies and crickets. Then finally...
“Why?”
The voice is muffled through the door, stilted in the way of a man who has not spoken in some time. Yesenin wonders if the company would be worth it.
“I guess not everyone there found my personality particularly…palatable. But I don’t mean anyone any harm, don’t worry. I just…”
Yesenin shrugs, head hanging almost low enough to meet the peephole.
“Life is shitty sometimes, you know?”
Shitty, the only way to describe it. There were plenty of words with more grace and politeness, but nothing served the situation any better than just...shitty. He heaves out a sigh, coughing into his fist once again. Behind it, he mustered an unseen smile.
“So what do you say, my good man? Can I come in?”
“Are you a Visitor?”
The Homeowner asks so blatantly that Yesenin would've laughed if it didn't piss him off more.
“Do I look like one of those monsters?” He grunts out, pulling his arms to his sides. To be forced out of the only place where his appearance meant so little to this.
“No, I’m not a Visitor. And you’re never going to get a straight fucking answer asking that directly anyway.”
Maybe the paranoia has wormed its way into everyone's minds. Maybe he'd have better luck trekking back to the bar before sunrise.
“Why do you think it’ll be any different here?”
“What else would I do otherwise? Just stand outside and wait for the sun to take my skin?” Yesenin responds, shaking his head, "No, I think I'd prefer to avoid that.”
And these days, even dawn proved too hot.
“As long as I'm alive, I'll look for someone to talk to. If that isn't here, maybe I'll get lucky somewhere else.”
He gives an unseen glare towards the door, hope looking slimmer by the minute. He goes to drag a hand down his face, muttering into his palm.
“And if I have an ounce of luck left in this life, it might just be someone who's not a complete asshole.”
He starts to seriously consider his chance with the bar or maybe the home just across the way. His thoughts are interrupted by the creak of the door and the dim light that bathes them both.
“Come inside.”
Yesenin looks down at the Homeowner before him. A rather average-looking man, but certainly...tense. Tense is the only polite word for it, with that shotgun slung over his frame like a man about to go out hunting. Fucking insane is what Yesenin would call him. Still, he bends down and gratefully walks inside.
He hears the door click shut behind him, briefly meeting the Homeowner's eyes before he leads Yesenin down the hall.
The ceiling is so much lower than the bar that his head nearly brushes it at his full height. Despite the ache in his back, he follows the man through an even shorter doorway into a small living room. Its light walls don't make it feel any bigger, but it's something. It's better than the sun.
Yesenin makes himself comfortable on the far end of the couch, finding no room to lie down but enough to stretch his legs for the night.
“Thank you.” He says to the Homeowner lingering in the doorway. He finds it disconcerting, this stranger watching another stranger settle into his home, but Yesenin can endure it if it means not burning alive.
“Trust in people doesn’t amount to a hill of beans these days. But I appreciate your trust in me. Perhaps I even—”
His cough returns with a sharp vengeance, enough to make him hold his chest.
“Well, no, I shouldn’t promise anything.”
He grumbles as the Homeowner leaves the room, pulled by another knock at the door. He doesn't dwell on it now, turning away to find some sleep.
He wakes up in a sweat. It's unsurprising but no less uncomfortable, his shirt's thin fabric sticking to his skin. He grimaces as he peels it away, his body urging for something to fill it. A cigarette and a beer would do fine. Though it'd be rather rude of him to impose on the Homeowner, at least so soon. So instead, he sits up and waits to see if the man will show his face again and if he has good taste.
It doesn't take long for those footsteps to come to the room, the Homeowner stepping inside with that shotgun much looser against his body.
“Morning, my good man,” Yesenin says with a nod of his head to no response. Rather, the man stares at him with concerned eyes before approaching him in rather stiff steps.
“I need to check you.”
Yesenin stares down at the other, eyebrows furrowing. From a man who probably sleeps with that damn gun, it shouldn't be any surprise that he's taken to FEMA's ‘testing’ protocol. When Yesenin first witnessed them on the small TV in the bar, he was the first to scoff. Maybe that was the catalyst, the spark that started the fire that got him swiftly booted out.
Though unlike the men at the bar, a shotgun is a good deterrent against him being brash.
“What do you want to check?”
The Homeowner gestures towards his mouth, showing his own teeth.
White teeth are more indicative of good dental hygiene than being a monster that eats people, Yesenin thinks, but he still leans down further and pulls at his cheeks. The Homeowner leans in, his nose scrunching up at the sight. Yesenin lets his mouth snap back in place, turning away.
“Pretty yellow, right?” He grunts, “So piss off with your tests. I'm not a Visitor.”
He spares a glance towards the Homeowner, staring down a barrel instead. In a response typical of any man, he backs himself against the couch, face losing color.
“Well, shit, look at you waving that broomstick around!”
He looks the man in the eyes, blue meeting frantic green. The man's hands shake like he's too scared to kill, and that just angers Yesenin. If he was going to murder him, he could at least steady his aim so it was quick. God, let it be quick.
“Shoot if you want, you fucking nutcase. Just know that this is bullshit.”
The Homeowner doesn't say a word. He steadies his aim instead. Shit, he's really going to...
Yesenin didn't even get to ask about that beer.
“Well...” He mutters, wishing he could think of better last words. He has nothing.
Click.
“Fuck...”
BANG.
In the end, there's nothing, and yet Yesenin's ears are still left ringing.
Ringing...
Ringing...
Fuck, that is really annoying.
He slides his hand over his eyes to his ears, glaring at the other patrons in the bar.
The bar.
The bar?
“What the fuck?”