¤ LONGLISTED IN THE OPEN NOVELLA CONTEST 2022 ¤
// COMPLETE
- stand-alone sequel to featherlight -
Chase Collins steps onto a late night train, his last in the city before he moves to a new state with a job promotion.
What he doesn't expect, how...
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Chase's apartment is dark and freezing when they step inside. It's small and it is usually an absolute mess, because he believes that there is no point throwing every scrap piece of paper away or folding his laundry if there's nobody to see it. But as he runs his hand along the rough wallpaper of the entryway and flicks on the switch, all that meets the eye are cardboard boxes. The room is filled with the smell of it, too, like Amazon warehouses have regurgitated their innards on his floor.
"Something tells me that you might be moving out," Kyle quips.
Putting down the IKEA bag at last with a groan, Chase shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto the nearest box, which has been labelled COOKING STUFF with a black Sharpie. He laughs at Kyle's comment. "Try not to trip on any boxes. Some of them have fragile shit in them."
Kyle gingerly steps across a few boxes to move further into the room, swearing as a sheet of bubble wrap pops loudly under his feet, filling the room with its crackling. There is something almost comical about his tall frame clumsily making its way towards the couch, and Chase watches him with a grin. He realizes with startling clarity that there isn't a single shred of the burning attraction he once held for the man opposite the room from him. The memory of it lingers, of course, but it's more like the memory of the aftertaste rather than even the aftertaste itself.
"Not a bad couch," Kyle comments as he kicks his shoes off and settles down, already looking at one with his surroundings. "Thanks for letting me stay, man. I really appreciate it."
Chase picks up the bouquet of flowers from inside the IKEA bag. They've already begun to wilt, the leaves drooping sadly. He goes to the kitchen and finds the one remaining cup he has- a Heineken glass that he accidentally brought back with him from some party in college- and fills it with water. Walking back into the living room, where Kyle is reclining on his tattered leather couch, he stuffs the flowers into the water and places it on the table.
"No need to thank me," Chase replies. He almost trips on a roll of duct tape as he goes to the radiator and turns it on, pressing his palms against it in an attempt to heat them up. "Fuck, I can't remember where I put my spare bedding."
"No worries. I'll cope without a blanket for tonight."
Chase straightens and glares at Kyle, putting his now-warm hands on the nape of his neck. "I am not going to wake up to find your frozen body on the couch, Kyle."
"This isn't fucking Titanic. I'll make do with some bubble wrap or something. It's not worth you reopening any boxes."
Already going back to the table to find the list that he's painstakingly written over the past few weeks detailing the contents of each box, Chase rolls his eyes before realizing that Kyle can't see him. "That's not even an option. I would offer to share the bed with you, but it's a single and I'm not even sleeping with a pillow tonight." He runs his finger down the list, noticing that his knuckles are cracked and spattered with small spots of congealed blood from the cold. Kyle says something in protest, but it comes out garbled as he yawns before he can articulate what it is.
