Dents

[+] Spitting Out The Demons

Walking back to the flat took some effort.

The briny fog that rolled in had taken its dues on the loose soil, eventually dampening it enough to create a sizeable mudslide. I lost balance more than once in the mess. I was filthy by the time we made it to the screen door.

It swung slowly on its hinges, creaking rhythmically with the chirp of the odd insect or bird.

2D charged through the door without restraint. Huffing, he kicked his sneakers off in the corner. I overheard him gripe something about being 'mucky' as he walked off down a narrow hall to the left.

It was too dark inside to get a good idea of how far the room spanned. It smelled dingy inside. I could tell someone had made an effort to hide that as a heavy floral fragrance hung in the air. A lightbulb glinted in the darkness.

I tugged the chain.

The room panned out inside of a small kitchenette with a bar counter that split it from the living area. The countertop was littered with several types of flowers and vines. They were wilted to some extent, but were still quite beautiful. I pulled off my shoes, which had essentially fallen apart in my hands, and walked to the other side of the bar.

The common area was down about five steps from ground level, with a sectional sofa installed around a large circular coffee table. A dual screen computer, a laptop, and an iPad were spread on its surface. Magazines, notebooks and sketchpads had been stacked in tall piles across the floor and couch.

I admired the scene. I imagined 2D there, working diligently on his music into the early hours of morning. I fantasized about those nights where he'd been more coffee and daydreams than human, lost wonderfully in his work.

For a moment, I tried to imagine myself there, too.

2D grumbled a few more futile complaints. His hasty footsteps stomped upon the creaky floorboards. I followed the sound of his voice to a room at the very end of the hall. The door was cracked open. I let myself in, stooping to avoid the angled doorframe.

"Hey, um - "

2D stood in the center of a tiny bedroom with a pitched ceiling. A wall of windows overlooked the dock. The fog outside cast a dim grey hue over everything, creating the illusion of smoke around his figure. He was barefoot and shirtless, wearing only a shredded pair of grimy black jeans. His hair was matted to his cheeks from the muggy weather. Stray bits of mud stained his face and shoulders.

His charcoal eyes scanned every detail of me before he realized the context of our situation. We stared at each other for a painfully long time, silent and scarlet red.

"Y - Yew can shower first," 2D stuttered.

He rifled through his drawers for a clean shirt, pulling a faded grey one free. It was for a gas station I wasn't sure actually existed. It was clearly well worn.

It looked like his dresser had heaved its guts all over the floor by the time he was done finding something that would fit me, too. I felt like I was taking advantage. 2D insisted that it was fine. I had no clothes of my own, so it wasn't like I had much choice regardless.

"Bafthroom's 'is way."

He played with his hands, consciously avoiding my eyes as he led me back down the hall. The tension was overwhelming. I tried not to stare at him. It was impossible. My sight continuously drifted to him no matter how vehemently I fought against it. I was grateful that he had his back to me for most of the time.

The bathroom was somewhat cramped, but the shower stall in the corner was easily twice the size of any other I'd used in the past year. I stripped down and turned the water on, adjusting the temperature from outside the sliding glass panels.