The Dead Tenants

Ramiel’s face still tingles from the cold water he’s washed himself with when he draws the metal plates from his living room open. If he was alive, surely he would die on the spot – there is oval, white face staring at him, not much else visible from the robe-clad, immobile Nosferatu-like figure on the other side of the frail window glass.

“Charlie, holy hell—” He hisses, taken back, and he makes few steps back, hand over his heart even though he doesn’t feel the heartbeats anymore. “What has gotten into you?”

A moment more and he realises that the man is most likely standing on something beneath his window and he’s actually on his window, so he rushes towards it and opens it. The tall man stumbles inside, badly-sewn, plain black robes billowing as he enters. In the morning, with plain white face mask on, Charles Ravensdale looks quite terrifying. In the evening, Ramiel Bauman would’ve probably died again.

“Did I scare you?” When he removes the mask, Charlie is positively beaming.

“Charles!” The bastard is cackling in that self-satisfied way of his, like Ramiel’s heard him do so many times, and Ramiel doesn’t want to smile, but it gets the best of him and very soon he dissolves into laughter, too. “You could’ve fallen off.”

“From second floor?” It sounds like he’s saying I was standing on the ground. Ramiel doesn’t doubt that’s how he sees it. “What damage could it have done, mate?”

Ramiel is about to comment; he’s about to say something smartass and something in the words of the mother hen, but he doesn’t—he’s gotten really heavy for a moment and then really light in the short while and he needs to control himself, for real. He tries to raise an eyebrow at mate at least, because even though he’s noticed Charlie’s accent he’s never really heard him say that word (or anything other non-American, really, and he did think it somewhat strange).

But he doesn’t get to – instead, he starts laughing again and he has to sit back on his couch and take a rest.

“You take forever to wake up. I’ve been waiting for like an hour.” Charlie doesn’t sound like he regrets a thing. “Your reaction was pretty funny though!” He cackles, then throws himself on Ramiel’s sofa like he owns it. “You should’ve seen your face, oh my god—“ His teeth are uneven. Ramiel thinks how they’re so very blunt, surprisingly so. He’s not sure why he thinks that Charlie’s teeth should look sharper. It might be the shape of his face. He’s not sure.

“Good morning to you too, Charlie.” Then he remembers, somewhat belatedly. “Do you want chips? It’s the only edible thing I own right now.”

But Charlie’s looking at his TV screen instead, white mask in his pale freckled hands, black robe hanging off Ramiel’s sofa and around his legs and he’s still grinning ear-to-ear.

“You’re watching romance movies, Ray.” He sounds like he’s just found a treasure chest. “Are you lacking some love, darlin’?” He’s heard it said before, that darlin’ usually meant for Darling, when the smaller male would hiss and Charlie would just look at him with the exasperation of an older brother and say Alright. I’ll come back when you change your mind. He doesn’t show Ramiel this sort of softness.

Ramiel is being teased.

“Moe gave it to me!” He says that a little bit too quickly, but it’s true. The TV’s still on from the last night, the scene unmoved. Even the air feels same, even though it’s light in the room now and even though Charlie’s spread upon his sofa with tattered black robe and creepy white mask with a half-smile on. Ramiel gets shivers just looking at it again, but Charlie’s passing it through his own hands with ease.

“I know!” Charles is laughing at him again. He sounds so honest. Ramiel laughs, too, and it cannot be very healthy to have so much fun so easy in the morning. Darling’s probably going to make him cry, then, or Zero’s going to decide that she doesn’t need a neighbour. “I’ve seen it too.”

Ramiel stops, lips pursued, and he’s doing his best not to be mean. But to hell with it – Charlie has been mean, too, and he has the right to have his fun.

“Out of your own free will?” He asks, just to clarify, and there’s clear, teasing tone in his voice.

“How would somebody force me into watching a movie?” Charlie’s got this face on, like that’s not possible. Ramiel finds it funny how his freckles crease with his skin. If anything, it makes him more expressive. His eyes, blue, are laced with grey speckles and they look freckled too. (But Simon has, hands down, the best-looking eyes. Ramiel likes how consistently coffee-coloured they are. He’s not sure why he compares Simon and Charlie, though.) “Of course I wanted to see it. The sidekick’s a bomb.”

If you’re into that kind of thing, Ramiel supposes – the flaunting men who are funny and smart and fail each and every time when they try to save the day or get the girl. The characters are reduced to their physical appearance, but that’s the entire point, Ramiel reckons. The movie is not made to be smart; it’s made to be sold.

“How have you been, Charles?” He asks, still smiling, and nudges the other man across the table. Charlie gives him this one tired look, but he’s grinning still and he looks like a statue, Ramiel would say, when he’s all wrapped up like this. A vampire incarnate when he’s with the mask on, what with his long hair and all that jazz. His cheeks have sunken in since the first time Ramiel’s met him, though; back then, Charlie’s been nearly plump in his face and it was not too long ago, either.

“I’m using the last snowless days to have some fun. It’s going to snow soon. Did you notice the clouds?” Charles looks outside, too, blue eyes merging with the whites of his eyes under the morning half-light. Ramiel’s noticed the clouds – the rusty grey pillows condensed above them, but so far nothing had been falling from them yet. It has gotten a lot colder, too; nobody was in the yard anymore, except for Natasha every once in a while. She was penning something in her little book, as far as Ramiel could see, but even her visits are growing less and less frequent.

Ramiel sighs. He loves the snow, he truly does – but the snow will make their search difficult. He’s still wondering about those new, untouched fliers they’ve found: GRAYSTORMS SURGERIES. It’s on the tip of his tongue, still, but he’s not sure why the words are so hazy. Graystorms surgeries—where did he see that before? The faces, not unlike the plastic white mask Charlie is holding, are not familiar to him. Only the words.

“We won’t be able to go out then, right.” Ramiel shrugs. “How do the monsters get, when it snows?”

Charlie’s eyes widen for a little bit, as if though he’s confused, then he blinks. He mouths an oh and then, louder—“Oh. Oh my god. I keep forgetting you’re new.” It’s a compliment. Ramiel takes that as a compliment, if the man has gotten so used to him in such a short time.

“Yeah.” He still sounds awkward when he confirms it.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” The man shrugs, dismissive, but he sits straighter in Ramiel’s new sofa and now that he’s not relaxed, he looks completely out of the place. “Because, you know—during the winter months we get entirely new ones.”

Oh god.