The Dead Tenants

“So, which one of you airheads—“ Ramiel can hear the man even from his apartment. The pounding of his shoes – boots, Ramiel guesses – comes from the lower floor. “—did leave the light on in the building right across from ours?”

The door swing open somewhere on Ramiel’s left – towards the apartment 5 most likely, and a spiteful voice is arguing with the man, even though the blonde can’t tell what the other person is saying. Up here, it sounds more like hissing than anything else, venom dripping from lips. The voice gets louder and louder as the conversation goes on and the last words – I don’t know, ask Moe, maybe? – Ramiel can make clearly, as if though they were spoken right next to him. Then, the swing of the door closing shut.

The man with the heavy shoes moves again. Ramiel assumes he has not yet passed room 2, the one below his, and he can hear another door creaking, silently. This conversation is a lot quieter and he cannot hear anything – neither the man nor the person he’s speaking to. Then steps again – this time on the stairs, heavy.

He doesn’t expect knocking on his door, so he startles when it starts. Then, he gets up, still in his pyjamas. In the process, he knocks his head on the window and groans. There are, indeed, sounds coming from the outside, mostly shrieking and roaring, but they sound somewhat distant and so far they haven’t disturbed his sleep.

The blonde would’ve gone back to it, as well, if somebody wasn’t knocking on his door, probably very eager to have his ass because surely it must’ve been him who forgot the light. Hell, he didn’t even remember—oh. Right. When he first saw the thing in cage. Right.

Okay, so the fault was entirely his.

He walks to the door with hurting head – even though the pain is subsiding – and still in his sleeping attire. He unlocks them and then pulls them open. They’re a bit heavier than he remembers, but they fall open easily enough to reveal Moe in a large pair of sweatpants and even larger T-shirt that she can more or less swim in and her hair down. Purple eyes are somewhat prominent in the darkness, but Ramiel’s not surprised by anything anymore. Next to her, closer to Ramiel there’s another man.

He’s dressed up like he’s gone out in the most biting cold imaginable – Ramiel can’t imagine it can be comfortable, but he doesn’t seem to be hot, sweating or even winded. His hair is long, as long as Moe’s, but Moe is somewhat tall woman and this man towers over Ramiel as well.

“Good evening.” He’s polite before anything else. “If it’s the light, it was probably me.”

The man seems to find his statement funny; he laughs—no, he cackles in Ramiel’s face, smile all bright, even teeth (Ramiel notices that his left canine is missing, but otherwise he seems to be fine, not a scratch on him). He waves his hand, dismissive.

“Actually, if it hadn’t been you, it would’ve probably been me!” He says, laugh on his lips and in his throat still. Ramiel allows himself a small smile, but he’s just been woken up and he’s not sure how to react to his own feelings, let alone to actions of another being. For now, he keeps silent.

“You would’ve probably broken it.” Moe comments with motherly exasperation. “Ramiel, this is Charlie – Charlie, this is Ramiel.” Moe yawns halfway. “You make friends or whatever. I haven’t slept in a week and now I’m going back to it. Goodnight.” Perhaps they don’t need as much sleep, either, but Ramiel is going to try and keep the routine.

Then Moe leaves and he’s left alone with the man.

So that is Charlie. And he must’ve probably gotten in minutes ago, because that pounding across the floor is very hard to ignore. He’s fine. He was fine. The sparkle in his eyes says that he’s somebody who’ll always be fine, regardless of the situation. Even on his face—the smug look of bravery and somebody who’ll always make it out.

(Ramiel knows he’s wrong because Charlie is here, which means he didn’t make it out of another thing altogether.)

“Charles Ravensdale.” The man offers his hand and Ramiel shakes it. “But the girls have taken to calling me Charlie, so you can do it too. I’m not sure if that’s because they’re fond of me or because it’s the trend about the gay best friend and all—even Simon calls me Charlie. Have you met Simon?”

Ramiel is lost in the tiny speech, catching one information after another, and after a second he shakes his head. “No,” he’s somewhat confused but answers the question anyway. “I haven’t had the chance yet. Do you want to get in?” He moves to the side too, now completely awake and the man seems to be weighing his offer. “You’re not disturbing, I probably wouldn’t be able to go to sleep anyway.”

At that, Charlie – it seems like he’s going to be Charlie after all – gets in, glances around the tiny apartment and immediately goes towards the couch. He looks very awkward when he sits down, mainly because he’s keeping his shoulders slouched and Ramiel can see that feels uncomfortable.

“You’ll never get the chance to meet Simon.” He says, as if on some afterthought, but that’s all it really takes for Charles to relax. “He’s like that, you know. He likes human company, but not when you’re too loud or too quiet or too questioning... a bit picky, that one, but he just seems to need some time for himself, then it’s all right. He’s a pretty nice guy, you know.”

“I don’t think we can be really picky about who we hang out with and whatnot. There’s not a lot of us.” On his first day here, Ramiel has met two people – that was already a third of them. He’s seen three and, him not included, that was half of them. Not many. Not many at all.

“Yeah, but if he coops up in his apartment, I’m not exactly going to break his door down.” Charlie stops, seems to be thinking, even though Ramiel knows the expression is faked and it’s not very convincing. “I did jump into his apartment through the window. He didn’t seem to like that either.”

Ramiel lets out a barking laugh—turns his head away. He shouldn’t be laughing. It’s not funny. He would’ve probably been mortified too; he would’ve thrown the bastard out of the same window he climbed in through. But—but.

“You climbed in through the window?” He asks and Charlie shrugs, the smug smile on his face, but soon it dissolves into laughter. There’s pounding on one of the walls and the long-haired man pouts, but his mood doesn’t seem to be ruined. “How?”

“From the roof or from one of the balconies on the first floor? The one with the roof is embarrassing the first time around because I slipped and spent two weeks recovering. This building is twenty five floors high.” The man is smiling even when he says it and Ramiel is not sure how much he can trust him.

“Are you lying?” He asks then, but he tries to do with as little suspicion is his voice as possible; tries to make it sound like a joke. The man shakes his head. “You fell from the twenty fifth floor?”

“What?!” He sounds so offended, too, but he still doesn’t sound very adult-like even though he must be somewhere close to Ramiel’s age at the very least. “No! I fell from the eleventh. I slipped on Natasha’s balcony. She cleans it all the time. It’s unbelievable.”

Ramiel scoffs at him, the pulls the fridge open. “That doesn’t make things any better. You want something?” He didn’t open the fridge when he first got here, the food and the drink at the back of his mind as all he wanted to do was sleep the pain in his leg away. He didn’t even think of the food until Moe gave it to him.

“If you’ve got something fizzy, that would be great.” Charlie says, but even from his tone Ramiel can tell that it’s more of a suggestion than anything else. Ramiel looks back at the fridge – there is a bottle of Cola in the back and he drags it out, finds the glasses and fills his own with water. He doesn’t even open the coke for Charlie, and instead he places it in front of him.

The balcony in the living room is facing the inner yard, too, so he slides the metal plate off and opens the door. The noise is a little bit louder, but he disappears into the bedroom and shuts that window, so it’s more bearable. When he returns to the living room, Charlie is measuring his Cola in drops. The air is chilly, but pleasant. The apartment’s already taken in the smell of being lived in.

“I don’t think that’s very healthy.” He comments while sipping on his water (and hoping he won’t get himself poisoned because who knows where it comes from).

Charlie raises his head, hair from ponytail falling onto his shoulder with the suddenness of it and he looks at Ramiel with wide eyes before he laughs.

“You’re like Simon! Oh—You’re a tiny little health freak!” But he’s clearly joking and Ramiel shakes his head. No, he say, then a little firmer, but Charles is only laughing.

“First—“ He starts. “I’m not tiny.” Charles nods, looking pensive. He mutters something that might’ve been acceptance, but Ramiel doesn’t quite catch it. “Second.” The man quirks an eyebrow up, but Ramiel ignores him. “Second, Charlie. I’m not a health freak. I’m just saying that you’re dead. Things stick better since our metabolisms are slower.” Other than metabolism on the wounds. This is seriously freaky but he’s still somewhat sleepy and he is not going to think about this.

“I’ll be fine. I require a lot of energy. I do actually claim I eat more than anybody else here. Except for Moe. Moe’s more active than I am. Only not as adventurous.” Charles shrugs, but doesn’t seem dissatisfied with his conclusion. “Did you know she doesn’t want to jump from one building to another, even when it’s a safe jump?”

Ramiel blinks at the man, takes a sip of his water and wonders why he doesn’t drink alcohol. Oblivion – that’s what death should’ve been. But it’s not. It’s not even close. So he might have to help it along somehow. The thought sticks only for a second, though – Ramiel doesn’t drink.

“I am inclined to agree with Moe on that one.” He settles back into his couch. Never has before a piece of furniture felt this welcoming and he thinks – maybe this is supposed to be. Maybe life is there because it must be and maybe death is where he falls into place. This is where he should be.

Forget the monsters outside, forget the man who might slip from his balcony and fall on his face. This feels like home. It could be a problem, if he doesn’t get along with these people. And then again – they seem to agree with one another just fine.

He’ll be fine, too.