The Dead Tenants

A week in and Ramiel was starting to settle in nicely. He was still getting used to it – to the days and nights blending together, but he mainly spent his nights cooped up in his room, windows shut and metal plates pulled over. The more comfortable he got in his apartment, the more disturbed he grew by the nightly chaos. What were those things anyway? Something between vampires and zombies, for sure, but Charles only laughed when he said it.

He still hasn’t met everybody – he’s only seen Darling fleetingly, Zero was still in her own room with no known intentions of coming out and he still hasn’t had the chance to talk to Simon properly. At least he knew the man and the man knew him. Simon’s a quiet, tall man (even though shorted than Charlie still) with love for peace and quiet and organisation. He divides his time so that he can equally be with them and with himself; from what Ramiel could notice, he’s incredibly schooled, even if a bit secluded.

Moe’s made him company, even though she mainly talks about the places, lets him know where everything is. They even went to the park and fixed two of the benches there, as well as the swings. They gave out under Natasha the very next day and Charlie nearly pissed himself laughing, so they didn’t try again. They had time. Ramiel was sure they’d do it again sometime.

Speaking of Natasha, he did notice that she cleans out a lot – at times she goes out on her own and is gone for hours and an hour or two after she returns, she cleans the balcony. He’s not sure what he does and he doesn’t ask, but she does this frequently enough – every other or third day. He doesn’t intrude. The blonde’s taken notice of Natasha cleaning apartments of others as well, when they were at Moe’s, so he just came to conclusion that’s the way she is.

He’s gotten into a certain type of routine. Most of the days it didn’t quite hold up but he was satisfied with it and he had no problem if it was broken – he has time after all. Mainly he was working on organising his fridge and reinstating his religious views, even though he was not at best luck with it. Not because of lack of means – he had the scriptures and he could divide food and Charles claimed there is even a synagogue nearby – but he was having inner doubts.

Most of the time, Ramiel would just shut them out.

He’s not sure how religion even worked here – if this is the afterlife? He doesn’t question, doesn’t ask anybody anything simply because he’s not sure how to, and he hopes these things will just come up in the conversation. Either way, he’s content with himself.

Today the sky’s a little duller – clouds all over – but it’s still very bright. It’s nearing December, or so do the others claim. There’s no real months here, so they had invented their own system. Apart from Zero, Charles has been here the most – two years and several months over. It snows every year and he has marked the first day it snowed as the first of December. It makes sense, after all; there are TVs and radio, but there isn’t any internet or signal on cell phones that would let them know where they are or what time in the year it is. They’re lucky enough with the clocks.

So, they’ve made their own system.

And Ramiel has seen the calendar. It has snowed each year on first of December, and stopped snowing on first of February. It was now November, but Ramiel didn’t really look forward to snow. The only bright side was the smaller number of monsters; that’s what the rest of them said. Perhaps they, too, got cold.

Ramiel decides to go out and stretch his legs, even though he approaches the now-filled shelf and takes one of the books out randomly. The bottom of the shelf is what he’s already read and the top what he hasn’t heard of, but judging by some of the summaries, he would like them.

Before he goes out, he goes the bathroom too – he spends a little time in front of the mirror, mainly observing his eyes. He ignores the birthmarks beneath them and how his cheeks have gotten more hollow and instead concentrates on the colour of his eyes. Normally they are light blue – not as quite light as Charles’ are, since his don’t lead towards the grey, but blue. Normal, common blue. They’re not—they’re not purple and they’re not red.

They shouldn’t be.

But, well—he’s thought he imagined it at first but now he’s more certain of it; he’s not imagined it. The spread starts at his pupil and goes outwards, towards the edges of his irises. It’s a slow growth, barely even moved ever since he’s first seen it, but the thing is that it did move. Ramiel blinks, but the purple intruding on blue doesn’t disappear. It stays the same, the same way it’s been the previous ten times when he’s checked.

He decides that, if Natasha and Moe had nothing wrong with their eyes, he’ll survive too.

With that decision made, he walks back into the living room, snatches the book off the coffee table and more or less marches down the stairs. They’re not like in the building he’s entered first – those hallways were stinking of blood, floor sticky with it and the shards of glass stuck down, with bad lighting and feeling of death entering his pores. He’s watched horror movies that had worse effects. These halls, they were cleaned. The air not only smelt differently but it felt different too; it felt like somebody lived here.

The inner yard is somewhat colder now, but as far as he can notice, it looks the same as it always does. He can see it from both of the windows in his apartment, but there’s nothing much to look at. Natasha keeps a small journal, he’s found out – it’s more of a tally of some sort, a book of thesis with the things she’s done rather than a diary. He hasn’t seen it; it’s just what she’s told him.

In the garden, next to the bench, he can see the well-known red hoodie – he’s caught glimpses of it here and there even though he hasn’t yet spoken to the owner of it for more than few seconds at the time. Darling is hunched on the ground and seems to be collecting the stones. Some he puts on the bench and others, the smaller ones, he keeps in his hands.

Darling’s skin is pale, dark circles beneath his eyes. His eyes are nice – they’re the colour of the sky, back at the time when it was still blue. In the afterlife, all Ramiel’s seen was grey. No clouds, not yet – only light grey taking turns with a duller shade.

The other person notices him, but Darling’s eyes, half-hooded beneath the heavy chestnut lashes only roam over Ramiel’s form, then he rubs his face against the trademark red hoodie (it’s too large on his form) and the plaid shirt beneath. He’s not looking too amused, but Ramiel’s never seen him look very happy, not so far.

“I won’t bother you.” He says as quietly as possible. He’s not trying to approach the other as if though Darling was a wounded animal, but it comes out before he can even think about it. “I’ll be right on the other bench if you’re okay with it.”

Darling eyes him again, then shrugs. “You can sit next to me if you have nothing better to do.”

It’s the calmest thing Ramiel’s heard him say in past seven days. He has found out that Darling normally doesn’t speak... like a normal person. Most that Darling does is hiss and do small half-screeches and he’s prone to hysterics. Ramiel didn’t really try to avoid him, he just wasn’t too keen on getting very close to the other male. Better safe than and sorry and besides, he didn’t want the two of them to get in the fight the first day they met.

The blonde nods, somewhat rushed, then takes the seat on the bench next to Darling. He puts the book next to him and doesn’t pay it any attention. It is clear by the tension in Darling’s shoulder that the other is expecting a comment – Ramiel’s not sure what he’s waiting for. Perhaps he just wants the blonde to make some sort of conversation.

“I’m Ramiel.” It’s a stupid thing to say. Yet, he’s not sure if he’s said it before so he does now, again, just to make sure. Darling nods, the half-smile stretching across his lips in a grimace.

“So I’ve been told.” Darling’s never spoken to him directly; Ramiel didn’t assume he knew anything about him at all. “They’ve been speaking a lot of you. I’m Darling.”

“I know.” He says back, shrugging. “But it’s nice to officially meet you.” If the other has chosen the endearment as his name, Ramiel is not going to comment. He does suppose that it’s what Darling’s waiting for – either that, or the fact that Ramiel can make out what could’ve been undershirt but is probably a binder, given the weather and Darling’s attire. Ramiel isn’t going to comment. The tension is still present in the brunette’s shoulders, but he’s starting to relax.

“I suppose so.” Darling doesn’t have the kindest tone. That’s another thing about him that doesn’t bother Ramiel. “You like reading?”

Ramiel feels as if though they are children in the kindergarten. He nods.

“I do.” He nods again, just to confirm. Darling hums in approval, then goes back to the stones. They all look same, round and grey. “I have no idea what this is. I’ve only picked it now.”

Darling doesn’t respond and doesn’t look at Ramiel. The silence is not unbearable, but it’s very uncomfortable in turn. Ramiel feels as if though he’s being judged even when Darling’s not looking at him.

“I honestly have no idea what to ask you other than if collect stones.” He lets out a small laugh. It’s more nervous and faked than anything else. “The others said you’re bad at cooking.”

“I’m not bad at cooking!” Darling snaps, sits straight up from his crouch and slams his hand on the bench. When Ramiel tells him not to get angry, he responds with—“I’m not getting angry!” He is. He is most definitely angry and Ramiel screwed up, big up.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” The brunette is more easily irked than he first assumed, then. “I apologise about the stone collecting comment as well.”

Darling recoils, then nods sharply. He’s gotten up now, the stones still in hand, and he pushes away the ones at the bench. With sounds of them hitting concrete and ground, they fall down on the earth, forgotten. “The stone one was funny. Then you ruined it.”

“I’m sorry.” He does feel sorry; he feels bad about it and his guilt is probably going to give him hard time in the next few days if he doesn’t fix this somehow. Right now, nothing comes to his mind.

“Sure you are.” Darling looks like he sounds – like he doesn’t believe a thing that comes out of Ramiel’s mouth. The blonde doesn’t fight him and instead looks as the other concentrates on something – he’s holding one of the smaller stones with his hand, eyes narrowed and looking at the bench opposite of them. “I’m going to hit you with this stone. Don’t act too shocked or anything. It’s not personal. I just don’t like you.”

“That sounds very personal to me.” Ramiel’s not sure how Darling plans on hitting him with the stone when he’s aiming forward. Then he remembers Moe’s comment – she’s jumped on the fence and ended up on the other side of the same walkway.

Darling does just that. He throws the stone forward and it falls between the fence ribs only to disappear into thin air. Seconds later, the stone ends on Ramiel’s shoulder with a soft thud, then rolls to the ground with the dismissed ones.

“It’s still not personal.” Darling claims. “I don’t like anybody.”

Somehow, Ramiel is not shocked.