Chapter Text
Another night, another guest. A tall woman with a bob, a kid latching onto her skirt. I let her in.
It's been like this for so long, now it's nothing special anymore—just part of the routine. So many people in my house… I've managed to learn to ignore their presence. Lately, they've become easier to ignore. Wake up, check for signs, go to bed and watch TV, sleep. Rinse and repeat.
However, there's a guest I've started to find harder to ignore. A young man, dressed up like a queer. Purple hair, flamboyant clothes, a sassy attitude and huge eyes that pierce right into your soul. The trait that stood out from all other guests, however, was his mouth and everything that came out of it. Not only was it sewn shut the night that I first saw him, when he snipped the wires he spoke some sort of language that not I, nor any other guests in my house, understood. Sometimes, I wonder how he managed to survive for so long before coming here.
Right after waking up, I didn't even eat or brush my teeth (haven't done any of those in a long while. Stopped giving a shit a long time ago) and went straight to check up on the guests. Speaking of the guy, I should go check up on him. Lately, there's been a theory flying around. People say that the visitors are people infected by a virus. That just means I have to check people over and over, even though I deemed them as human, to make sure they didn't get infected by some other guests in the house. So, I still have to check him for being a visitor.
I walk up to the storage room and open it up slowly, as not to wake him up in case he somehow managed to fall asleep through the pain.
"Svool," a voice greets. He gives me a small wave before putting his hands behind his neck, a shy smile appearing on his face.
"Gotta check you," I explain. Today, I choose teeth. I point a finger to my mouth and smile with my teeth, before putting a finger on each side of my mouth and pulling my lips back. He follows my lead and does the same.
His teeth are yellow and covered in blood. Bleeding gums. Visitor sign.
My first instinct is to shoot him in the face. I take a step back and reach for my gun. Then, the holes around his lips catch my eye. Poor guy, that's where the blood must come from. O don't know how I even managed to forget that. I suppose stress can make you forget even the most crucial of things. My shoulders relax and I let out a breath that I never even realized I was holding. My hands fall around my body, no longer anywhere near the gun.
"Rh gszg lpzb?" He makes an 'okay' sign and shrugs slowly, looking straight into my eyes with a perplexed look.
"You're good." I nod and smile. He smiles back, but soon he jolts and coughs violently. When I first saw him, he stank of cigarettes, so, for a moment, I assumed that smoking (or not smoking for a while, for that matter— I'd sometimes share cigarettes with him, but it's been a few days) is the cause. My face contorts into a frown when I notice a blue petal hanging from his lips before he spat it out.
Hanahaki.
"Hliib," he whispers and sits down on the floor, gazing down to the floor.
"Levani?" I crouch and put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it in circles.
"Misha, rg'h zoirtsg, wlm'g dliib." He puts a hand on my chest and pushes me off. I take a deep breath, a clump of worry sitting right in my throat.Still, I get up, ruffle his hair and leave the room, not holding back from turning my head and looking at him every couple of steps.
I zone out, and before I realize, I'm in the kitchen, cracking open a beer from the fridge. Fuck it, I'm not checking anyone else tonight. I chug my beer as I walk to my bedroom. By the time I'm laid in bed, the beer is no more, so I just toss the can in the corner of the room. I'll throw it out later.
He's in love with someone.
Now that I think about it, he's gotta be some sort of queer—I mean, besides the fact that he looks like one. His whole behavior screams it out as well.
The first day he entered my house, his mouth was sewn shut. The following night, he managed to snip the wires and take them out. When I saw him, of course I freaked out—his face and hands were covered in fresh blood mixed with tears and spit. It was a gruesome sight to behold. I spent my night with him, cleaning up his wounds and helping him shower from the waist up. He was being all blusy and smiley. Again, I assumed the look on his face was gratitude, but now I'm second guessing.
Then again, there's what happened the other day —when I went into his room to check on him while smoking a cigarette. I saw the way he eyed it, so I offered him one. I passed him the lighter, but he didn't manage to light it, so I have him my own and took the new one and lit it for myself. I noticed that when he took the cigarette from me, his face turned some sort of sickly pink and he smiled. He was blushing. Then, I thought that he was just grateful and couldn't express it, but now that I think about it, he might've pretended to be unable to light his cigarette. A perverted excuse for an indirect kiss.
Or, there's that one time I saw him in the kitchen, grabbing a coffee from the fridge. I grabbed one of my own and sat at the table, next to the weird witchy woman that insists on guessing my fortune. He made such and ugly face at her, and I had assumed that he just disliked her and her antics. Maybe she insisted on guessing his fortune, and he didn't understand shit, and that sounds annoying. Now, I start to think he might've been jealous of her sitting with me.
A thought settles in. He might be in love with me. It's hard to believe that someone would choose me, of all people. Me, Mikhail, said the town's Hermit. What does he even know about me? I'm the homeowner, and he's the guest. What made him think this was okay? And now? What am I meant to do? If he dies, it's my fault. But then, I can't force myself to fall for him, now can I? I turn to bury my face in the pillow, holding back a scream of guilt. How dare he put me in this situation? How dare I not do anything about it?
Now, I regret my own behavior towards him. I was too friendly. I never thought I was giving him special treatment—I just wanted to make sure he was okay regarding him wounds. Alright, maybe the fact that he was a foreigner also felt a bit… special? about him, for the lack of a better word. And the flamboyant vibe that he gave off..? Fuck, what am I even trying to say? Clearly, this is my fault, even though I never meant it to be like this. He might've thought I'd give him a chance.
Now, it's up to me to fix this.