Chapter Text
“What the fuck does that even mean?” Ryan almost spat.
The heater had been busted since he'd moved there, yet his room had never felt this cold.
The guy seemed to weigh his words before answering, “Earlier... when I ran into you, they just stopped following me.” He looked up at Ryan. “None of them dared to come any closer.”
Ryan stared at him. “Where are they now, then?”
The guy's eyes drifted toward the window without saying anything.
Ryan followed his gaze. Nothing. Just the dark reflection of the room staring back at him.
Even so, a shiver crawled up his spine. He covered it with a cough. A branch suddenly scraped against the window. Ryan nearly jumped out of his seat.
“Fucking hell—!” He almost shrieked in his seat. He dragged a hand down his face, trying to shake off the tension settling into his shoulders.
A dog howled somewhere down the street.
“Okay. Look...” He pointed at the guy. “Your name?”
“Naim.”
“Naim,” he repeated.
Naim nodded. "You?"
"Ryan," he answered fast. “Fuck—Alright. Look… you can stay the night here. It’s almost two in the morning anyway.” He pointed at Naim. “But no more bullshit. If you’re lying to me, I’ll kick you out myself.”
“I’m not bullshitting!” the guy—or Naim now- shot back, voice cracking. “I have an apartment two blocks from here, but I haven't had a proper night's sleep in two weeks.” He swallowed hard. “It's killing me.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “They're killing me.”
Ryan searched his face for any sign of a prank. There wasn’t any. Just pure exhaustion and fear. He slouched forward, elbows resting on his knees. One leg bounced restlessly beneath him, enough to make his whole body tremble.
“Look, it’s getting late, and I have class, then a noon shift tomorrow." The ticking of his watch suddenly seemed deafening. “I think we should just sleep now. I know you’re dying to. And yeah, you can crash there if you're okay with that.” Ryan pointed at the couch with his chin.
Naim nodded. “Yeah, thanks,” he whispered as he put down his bag on the floor, a tripod leg peeking from inside the bag. “Is it okay to cover the window up?”
Ryan nodded. The chair scraped against the tiles when he stood up.
He peered through the window. Just the black stretch of road, sparse streetlights, and crickets louder than the distant traffic on the freeway. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Yet he yanked the curtain shut hard enough to make the rod rattle.
Naim was still getting his position right on the couch when Ryan turned around. He grabbed a pillow from his bed across the room, intending to hand it to Naim, only to find him already asleep. It was the most peaceful Naim had looked all night.
Ryan left the pillow beside his head and tucked a blanket over him before he jumped onto his own bed.
Ryan wasn't sure he slept at all that night.
-
When he woke up, the couch was already empty. He glanced around the flat to make sure nothing was missing. Then again, the most prized things he owned were probably a half-empty pack of cigarettes and his boxing gloves.
Ryan would’ve told himself it was all just some fever dream if it wasn’t for the blanket tucked neatly under the pillow on the couch.
He wasn't sure about the stain of blood right in front of his door.
-
The convenience store was dead quiet. The slushie machine hummed under the flickering lights, churning dark red cherry syrup in slow circles.
Ryan’s knuckles still throbbed from last night’s fight. Then the smell hit him, something metallic and rancid. The same stench that clung to the warehouse ring after a bad round.
His stomach twisted.
A loud thud made him flinch hard. Just a pack of gum that had fallen from the display.
“Get it together,” he muttered, crouching to pick it up.
When he stood, someone was right in front of the counter.
Ryan’s fist flew before his brain caught up.
“Jesus Christ!” Bono jerked back, eyes wide. “You trying to knock my head off?”
“Shit—” Ryan lowered his fist, breathing hard. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
"Dickhead, what do you want me to do?" Bono clutched his chest through his uniform. "Announce my arrival with a loudhailer and the national anthem?"
“Sorry,” he said, barely a whisper.
"You look like you've just seen a ghost, mate. The fuck's wrong with you?" Bono’s voice bounced through the quiet store. “Have you checked, there’s a fucking dead rat behind the back counter—”
Ryan barely heard him.
The cherry slushie kept turning behind Bono's shoulder.
Round and round.
-
Ryan could barely make sense of the day. All because of one person he wasn't even sure actually existed.
His phone buzzed, a new detail of the fight he was having the next day. The guy looked like he'd chugged a litre of protein shake before six every morning and said yes to whatever haircut his barber suggested.
It paid enough to cover rent, so Ryan wasn't about to complain. He replied with a quick Sure, shoved the phone into his pocket, and turned the music up until it drowned out his own thoughts.
By the time he climbed the stairs to his floor, his shoulders were heavy and his jaw still ached. The cracked tiles echoed under his boots. When he reached his door, he stopped dead.
Someone was curled up against it. Head buried in his bag, arms wrapped around himself like he was trying to disappear. Even from a distance, Ryan could see the shaking.
“Naim?” he muttered.
The figure stirred. Slowly, Naim lifted his head. His face was deathly pale, dark circles carved deep under bloodshot eyes.
Ryan’s first instinct was irritation. “The hell are you doing back here?”
Naim pushed himself up using the doorframe, but his legs buckled almost immediately. Ryan caught him on reflex, gripping his arm roughly before he could hit the floor
Naim's hands clutched fistfuls of Ryan's jacket, shaking so violently Ryan could feel it through the fabric.
"I..." Naim swallowed. "I'm sorry I left earlier this morning without saying anything. I was already late and I didn't want to disturb your sleep, b-but I still don't know how to deal with them but by being with you—”
Ryan barely heard the rest.
His eyes were fixed on Naim's face.
"Your nose," Ryan cut him off. "It's bleeding."
The concrete floor of the warehouse had been stained with enough blood to turn brown.
Blood had never bothered him.
But now the metallic smell flooded his nose—far stronger than it had any right to be.
Naim lifted a trembling hand to his face, only then noticing the blood. His expression tightened.
"It followed me," he whispered.
Ryan frowned. "What?"
Naim wasn't looking at him. His eyes were fixed on something over Ryan's shoulder.
"They don't like it when I'm with you," he said, voice shaking as he looked back up at Ryan through glassy eyes.
"Who?!" Ryan snapped, turning around.
Nothing.
Just the mould-stained white wall of the corridor.
Ryan stared for another second before looking back at Naim. The skin beneath his snake ring started to itch.
Then the lamp above them buzzed. Once, twice. It flickered violently, filling the hallway with a harsh electrical whine as though the bulb was about to burst.
Ryan flinched. Without realizing it, his hand tightened around Naim's frame.
"Naim..." His voice came out rougher than he intended. "What the actual fuck is happening?"
Naim opened his mouth.
But before any words came out, his knees buckled. His whole weight collapsed forward into Ryan's chest.
“Shit— Naim!”
No response. Naim had passed out.
Blood from his nose had smeared across the front of both their jackets.
"Fuck," Ryan muttered.
Hooking an arm around Naim's waist, Ryan fumbled for his keys and half-carried him and his bag inside the flat.
He kicked the door shut behind them with force. The loud bang echoed down the hallway.
Before the lock clicked, Ryan glanced back through the narrowing gap.
For a split second, he thought he saw something — a dark shape crouched on the stair railing, watching. The light flickered again.
When his eyes refocused, the hallway was empty.