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We were the only two still awake in this godforsaken house. I was sitting on my bed binge-watching anime just to feel something, anything to make me feel like less of a husk. And Ancom was just stumbling around in the kitchen, probably high out of their mind like a degenerate faggot. The banging of cutlery. The kitchen cabinet slamming shut. Something smashing. I put my head into my hands, just another Thursday night.
Something in me, some weird pull like a magnet makes me stand up and before I know I'm in the kitchen. The pulls of autopilot and the desperate need for human interaction that a husk needs.
The kitchen is a mess, broken ceramic on the floor and with Ancom hunched over it sweeping it up. They hadn't noticed me.
"Hey fag"
I get nothing in response and something about that irks me and gets under my skin. Irks me that this subhuman faggot is ignoring me.
"Hey, faggot!"
Their head whips around me, the earbuds in their ears jerking as the cable goes taut.
"What do you want fascist scum"
"I don't know,” I say, my weight shifting from foot to foot. I'm empty. I really don't know.
"Did you come here just to fucking torment me?" the pansy snipes back at me. But it doesn't hurt. I just feel void.
"I just needed to talk. I don't know."
I hear an emotionless "Ok" as they turn their head to keep sweeping up the rest of the shards onto an old newspaper.
"I'm about to go out. You can go with me as long as you don't do anything dumb"
"Sure. Alright." I respond, just as emotionless.
"Be ready in 20 minutes"
I'm ready in 15, my hair combed and with clean clothes on. Ancom still isn't ready, fluffing around in their room so I just wait in front of the door with my shoes on. I have no idea where the fuck we’re going but at this time of the night, I can only guess.
And after a while, they come out dressed in a very long hoodie, fishnets and massive platform boots and together we head out. In the dark, deadly silent apart from our footsteps and traffic, we make our way to the train station.
The train ride is genuinely enjoyable. Ancom drums on the plastic of the seat before us while I watch the city crawl by lit up by the lights in people's houses and cars. And it's just us, the whole carriage completely empty, It's beautiful and surreal at the same time.
We eventually step off in the city. I don't know where we're going or what we're going to do but I doubt they do either. For a second, I just mill around on the platform.
"Hey fruit do you know where the fuck we're going"
"Shut up" and they grab my hand and we're off.
Together we walk through the streets of the inner city, cars rushing by and then through a park. And the whole time they're holding my hand. It's an alien feeling. Not just because it's not a woman holding my hand but just simply because it's happening at all. Someone's warm hand in mine. And they've also opened up a bit more, their earbuds out and rambling about something. I catch words like gardens and CHAZ. it’s probably some degenerate but I’m just glad that someone is talking to me and spending time with me.
"Hey wanna bum a fag in the park?"
I flinch, their question hitting me like a truck. And I think the shock is visible on my face when Ancom goes to clarify.
"I need to smoke you dumbass"
"Alright."
And together we find a spot under a particularly massive tree, its shadows completely cloaking us and obscuring us from view. I watch them pull out a cigarette and light it, the end glowing in the dark. I watch them take a few drags before I become slightly envious. Or perhaps nostalgic to the days of old where we all used to smoke since the doctors said it was good for you.
"Hey fag, can I have a go" and they just laugh.
I don't know what's so funny but they hand me the cigarette with a good-natured smile on their face. I take a drag myself, the disgusting smoke clogging up my throat but it feels good and then I had it back to them.
I watch them exhale smoke from their mouth before they gesture at me. A tilt of their head in my direction and their fingers with the cigarette extended towards me. I take it without hesitation.
It's gone in 5 minutes and then we head off, walking through streets, busy even though it's an ungodly hour.
"Want to go to a club or something. If not, I have some shit in my pockets. Like a probably enough crap for a blunt and a sheet of acid. I'm actually sober right now for once."
"Drugs are degenerate"
"Even alcohol?" they tease.
"No that is somehow socially acceptable."
"A club it is then."
Somehow we get in without an issue even with the contraband in Ancom's hoodie pocket. The bouncer was only checking bags and purses after all which was dumb as fuck. It's awful and claustrophobic but Ancom is right in their element, gliding through the crowds and cutting through the god awful music. They grab my hand and drag me to the bar, quickly ordering shots.
"It's the quickest way to get pissed"
And I just obediently down them. They burn, my whole mouth burning and my eyes watering. I feel like I'm going to cry. Absolutely fucking vile.
"What in Evola's name was that garbage. Holy shit. Not very based and redpilled."
"I said it's the quickest way."
They shrug. I down another shot.
I just stand there awkwardly, not even with a bottle in my hand so I just look like a loser. Nothing new. But Ancom is moving to the terrible pop music, their body twisting and their hips moving like Shakira who I only know about since she sold sonnenrad merchandise for one of her tours.
"Come on you fascist pig" they yell through the noise and grab my hands. They pull me into the crowd, dancing with me. Well, they dance I just stand there in front of them. They’re beaming with a massive alcohol-induced smile.
“You’re such a fucking incel. Actually, dance with me,” they yell but with no bite to their words.
And after a while I do, my own inhibitions lowering and I grab their hands and we dance together awfully but with full confidence.
They even let my hand around sit on their waist. Their pretty green eyes glinting with a shit-eating grin. Shitfaced and shit-eating. I’m surprised I’m touching someone and they’re fine with it but even more surprised it’s Ancom out of all people. Maybe they got into a fight with Tankie but I don’t think about it further. I just vibe and occasionally floss to the godawful music.
Later we’re sitting in a MacDonalds eating two-dollar soft serve ice creams which we paid with the loose change we scraped together.
And after we finish them, they lean over and their hand tucks under my face. My mind just blanks. They plant a kiss on my lips. Their breath tastes disgusting, it doesn’t last long but I desperately savour it.
“That was nice but you’re still a nazi, we’re not on good terms,” they say, which is followed by another drunken kiss. This one with far more passion.
We spend the rest of the night throwing up together.