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“Look, come look.” Corpse says, tugging at Sykkuno’s sleeve with energy that Sykkuno had never seen from him before.
The two are in the kitchen. Sykkuno, clutching a bowl of cereal that’s gone soggy, and Corpse, standing over him. He’s maskless, a sight Sykkuno can never really get used to.
Corpse looks at him with eager eyes, dark and soft. Sykkuno knows he won’t take no for an answer.
It’s Corpse’s third day of being Sykkuno’s flatmate, and he has spent all three of them working tirelessly. Sykkuno’s nights have been somewhat restless. Sudden thuds and things clattering to the floor whenever something slipped through Corpse fingers filled Sykkuno’s resting hours with surprises. Soft music could be heard through their shared wall, and Sykkuno made note to ask Corpse for his playlists later.
He had announced he was going to take a break from streaming while Corpse moved in, of course omitting the second part of that for the sake of their personal lives. It made up for those lost hours of sleep.
He drops his bowl in the sink, cereal and all, and follows him into his room.
Sykkuno can’t help but gasp as Corpse shelves the last of his decor, kicking a box out of the way as he steps further into the room. The gasp is appropriate now that the once empty room has been dramatically transformed. It feels like a portal to somewhere else, filled with vagueness and wonder.
Corpse’s room feels dark. Even with the lights on, there is an ever-present shadow cast over everything in the room. Perhaps it’s the posters that cover up the white painted walls, or the large dark dresser, chipped at the corners, that sits towards the back of the room.
There’s already a sort of messiness that isn’t necessarily dirty or caused by negligence, but simply a reflection of Corpse’s very being. A disorganized room for a disorganized person. Nothing about it is scary or intimidating. It’s simply very Corpse , very familiar, if one could even put it that way.
“What do you think?” he asks Sykkuno.
Corpse is going to be living with him , the reality finally sinks in.
Sykkuno understands what it means to have Corpse move in with him. The amount of trust Corpse had to put in him in order to bless him with a face reveal and an in-person meeting was more than he’d ever given anyone.
It wasn’t going to be easy, Sykkuno knew this right away. They are two different people, with two different ways of thinking, behaving, and living. But they promised themselves and each other to do their best. And Sykkuno isn’t one to break his promises.
He realizes that Corpse is still looking at him, waiting for a response. He doesn’t know where to even start.
Sykkuno has always been an emotional person, eyes stinging the moment any emotion grew too much to handle. This time it’s something along the lines of bliss, perhaps a hint of giddy excitement at the fact that he’s finally getting what he’s been longing for through these few months he’d been friends with Corpse.
Is that selfish of him? Maybe a little.
So, to hide the unavoidable red that was going to bloom onto his face, he wraps his arms around Corpse, pulling him into a strong strong hug, hoping to convey his emotions.
It takes Corpse by surprise, but he returns the touch, managing to hug him even tighter and squeezing the air out of Sykkuno’s lungs. He closes his eyes, resting his head on Corpse’s shoulder, cherishing the few seconds he has in his arms, and Corpse rocks the two of them gently before pulling back.
“It’s perfect.” Sykkuno feels that the red in his face had cooled, perhaps even passed onto Corpse, whose cheeks are always softly blushed around him.
Corpse smiles at him, and he smiles back.
Waddle Waddle.
If Sykkuno had one sound to represent him it would be that.
He’s an awkward person in quite a few ways. In public, it’s not uncommon that he feels out of place, forgetting how to move or walk whenever he thinks he feels someone's eyes on him. His arms suddenly feel too long, his legs too heavy, and his hips too stiff. He stumbles as he walks, fingers trembling until he has to shove them into his pockets where the warmth causes his palms to moisten uncomfortably.
In the comfort of his home, he can move around the way he wants. His limbs feel just right. They feel like his own, and the floor doesn’t seem to escape under him as it does outside. Having Corpse around doesn’t change anything, his gaze is never judgemental.
If he could, he would waddle his way everywhere, just as he is now.
It’s a cold morning, the air conditioner is blasted too high, and it’s too early to be awake for any reason other than needing to pee. The bathroom light is blinding, and Sykkuno almost knocks out while rinsing his soapy hands under warm water.
He walks back with his arms tucked into his shirt, shifting his weight from one foot to another as he goes through the hallway. The rhythmic creaks of the floor under him are far from music, but soothe him regardless.
He pauses before a slightly opened door. It’s dark, but the glow of a computer makes it easy to see inside. It’s uncommon for Corpse’s door to be open like this, but it feels like an invitation.
Toast’s door would still be right by Sykkuno’s if they still lived together. And it would be so easy to stop by for a hello. Some of these ‘hellos’ would turn into naps on Toast’s bed or unannounced sleepovers together.
Toast would welcome him in, except for the times he didn’t.
He would always hear him coming before Sykkuno could even open his mouth to say anything. At first, Sykkuno thought that Toast had some magic Sykkuno-sensing abilities, but maybe he was just being really, really loud about it.
“Sy.” Corpse says from inside, in an almost accusing tone.
He isn’t the sneakiest person out there, is he?
“Hi, Corpse.” He says through the door. He’s been caught. Sykkuno slips one of his arms back through the t-shirt’s hole and places his fingers on the brass doorknob.
If Toast were busy, Sykkuno would wait there until he was called in for a quick visit, a brief hello, a quick hug.
Toast always held a soft spot for Sykkuno, letting him get away with things that no one else could. Sykkuno was his favorite, and sometimes words weren’t needed for them to express that.
Standing by the door wouldn’t be the best way to ask Corpse for permission, though.
“Can I come in?” he asks.
Sykkuno doesn’t remember when he got so bold. Corpse’s room always held an invisible do not enter sign at the door. A place reserved for Corpse and Corpse only. Because he deserved his own space, needed his own space.
“Sure,” he says.
Corpse has been opening up a lot lately.
Sykkuno enters, discreetly taking a look around the room that he doesn’t get to see often.
“It’s too early for you to be up.” Corpse doesn’t look up from his computer screen, “Not tired?”
Sykkuno would ask the same if he wasn’t so used to Corpse’s terrible sleeping schedule.
“Tired.” Sykkuno slips his second arm through the shirt. He yawns, stretching them both into the air, feeling his shirt rise up with them. He could’ve easily gone back to bed, past Corpse’s door altogether.
But he’s been sleeping way too much these days. The days have started to blend into each other, starting to feel less like living and more like waiting for the next chance to tuck himself under his blankets.
“I got bored, I guess.” he rubs his eyes.
“And I’m interesting?” Corpse smiles, amused at his flatmate’s sleepiness.
Sykkuno nods his head, fatigued brain spilling all of his inner thoughts.
Corpse is cool. Super cool in Sykkuno’s book. He’s always working on something, thinking about something, and Sykkuno feels compelled to figure out what’s going to come next because by the time he figures out what Corpse is currently up to, he’s too late.
“You can hang out here if you want. I’m just watching videos.” Corpse points to his bed, the only other place for Sykkuno to sit. He follows the direction of Corpse’s index finger and rolls onto Corpse’s bed. It’s a bit hard for Sykkuno’s liking, but he can deal with it.
He swears he hears Corpse chuckle. He ignores it, and centers himself on Corpse’s bed.
After a few minutes of staring into the ceiling of Corpse’s bedroom and shifting in and out of attention to the video essay Corpse is playing, Sykkuno gets bored again.
A few minutes longer, and the YouTube page isn’t playing anything. Corpse is on his phone, having forgotten about the person on his bed.
Sykkuno stands to leave. Blood rushes to his legs, dizzying him.
Within the fog, however, he remembers what he came here for.
“Hug?” he opens his arms out to Corpse.
It can’t be that hard to understand, right? He’s a bit touch starved, a bit chilly, and looking exhausted enough that this could be passed off as a Silly Sykkuno Moment.
“Come here.” is the immediate response.
Corpse doesn’t stand, instead spinning in his chair to face Sykkuno. He extends his arms out too, making a little grabby hand motion that Sykkuno would giggle at if he weren’t so out of it.
He hums as he wraps his arms around Corpse, pleased.
It’d be so easy to lean in further. So easy to collapse entirely onto Corpse, or hoist himself directly onto his lap and fall asleep right there, risking their both lives by putting their combined weight onto the chair.
In fact, he could fall asleep this instant, body hunched awkwardly, with his chin resting on Corpse’s shoulder. His body heat is more than enough.
His head lolls to the side, and Corpse catches him, pressing a hand to the side of his head. He laughs, breath tickling Sykkuno’s ear.
“You should go to bed.”
“I don’t wanna.” Sykkuno groans, arms locking around Corpse in protest.
Corpse lets his arms drop lower and pushes lightly at Sykkuno’s hips.
“Go,” he commands playfully.
Sykkuno doesn’t listen, his feet planted firmly on the ground.
“Two more minutes.” He speaks out loud without knowing, like a sleepy child being forced out of bed on a freezing Monday morning.
He must’ve blacked out right then and there, because the next time his eyes open up, he’s on an unfamiliar bed once again, in a rather dark room.
Corpse is gone too, and Sykkuno feels the warmth of a blanket over his body. But it’s not his own. The fabric rubs against his legs and it comforts him.
He presses a handful of blanket against his face and breathes in.
It smells like Corpse, who always smells of something sweet. Fitting.
His laugh is one thing. Cute. Adorable, even. A song written just for him. But it’s Corpse’s voice that does it for Sykkuno. Like a bee to honey, it draws Sykkuno in further and further. “Just a taste,” he tells himself, but before he knows it, he’s fallen into the jar itself.
He rolls over, but the scent follows. Corpse surrounds him.
He stands, wrapping the blanket around his body as he stands, exiting Corpse’s room without a second thought. The corners of his cape drag lightly against the ground, and he shrugs it up higher.
One door over, his room, his bed.
He knows he’s going to have to return the blanket soon. He knows that hunger will force him to the kitchen because he hasn’t eaten all day. Corpse would be waiting for him most likely.
He crawls into his bed with half-lidded eyes and falls face first into sheets that smell like nothing.
He’s grateful for Corpse. Both him and his sweetness.
Sykkuno developed certain habits after living alone for some time and unlearning them is an ongoing struggle. Being alone was the first thing Sykkuno had grown used to after moving.
Even when Corpse is out of sight, he’s there. When Corpse is out of the apartment on rare occasions, he is still there. Sometimes it’s a dish in the sink, a pair of slippers by the door, or a sweater left on the couch. The place feels lively with his addition.
Sometimes it’s more than lively. One day, on the liveliest of days, Corpse manages to scare the absolute shit out of him.
It’s four in the afternoon, and Sykkuno has finally gotten the energy to roll out of bed. It’s a Sunday, in his defense, and streaming isn’t on the agenda. So with the energy of a shriveled camel, as he’d put it, Sykkuno trudges to the kitchen, eyes tired and heavy.
All the lights are off in the apartment, and it takes Sykkuno a solid fifty seconds to realize he made it all the way to his kitchen in almost complete darkness. The blinds are down too, he realizes.
And as if it were straight out of a horror movie, a dark figure sits slumped in one of his stools, either napping or completely dead at the kitchen island.
Now, Sykkuno doesn’t exactly scream, but the noise that escapes his throat is akin to one of a strangled cat, and it jerks Corpse awake with an odd noise of his own.
His brain registers the dark figure as his flatmate. Corpse underscore Husband lives with him and likes to sleep in odd places . How could he forget?
“Sorry,” Sykkuno stumbles to the cupboards, and fills a glass with cold water. “You scared me.” he finishes with a chuckle.
But Corpse stays laying there with his head down.
The thought of Corpse actually being completely dead at his kitchen island flashes through Sykkuno’s mind for only a second, but it shakes him.
“Corpse?” he steps closer to the man, not daring to reach his hand out, “Is everything alright?”
He gets a weak response. He’s satisfied with it.
“Mm… hurts.” is what Corpse says.
He knows there are just some things he has no control over. There are certain things Corpse can’t do anything about when it comes to his illnesses, and Sykkuno has to watch as it passes.
He asks anyways.
“How can I help?”
No response. He wasn’t expecting one.
“I have nothing planned for today.” he tries again. “We can sit around together”
Corpse, being one to struggle with his self image, is someone Sykkuno can resonate with on an extremely personal level. Sykkuno assumes that, sometimes, Corpse might need that reassurance. Maybe Corpse also needs to know that the people around him still like him, and have never seen him as a burden. Sykkuno is plagued by similar thoughts. They keep him awake and ruin any trace of a sleeping schedule he might have.
“How’s that sound, Corpsey?” he adds for extra measure.
Sykkuno hears a huff of air escape Corpse’s nose. A sign he’s probably smiling. It’s a good sign.
He steps closer this time. Sykkuno wraps his arms around Corpse’s torso, pulling him close from behind. Corpse’s head doesn't leave the counter, but he reaches for Sykkuno’s hands, tugging them into his sweater pockets.
“Are you comfy?” Sykkuno speaks into his shoulder. The answer should be no, considering the height difference between Corpse’s shoulders and the level of the counter as well as whatever is hurting him at the current moment. But Corpse nods his head ‘yes’.
“Take a nap with me.” Corpse taps the counter gently with a hand that’s been slipped out of his pocket.
An odd request. But things between them have been fairly odd these past few weeks.
Barely three months since Corpse has moved in and they’ve already seen each other in their most vulnerable states. The brink of exhaustion is a usual one, because neither of the two are ever getting enough sleep. Hurting, less common, but bad days are bad days. Crying, in whichever form they appear in, be it tears of laughter, the pain of stubbing a toe, or genuine sadness.
By comparison, Sykkuno sitting himself down in a stool is nowhere near as strange. He scoots himself closer to Corpse.
He puts his head down, mirroring Corpse’s position and ignoring the awkward curve of his spine. It’s worth it because he catches a glimpse of Corpse’s smiling eyes peeking over his arm, looking just as tired as him, before they close again.
Sykkuno takes a deep breath, and shuts his own eyes.
Twenty years ago, Sykkuno was afraid of thunder.
His eight year old imagination cursed him with terrifying images. Like any other kid, he found monsters in the shadows cast by hanging coats. The branch clawing his window was one of a witch, and the thunder that came after the bright flash of lightning was from a roaring beast.
If a particularly close lightning strike happened to hit, he was quick to his feet, running through the hall with socked feet that slid across the floors dangerously,
Between both of his parents he felt protected. Cocooned.
He grew older, there was no longer room for him in their bed.
Twenty years later, into the present, and with his imagination a bit subdued, he is still very much afraid of thunder.
Sykkuno: hi are you awake
Sykkuno squints at his phone screen, half an hour past 4am. He’s suffocating under a thick comforter that does nothing to muffle the pouring rain outside.
An immediate reply comes in.
Corpse: yes
Sykkuno: thunder is keeping me up
Corpse: how annoying
Texts messages with Corpse have never been drier. Everything they talk about is in person these days. Their text messages are reserved for forgotten keys, reminders for Sykkuno to buy lightbulbs because they’re all out and the bathroom is pitch black, and occasional :)’s and :(‘s.
Sykkuno: you like thunder right? rain too
Corpse: soothing.
Sykkuno: i dont like it when my socks get wet.
makes my shoe do squishy noises
Corpse: squishy
He pauses, growing frustrated with himself at this point. He’s never been good at this stuff.
Sykkuno: thunder scares me
Corpse: is that why you cant sleep?
Sykkuno: yeah kinda
Corpse takes longer to respond this time. Sykkuno hopes he gets the hint so we won’t be forced to type it out himself.
Thunder crackles, Sykkuno curls further into himself.
Corpse: you can come to my room if you want to
Sykkuno: really?
Corpse: yes
Sykkuno doesn’t remember how they got to this point.
Sharing company, sharing spaces, sharing a bed.
Corpse is probably feeling the same way. At least, that’s what Sykkuno hopes. He’s been awfully concerned about the way Corpse looks at him lately, how he feels about him lately.
He calls it a stupid crush, because that’s what he wants it to be. But Sykkuno’s noticed the blushing, the stammering, all of it. He substitutes Corpse with his other friends in his mind, and he realizes he’d never act the same way he acts with Corpse, with them. He’s gone through all of the possibilities, all of the explanations for his feelings but they all lead to the same answer.
He sees Corpse pull out his phone, both of them squint at the brightness.
He sees him open Twitter and hit the little feather button.
“<3” he types out.
In an instant, it’s sent out to the internet, and a simple refresh shows the interactions on the post go higher and higher.
“Is that about me?” Sykkuno doesn’t even try to mask his thoughts.
Lines have been crossed already, stepped over, stomped on. They both knew exactly what they were doing, working hard to kick up the sand where the symbolic line was traced out with a stick.
Sykkuno was finishing up the job.
“I thought you’d be asleep by now.” Corpse’s voice shows a hint of panic. Sykkuno feels him go stiff.
“Is it?” Sykkuno asks firmly.
Corpse turns his phone off and sets it aside with a sigh. He lays flat on his back, not daring to look at the man beside him.
“Yeah,” he says.
Sykkuno wraps himself tighter around Corpse, clinging to his left side. Corpse lets himself be pulled in.
Nothing would really change between them. The two have always been affectionate with each other. Maybe they’d hug more, hold hands more. They’d share a kiss, or two, or three.
It’s too late, they’re too tired to linger on this moment together.
Thunder booms outside, the storm is getting closer.
How soothing.