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Ruze doesn’t know if he’s got the world’s best roommate or the worst ever.
Not that Shinri’s a bad guy by any means, god no . Dude’s fucking chill as all hell, keeps up with dishes, and he’s one of the only people he knows who will actively info-dump back at him at who-the-fuck-cares o’clock. ‘Course, the only drawback to that last one is that most of those info-dumps are about the most morbid, spooky, true crime shit he’s ever heard.
Nah, the real kicker is the fact that Shinri is probably one of the saddest sacks of shit he’s ever met, and he means that in a “Christ, we gotta fix this, or it’s gonna start bumming me out” sorta way.
They started this whole rooming together thing ‘round the tail-end of fall. He’d just moved, needed some place to crash, and Tavi told him a friend of a friend of his was looking for someone to split rent. They meet for lunch, do a lil’ get to know each other, and figure hey, if it sucks, the lease’s only on a seven-month basis anyway.
So things go well, right? Wrong. Because, as previously stated, Shinri is a sad, repressed little-but-not-really man who either needs a blunt or a medically-induced coma’s worth of sleep, and he’s not sure what would help the guy more at this point.
And no , it’s not because he cares about the bastard. He doesn’t. He hates everyone equally and will proudly state that as many times as it takes until people get it through their heads.
Doesn’t stop his friends from teasing him about the whole thing over lunch, though.
“Aw, how cute~! Widdle Wuzy’s cold dead heart is finally beating after all this time.” Jurard coos with a wild bark of a laugh at the end, loud enough to get some heads turning towards their table for a second.
“I’m not cute, and I don’t have a heart.” Ruze says firmly after swallowing a mouthful of his sandwich, pointing the other half accusingly at his so-called pal across the table. “Also, if you call me Wuzy one more time, I’m going to surgically invert your ribcage and make you breathe backwards.”
Beside him, he watches as Octavio raises an eyebrow in curiosity. “Huh? How in the heck would you even do that?”
“Dunno,” he shrugs.” but I’ll be more than happy to contribute my findings to some medical journals afterwards.”
“Hey, what the hell, man?!” Jurard balks with a strangled, shrill noise like a tea kettle. “I’m out here, saying it’s sweet to see you so nice for once, and you’re here threatening me with upside down ribs?!”
“‘Cause I’m not nice, you piece of shit. If I actually cared about the guy, I’d be, I dunno, making up lunchboxes for him with lil’ sticky notes and cutting the crusts off his sandwiches, or some shit.” Ruze slaps his food back down onto his plate. “I’m just tired of getting jumpscared by him in the living room. You ever wake up to the sound of a documentary on death cults at three in the fucking morning? ‘Cause that’s been my life for the past week now.”
“Just tell him to watch that shit in his room or something.” Jurard scoffs around a bite or two of his pizza. “What’s the deal, man? It’s not like you to have problems telling people to fuck off when you want them to fuck off.”
“I’m not trying to tell the guy to fuck off or make him feel bad for using the space we both pay for, you chucklefucks. Especially since we’re still only, what, three months into the lease?” Ruze sighs and runs a hand down his face. “Not trying to rock the boat before we get outta port, know what I mean?”
“Well, maybe that’s the problem then! You guys just need a better ship!”
He pinches his brow. “It’s a fucking metaphor, you donkey-shit—”
“Wait, actually, I think Jurard’s got a point, for once,” Octavio hums.
“See, ‘Tavio gets me— Hey, what do you mean ‘for once’ ?!”
He ignores Jurard’s whining promptly, “Like, you know, maybe it’s time for this ship to see new harbors!”
“‘Kay, so, you’ve officially lost me. And the metaphor, for that matter.” Ruze shakes his head. “Just speak normal.”
Octavio sighs and sets down his drink. “I’m saying you guys should get out of the apartment for a bit! You know, go out, do something other than working from home and stuff all the time. Maybe staying cooped up all winter has been getting to him.”
Ruze mulls it over as he chews on more of his sandwich. “Yeah? And what exactly do you suggest? We ‘re not exactly the bestest of buds. Barely know the guy aside from the fact he likes creepy horror stuff and works as some online webinar dude.”
“I think you have more in common than you think,” Octavio says with a sing-song lilt as he goes back to his food. “It doesn’t have to be anything big, you know? Just a simple guys night out, maybe get some drinks, or maybe… Oh, you could do some karaoke, eh~?”
“Alright, this is starting to sound more like you’re trying to help me set up a date with the guy the longer we talk about this.” Ruze laments as he balls up his sandwich paper and takes up his tray to the trash. Jurard tries to toss his wad of used napkins onto his tray, and laughs when it rebounds off his shirt in the process.
“Hey, doesn’t sound like such a bad deal either way. You guys could blow off some steam or maybe just blow off—”
He decides to not let the bastard finish that sentence and dumps all the trash from his tray onto Jurard’s lap before he leaves: grease-stained napkins, leftover icy soda, and all.
Truth be told though, he doesn't entirely hate the idea of hanging out with Shinri, or getting out of the apartment more for that matter. And he's heard how lively his roommate can get when he's on call with his friends, so he knows the guy at least can have fun.
It's just that he's also seen how depressed Shinri gets when he drinks, and he really doesn't want to have to deal with another talk about how small humans are compared to the universe over shots of something that's probably meant to strip paint.
But hey, at the end of the day, Shinri seems more than down for karaoke and drinks when he asks later that day, especially when the invitation later gets extended to Bettel and Hakka. The more, the merrier and all that jazz, right?
Fucking wrong again. Because, yeah, the first couple songs and drinks go well. Everyone's having a blast when a metal song gets queued up and Hakka’s screaming his lil’ heart out, and Bettel is making everyone laugh with all the silly voices he pulls out for a theatrical number. Add some booze into the mix, and suddenly they're all coming together to sing “YMCA” off-tune and off-rhythm.
But whenever they try to pass the mic over to Shinri for a solo song, he just laughs, shakes his head and says “Next one, next one,” and then never actually takes the next. He just sits in the back, nursing his beer in his little corner booth seat, just… watching.
It's not even like Shinri looks sad or thinks the world hates him all. But it's more like he acts as if he's not allowed to let loose or something. Like he's not allowed to shout and be loud like Hakka or crack a joke like Bettel. Like he has to be the mature one of the group, cautioning the others to drink water and offering to go get more snacks when they run out.
Shinri says “Next time” and yet his fingers itch towards the mic all the same. Says, “I'm good”, but the smile he gives never reaches his eyes quite right. It's like watching someone purposely leash themselves and saying they're fine with the little patch of dirt they've got, but then hearing the way the lead strains when they try to move forward even just an inch.
So the next time Shinri offers to get some waters for everyone, Ruze tags along and corners him a little ways outside their karaoke room.
“You know, I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to hide from everyone.” He warns. “What, this not your scene?”
“Ah, no, no! I'm having a blast. Really.” Again, there's that smile. On anyone else, it'd look sweet, but on Shinri, it's more like a platitude. “I'm actually really glad you suggested we go out like this. Been awhile since I ‘touched grass’ as Hakka says.”
Ruze tries not to cringe at the half-chuckle Shinri uses to punctuate his words. He's heard what a real laugh from him sounds like, and that tiny little thing was nothing compared to the full on belly-laugh he's heard rattle the walls every once in a blue moon. “Yeah, well, you don't exactly look like you're having fun. I've seen more lively looking gargoyles in a cemetery.”
Again, Shinri’s smile doesn't reach his eyes as he screws off the water bottle cap and takes a swing. “That bad, huh?”
“S’not great, I’ll be real with ya.” Ruze jerks his thumb back towards the karaoke room. “Is it the whole singing in front of people thing?”
“Nah.” A pause. “Well… sorta. I know I'm not the best singer, but also, it's just karaoke with friends. It's just for fun.”
Ruze scoffs. “Sounds like you're almost trying to convince yourself there, buddy..”
“Ah.” Shinri caps the water bottle. “...Sorry. Didn’t mean it that way.”
Great. An apology where one isn't needed from a guy who has nothing to be sorry over. Ruze has to ball his fist to keep from punching either the man in front of him or the wall beside him.
Good news at least is that, if Shinri notices his internal struggle, he doesn’t mention it as he gestures to the air while he speaks. “I’ve never really… been good at. You know. The whole ‘being outwardly excited’. Just wasn’t something I grew up doing.”
“I mean, that’s fine, man.” Ruze shrugs. “No one’s forcing you to be all loud and shit.”
Still, Shinri sighs too damn heavily for his liking. “No, but… I dunno. I see them having a blast being loud and… I guess, sometimes I think I’m too old to keep up with them.” He brushes back a few strands of his bangs. “Or anyone, for that matter.”
“Hey, hey, whoa, who said you gotta keep up? You think I can fucking keep pace with those two? Hell nah!” Honestly, it was a big ask to make anyone try and match Bettel and Hakka when they’re wound up. Only ones he figures could do that would be Jurard, or that spitfire of a mechanic Flayon. “If you believe anyone in that room cares even remotely about how fucking old you are, you’re a goddamn idiot. Hakka thinks the world of you, Bettel thinks you’re a goddamn delight, and I’m legally obligated as your roommate to inform you that I somewhat-to-moderately tolerate the ever living hell out of you.”
With a forceful grunt, Ruze stands from leaning against the wall and jabs his index finger at this sad sap’s stupidly chiseled pecs. “So quit moping, let your fucking hair down, and just live a little instead of staying cooped up in that big ol’ head of yours, my guy.”
He doesn’t wait for Shinri to respond; instead, he does an about-face and heads back to the karaoke room, where he parks his ass in the booth seat near the projector and watches as a partially sober Hakka tries to sing “Toxic”.
Next to him, Bettel gives him a quick side eye, and nudges his shoulder. “Everything okay with you two? Y’all were gone for a while.”
“What, can’t a pair of guys go piss at their own leisure? God.” He cackles at the exacerbated look that gets him, then spreads his arms out across the top of the booth seat as he reclines back. “Shinri’ll be here in a bit, quit worrying.”
Sure enough, just as Hakka stumbles over the last line (and his own two feet as he tries to sit back down), the man in question re-enters with a wave and hands everyone a bottle of water. “Sorry, sorry, I’m here.”
“Bout time, man.” Ruze nods.
“Shinwi~! Heey, just finished!” Hakka looks at the clock and hums. “Think we got time for another song or two, if you wanna get up there. ‘Cause if not, I mean, me and Bettel can—”
“Actually…” Shinri interjects, a wry grin curling onto his face, his eyes darting to meet Ruze’s for just a moment. “I’m down to sing one solo.”
Bettel and Hakka break into grins of their own as Hakka passes the mic and Bettel passes the tablet for queuing music. And in just a few short seconds, Shinri is on stage, mic in hand, and a piano intro starts blaring from the speakers around them.
Now, Ruze isn’t exactly a music guy like Hakka. He’s been told he doesn’t know pitches all his life, that he’s tone-deaf or whatever, and doesn’t follow bands or musicians — he just knows if he likes a song or not. So no, he doesn’t immediately recognize Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” when the name pops up on the projector screen. Nor does he understand the cheers and “Ooooohs~” that come from the other two when they see the title.
But does he suddenly get chills when Shinri starts singing? Does a big old smile crack across his face when he sees the guy bobbing and moving along to the sudden shift into disco? Does he even forget where he is for a second as his roommate’s smile finally, finally reaches his eyes for what feels like the first time that night?
No, no, and no, because he’s not a goddamn softie like that. And fuck anyone for implying that he did. There’s no proof. He shivers because he forgot his coat, and he smiles because… he thought Shinri had something in his teeth. And it looked silly.
(He doesn’t, actually, now that he looks further. Not that he’s staring at the guy’s mouth. That’d be weird. He’s not weird, you are.)
…He will, though, admit to a light bit of staring during the breakdown (is it the breakdown? The bridge? He doesn’t know what to call it), when Shinri reaches up behind his head and tugs his dark hair loose from his ponytail, shaking it free like a wild mane and going right back to dancing along to upbeat disco.
Hakka whistles, Bettel cheers, and Ruze feels his mouth suddenly go dry as his stupid little brain tries to process what he’s seeing.
But it turns out, his brain works on dial-up speeds. Because he’s still reeling by the time he and Shinri part ways with Bettel and Hakka and head on back to their apartment. Still feels like the wind got knocked outta him as he lies flat on his back on his bed, gazing upwards as if the cheap popcorn ceiling will give him any form of clarity or answers. Still feels that his heart is pounding and his face is warm to the touch long after he stopped drinking for the night.
No matter where he looks, or how he closes his eyes, the image of Shinri smiling brightly in his direction refuses to leave his mind.
“Oh no.” He whispers in dawning horror. “Oh fuck, no. ”
He decides at that moment that, without a doubt, Shinri is definitely the worst roommate ever. Sad as shit, scares the crap out of him with all his occult knowledge, and has the audacity to be one of the prettiest sons of bitches he’s ever seen in his life.
Ruze runs his hands down his face and groans.
He’s so unbelievably, irreversibly, and undeniably fucked.