Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Clothes folded trifold, waking up in the morning hazy-eyed, the soft folds of cotton enveloping his body, the smell of coffee coming from the next room. Lampert would go to sleep with a smile and wake up with a smile on his face, the adored and beautiful gap between his teeth being shown to the rest of the world as he'd risen from the bed.

This is how he'd spend his days, and it was the best thing in the whole world. The world that he lived in was small and confined and yet he had something to prove to it; look at me, sentient beings from the deepest, darkest pits of hell-dreams, and see me shining. Look at me, he'd think, slippers on his feet, a light resembling sunshine entering the room and curling on his shoulders, look at how happy I can be, look at me. And brushing his teeth, bruising his gums with bristles as it hurt a little, letting water run down his body and cooling off, he would still smile, Look at me, look at me.

Until recently, Lampert’s life consisted only of misfortunes and misunderstandings between those he loved and wanted to be around. Pushing and pulling people away was the thing that worked to stabilize his social life, as in the end, he’d be left alone.

Until recently, Lampert wouldn't get out of his stupid Rokea, staying satisfied with the most daring monotone patterns on the new furniture collection as his only source of entertainment. Until recently, he had no reason to be looked for or looked at, a bright light among the sea of beaming colors that were all made for the same reason and purpose.

“Morning,” he appeared on the doorstep of the kitchen of Kasper’s apartment, breathing in the faint smell of cooking. “I had such a funny dream this night.”

A young man stood near the stove and held the handle of a pan with a firm grip, afraid to make a wrong move. He didn't want to ruin breakfast.

“Oh hey!!” A bit startled, Kasper turned around for a brief moment to greet his friend. “What did you dream about?”

“Uh. Hm…” Lampert sat down at the small dining table and drew in a yawn. “It was about you, actually.”

“About me? No way, what?!” The young man quickly turned off the heat and reached into the cupboards to grab plates for both of them. Lampert could tell that the other man did not have anything to eat yet in anticipation of getting to eat breakfast together, and it made him smile.

“I dreamed... Okay, don't get any wrong ideas.” He suddenly noticed the way Kasper was looking at him, a half-grin half-smirk that surely meant something devious, and huffed. “It's nothing like that. I just, um… Had a dream that you became, like… A very bright pink color, like your skin just became this pink. And then you were trying to tell me something, and I couldn't understand you at all.”

“Pink?!” Kasper fell into his chair and passed a fork to Lampert, starting to cut into the breakfast he just made. It was a couple of fried eggs. “Dude, that’s so funny. What are you, getting tired of seeing pink all around my apartment or something? Sorry, I am not getting rid of anything pink just so that you wouldn't have weird dreams about it.”

Not in a million years, Lampert wanted to spill his thoughts out loud, I like just the way you are. “No, its fine, I don't even think that the pink was weird. It was more like… Creepy? In a way? Because you were in distress and I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to help you.”

Kasper pointedly remained silent, only chewing on the white of the egg he cut a couple of moments ago. Lampert didn't touch his food.

“Uh. Sorry. Sorry, just. Forget about it.” He suddenly felt embarrassed to his core. Why was he even dreaming about his best friend being in distress, and why in such a strange and inexplicable matter? It didn't make any sense.

“No, no, it's all good!” Kasper was quick to catch up with the continued conversation. “I think you're just worried about me and that's why you've dreamt this. But I can assure you, I'm perfectly fine.”

Another bite of the egg shoved down his throat, and Kasper put his hand on top of Lampert’s. The latter felt his face turn a tiny tint of red.

“Yeah, I don't know what that was all about, haha. Thank you for understanding.”

In the single touch of two of their hands, he felt as special as one of the most complex and beautiful instruments that could ever exist. Kasper made him feel seen and not judged. He was not looking for faults or errors within Lampert’s behavior, but was rather kind and caring, all of the time. It felt like a much-needed break during Lampert’s day-to-day social life.

“Anyway, I think I want to get into skating…”

Kasper continued talking, words dissipating into the simplest sound waves at Lampert’s ears who tuned out of the conversation as soon as the topic was changed. He couldn't help but think about the dream he had. It was the dread and worry engulfing his body in what felt like a closed, airless space. The darkness that swallowed his limbs and left him shaking. The look on Kasper’s face when he could tell Lampert wasn’t trying to help him. Red flames licking his skin until it would reach his bones over and over and over. Dying, and watching Kasper disappear from his field of vision, the last thing he saw as he was dying…

With a trembling hand and sweat trapping in his hair, Lampert picked up his fork, and cut through one of the eggs. The liquid yellow yolk spilled on the plate, surrounding the white.

Chapter Text

“No, sorry. Ain’t carryin’ anything like that. Maybe ask when summer’s here, haha.”

The Rokea visitor chuckled awkwardly and watched Lampert’s face sulk into a sour expression, then bid him farewell. Lampert felt himself heat up from the embarrassment of this interaction.

Unfortunately, this was one among many that he had to endure today. It felt strange, as Lampert suddenly found himself on the other side of the usual ritual that he performed as a retail worker with the average customer. He was usually the one to tell them off and look somewhere else for what they needed. He was the one to succumb to misery as he realized he had to help others after all, because it was a part of his job, and he was already in too much trouble with the management to mope around and waste paid hours.

His pockets were stuffed with various small antiseptics he was able to get a hold of. Though these were not as much of a use to him, Lampert still wanted to keep himself clean and prepared for the evening. Rokea was not the cleanest place, and he’d hate to pass any harmful germs on his best friend.

Kasper was sick. A couple of days ago, he started sneezing and coughing; two days later, he couldn’t get up from his bed. Every time Lampert tried to touch his forehead, his skin felt like it was burning. So, Kasper stayed at home most of the time now, while Lampert went out of his way to scavenge for any medicine he could find on the floors of the elevator. Strangely enough, some of Rokea's customers were able to supply him with a small amount of anti-cough medicine, anti-allergens (which weren’t the same, but worked nevertheless), cough drops, and so on.

Whatever world they were all collectively trapped in was an inconvenient and unconventional place made with the assumption that if none of them needed to eat or sleep for survival, they didn’t need to worry about being sick either. Sometimes, in small passing conversations, Lampert would hear from Wallter that he was afraid of getting sick, hence the scarf. Sometimes, he’d notice how some of the elevator inhabitants were not as good at hiding their illness, coughing too much in their fists or sneezing in their elbows. He always knew to keep his distance.

So why did Kasper get sick? Why him? Party Noob was not hosting as many parties recently, so Kasper couldn’t have gotten any virus from there. It just felt like one day he simply fell ill, and it was all downhill from there.

Lampert swallowed his saliva and drew a deep breath in. It was time to clock out. It was time to go back to Kasper’s and try yet another remedy and see if it worked. He hoped today would be better than before, and he knew deep down that it was all to no avail.

He locked the doors of the enormous building, lights shut off to guard whatever and whoever was roaming around the furniture store, and hummed the elevator tune as he waited for the right floor. He felt fine. He felt calm. The antiseptic on his hands burned at the bruised spaces of torn hangnails on his fingers. He felt fine and calm. And fine.

It concerned him that the door to Kasper’s apartment was not only unlocked but also half-open. His best friend sat on the red couch, a thick blanket wrapped around his body. Lampert felt a small tinge of relief to see him at the very least safe inside.

“Hey, I’m back,” Taking off his shoes in the doorway and closing the door, he walked inside and sat next to his best friend. He usually felt like wearing a mask around Kasper since the latter had gotten sick, but today, Lampert couldn’t bother. The medicine in the form of various pills and bottles of syrup and cough drops and cheap silicone thermometers sat on the glass coffee table in front of them, painting a strange cacophony of colors that made Lampert feel a certain type of sick as well.

Kasper weakly turned his head to greet the other man. His eyes were sinking deep into his skull, and Lampert felt his insides churn from seeing how pale Kasper appeared.

“Oh, hey… How was work?” Despite his current condition, the brunet was still inclined to know about his friend’s day, and it made Lampert feel a certain type of pity and sadness he didn’t know was possible.

“It was fine. How are you feeling?” Lampert slightly rose from his seat and pressed his lips on Kasper’s forehead to check his temperature.

“Hhmmh… The same. Maybe better. Maybe worse. I dunno…” His sentences trailed off into a half-groan half-whisper as he felt too tired and drained to continue them.

Lampert’s heart was pounding. Indeed, Kasper was still as hot as before, and his symptoms did not seem like they were getting better. Still the pale skin, still the coughs and the sniffles, still the lack of presence and awareness of the real world. Still the empty and pained expressions.

And fuck, Lampert felt so fucking sad. Lampert felt so, so sad. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen, at least not to Kasper. If anything, this illness should have come and taken Lampert’s health instead of his friend’s. He’d take sick leave and recover and be fine, and not suffer anymore. Not like this. Not like this.

With a shaky breath, he sighed out and reapplied the antiseptic. His hands felt clean, but his mind didn’t, and he wanted to rip his head off and let the scream of anguish trapped inside his useless and good-for-nothing body out into the world.

“...Can we watch a movie?”

Kasper’s weak voice drew his attention, and Lampert forced himself to smile as warmly as he could. His arms went to wrap around the brunet’s slightly shivering body.

“Well, yesterday we watched Casablanca and we didn’t finish it because you fell asleep.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t worry, it’s alright. I don’t blame you. I’ll just put it back on”

Lampert reached for the remote and put the movie back on TV, black and white and gray colors of noir film spreading across the screen.

He realized after some time how strangely easy he was drifting in and out of consciousness, falling asleep on the couch with Kasper and waking up slightly sweaty. Still wearing his work uniform.

As he woke up and came back to sleep, the movie spoke to him in torn pieces about love and death, romance and sacrifices, great deals and strange misfortunes. Something about the two of the characters not wanting to separate but knowing it was best. Something about going away so very far and distant and still having hope that they may come back to each other.

“Someday, you’ll understand that,” says the man with a soft and aching voice on the TV, and Lampert passes out for the last time.

Chapter Text

Days and weeks and weeks and days turned into a blur of unkempt time. Lampert tried to look at clocks and was only able to find circles with lines and numbers.

Every day became sort of the same white-beige-pink smear. He went to work, he went home, he listened to Kasper’s audible and loud illness, he wrapped him in blankets. He gave Kasper his pills, he told about his day in a monotone voice and a monochrome interest, and then, he slept. He woke up, and ran around until he didn't have to, again, again, and again, and again.

The cycle involuntarily interrupted when one evening he walked in Kasper’s apartment and found his friend standing on his two feet and making slight adjustments to the room decorum.

He raised his eyebrows. He felt how his stomach had begun twisting from worry and anxiety about something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

“...Hello?”

“0h, hey! How 4r3 y0u?”

Even Kasper's speech was somewhat off. Some of his vowels sounded untuned and misaligned with the rest of his sentences. Standing in front of Lampert, he was giving off a strange and uncanny feeling of being as close to the usual Kasper and completely different from him at the same time.

“I-I’m alright… Are you feeling better? You… managed to get up on your own?”

Kasper (or whoever he was, anyway) tilted his head.

“Y3ah, why d0 you 4sk?”

“You just… you felt so bad yesterday. Did you just randomly feel better overnight?”

Lampert truly couldn't believe it. Something definitely was going on behind the scenes, something out of his limited field of vision.

He remembered the long conversations he had with Mach, which sounded more like neverending pleas for help and prayers rather than dialogue. He remembered how cold and reluctant she was to answer his questions or give him any information about what was going on with his best friend. The crackles on the red of her Banhammer.

And the look she gave him when he mentioned the white berets in his nightmares about Kasper.

“I dunn0, but wh4t3v3r 1t is, 1ll t4ke it ov3r feel1ng so h0rr1ble!” With a quick motion of his arm, he attached another pink and black checkered poster to a piece of tape.

“...Okay. That's good.” Lampert was hesitant to step further, now feeling as if he wasn't welcome. The walls began to feel like they were closing in on him.

“By th3 way, y0u c4n t0tally ch1ll 1n her3, but I 4m h4v1ng 4 fri3nd 0ver s0on,” Dusting off his hands, Kasper said cheerily and turned towards the doorway Lampert was standing in.

A friend?

Who? Who else in this wretched, fucked up world was as close to him as Lampert was?

Who?

“H1s nam3 is Unpl34s4nt, and h3’s actu4lly 4 pr3tty chill dud3, d3spit3 the n4me. I m3t h1m 0nlin3 ‘n he agr33d t0 p4y for r3nt and stuff.”

Rent?

“Whoah, wait, so he's gonna live with you now?” In an attempt to calm his beating heart down, he breathed in deep and clenched at his sweater.

“Y3ah, I m3an, I f3lt sup3r lon3ly. I l1v3 al0ne. Plus, 4g4in, he s33med c0ol. Is th4t… Fin3 with y0u?”

God, Mach, anyone, anything, give him strength. What did Kasper even mean by “lonely” if Lampert was the one to come down to him every single day, over and over, to watch him and try to help him get better from whatever this sickness was? And, now that he feels better, he doesn't even bother himself with the opinion of the only person who was there for him?

“It's… fine.”

A long and drawn-out pause.

Lampert's hands slowly fell to his sides. He felt as if he started to malfunction, a useless and helpless machine that no longer served any purpose at all.

“I have to go. I have work tomorrow. Goodnight.”

As he left through the door without ever taking off his shoes, Kasper stared into the doorway, and then shrugged, coming back to redecorating his living space.

Chapter Text

The elevator dinged a happy trill as it stopped at one of the floors, and more players came in, laughing and talking about all kinds of strange things that were happening along their journey. Kasper paid little attention to them and only made sour expressions each time one of them decided to annoy him by spraying at him or throwing a snowball. He thought it was so unfair for them to get to do anything they thought was funny, but he could never do anything back.

Even though he had very little recollection of his past, he was never allowed to forget how Mach sat him down one day and explained to him that he was a native of the elevator. And, being a native of the elevator apparently meant more responsibility now that things were changing at a rapid pace. For example, the players. The players who came and claimed this place as their own, the players who invaded their floors, his apartment, pulling valves and stealing things out of it to “stop the infection”, whatever that meant. He was even assigned a new name – Infected, and he had to bear it like a cross. He heard himself being called an NPC, a character, and a plethora of other names that the players assigned him and he personally never asked for.

He felt how his head started to hurt. He sneezed, and the green streak of his hair hit him in the face. He had to keep going. After all, he was the only “NPC” of this godforsaken elevator and therefore had the unspoken responsibility of entertaining the players.

The elevator dinged again, and to his relief, the doors opened to reveal a bright and vast Rokea. This was one of the floors where he knew for a fact someone else would come in and stand with him to endure the psychological and physical horrors.

When the players cheerily ran back to the elevator as the event was over, he looked up to see Lampert entering it. Infected suddenly felt so strangely uncomfortable that it made his heart beat faster and make his palms sweaty. However, he had no idea why.

“0h, h3y L4mp3r7!!! G00d 70 533 y0u!!! Wh475h4 up 70???”

Of course, a lot of their dialogue in front of players was supposed to be scripted. This time, he decided to go off the script every so slightly, which attracted the players’ attention. Some of them knew the majority of the scripted conversations and were therefore completely unimpressed when the so-called “NPCs” spoke to each other.

Despite being directly talked to, Lampert shifted in his place and averted his eyes to look somewhere else. Three dots appeared instead of the usual supporting dialogue line, and Infected raised his eyebrows.

“...Um, 0k4y m4n!!! Gu355 1 c4ugh7 y0u 0ff gu4rd, h4h4!!! H0w 15 y0ur… Uh… W0rk g01ng?”

To Infected’s surprise, Lampert turned his head, as if about to say something very important. Somehow, the brunet instinctively knew that. Somehow, it all clicked together for just a second, and he got a strange and intense feeling of deja vu.

Lampert opened his mouth to speak, but, as if catching himself at the right time, closed his mouth back up again and looked down. The players remained somewhat quiet for a little while, only coming up to Lampert to look at him closer, and then proceeded to react with wild concern and genuine confusion.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Whatever it was, it didn’t feel right. Infected knew it without the empty dialogue box and the annoying players’ reactions. Lampert was supposed to respond to him. He had to. He had to. Please. Please…

What was it, the grinding of his brain against his skull, the dooming anxiety sprawling across his mind, as if he was suddenly trapped inside a maze he couldn’t escape from? Was he beginning to break down? Why couldn’t he hold a conversation with one of the most friendly elevator inhabitants? Did they argue before and he just couldn't remember it? Did Lampert hate him?

Please. Please.

Infected swallowed his saliva, and sneezed, attempting to look away. When he did so, he noticed how Lampert physically recoiled and made a repulsed expression. And God, it stung, why did it sting so much? Please, please, look at me, Kasper begged, Are you that disgusted by me?

As if on cue, the elevator dinged again, and the floor revealed itself to be the Backrooms, Clover beginning to howl and laugh in the distance. Before anyone could say anything, Lampert immediately got off and began walking away at a brisk pace. Infected was only left to watch him inside the elevator, as the red barrier of no entry manifested itself on the exit.

He approached it and tried to knock on it with a fist. It hurt so much to the touch and, for some reason, reminded him of Mach’s Banhammer. The crackling red energy was exactly like the on top of Mach’s weapon, which meant he had no chance to get past the elevator door. It was simply beyond his power.

Slowly, he went back and held on to the railing inside the elevator. He felt his head begin to hurt as the back of his eyes became sharp and dull. He hunched over and held his stomach, goosebumps running on his skin and all of the hairs on his arms standing up. He watched as his tears fell down on the floor and made a quiet sound amongst the deafening silence inside.

It hurt so much. It hurt so much. And he couldn’t understand or remember why.

Chapter Text

“Oh, tragic you.”

Lampert opened his eyes wide and panted heavy, awoken in a hurry. A darkness surrounded his body, almost swallowing his legs and his hands. He moved his limbs away until he could see his entire body.

He breathed out, a small and visible condensed puff of air forming next to his face. It was cold. It was so cold, in fact, that he had no choice but to hold his body with his arms, beginning to shiver.

It was the nightmare. It was the damned nightmare again.

“I haven’t eaten good in a while…”

And she was back. Of course she was back. The only reason why he had these nightmares was because of her. Something about her presence made his dreams especially dark, especially anxiety-inducing, all kinds of terrifying tortures Lampert had to endure at night instead of getting his well-deserved rest. He had lost count of how many times he had this nightmare, how many times she left him breathless and aching in pain, nauseous and wounded so deep it felt like it needed sutures.

He held his tongue. Suddenly, a giant red eye appeared in the middle of the darkness, right of him and his shaking body. It narrowed at him, radiating scorching heat; Lampert felt like his circuits were beginning to burn, even though he remained so cold at the same time. This is what hell must feel like, he would think around this cue, and bit down on the inside of his cheek from realizing how much of the cycle he’s repeated already.

“Pity, pity, pity. All alone again. Hmm…” Folly’s iris followed Lampert as he pathetically attempted to crawl away from her, now shaking in fear. It amused her to no end, and he felt it with the way the temperature in front of him and around him was rising even higher, and higher, and higher. His skin began feeling like he was burning, burning from the inside, burning.

“You know, you’re one of my favorite people to feast on, right?”

He swallowed his saliva and laid perfectly still on the floor, now backed up into nothing, the empty dark space still all around him. He knew the jaws of the dream monster were going to open soon.

“No one else dreams so persistently and meticulously about something they regret so much and let me eat them. No one else lets me in as easily as you do. And you know, I am starting to realize why.”

Oh, great. She was coming to a very important revelation about him and the state of things that she absolutely couldn’t miss anymore. Lampert breathed out again, embracing the approaching and at this point unavoidable heat of her torturous presence.

“You think you deserve it, don’t you?” A hand wrapped around him and shook him, black claws feeling like blades puncturing his skin. He remained stiff and motionless in her grip. “You think you deserve to find yourself so completely alone and helpless when you sleep, huh? You try and try so hard to seek out the worst punishment for letting Kasper suffer in his sickness to become what he is today?”

“Don’t you dare say his name,” Although powerless, Lampert’s voice called out to Folly from below, and her eye opened wide at him. He felt the space around him shake as she chuckled, waves of sound consuming his senses and making him wish he would die instead of waking up.

“Hmmhaha, sure. I’ll grant you this one wish, for now.”

Ironically enough, it was the safest thing to assume that she was a deity who was seeking to punish him appropriately for what he’s supposedly done. It would be the easiest explanation for what was happening to him, weak and trembling in a giant palm of hers, at risk of being hurt from any angle at any point, at any time.

“In return…”

Otherwise, it would all have been for nothing. None of the suffering. None of the recklessness, none of the running away and hiding from Kasper-now-Infected, in keeping silent and still in front of Mach when being drilled with questions. None of the keeping calm in front of imminent danger, none of the stupid games he was forced to play as a part of some grand order he was never allowed to know about. None of the disallowed conversations, and holding your tongue, feeling it dry and shrivel up in your mouth. None of the time spent caring.

So, he faced Folly like he faced God, with sadness and regret that he couldn’t make things better for someone he cared about.

“I will feast.”

And she put him close to her eye, and all became absolute and nonexistent.

And again, he begged, Please, stop looking at me. Please, never look at me again.

And again, and again, and again…