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It was no secret to Chosen that Dark lived in his house.
He rarely heard anything, hardly ever saw the red hollowhead, but he knew, all the same, that Dark was still here. The signs were there, if he cared to look.
There were occasional scratching noises in the walls, as well as the rare thump.
(And at night, sometimes Chosen swore he could he heard Dark snoring.)
He started leaving out plates of food.
Chosen went about his days as normal (well, as normal as it got, for him anyways), but he picked up a habit of narrating things to the ceiling.
Like: “I’m just gonna pop out to the city to buy some milk – yeah, buy, not steal, who do think I am, a terrorist?”
Or: “Pretty sure the milk needs to be on the top shelf of the refrigerator, not the bottom, lemme just move that over–”
Dark didn’t answer, ever.
Chosen hadn’t heard his voice since... when had he last heard it? The Showdown? Before? Certainly not since the Victim incident...
Anyway, it didn’t matter. Dark stole his plates, but he always gave them back spotlessly clean and in the dish rack, so Chosen didn’t worry about it.
One winter morning, he found a squished spot in the carpet in front of the somehow-lit fireplace.
That evening, he left a couple of blankets out with “For u” written on a sticky note on the top.
(They were gone the next morning. So was the sticky note.)
Chosen got used to it within the first two weeks, and after that it just became Life. Dark lived in his ceiling; so what? He was respectful of Chosen, and that was that.
He didn’t think anything of it until the Post–it notes started appearing.
The first one appeared on the couch in the afternoon after Chosen had spent the morning shopping. It rested unassumingly on the lacy couch cushion until he noticed it and picked it up, curious.
It wasn’t fancy. Just a simple doodled flower with round petals. Chosen wondered which of his pens Dark had stolen, but he took it upstairs and treasured it anyway.
The next one came stuck to the counter. It was a drawing of a cake, with the words “Happy birthday” scrawled underneath. Chosen had chuckled a little, then stuck it in his recipe book on the page reserved for cakes and promptly started baking.
(He left an extra-large piece of cake out for Dark that night. He knew how much the red hollowhead loved sweets.)
The third note had more words on it, and was so stupid Chosen almost melted with laughter. “I tell bad chemistry puns... but only periodically :P” it read.
Chosen ended up putting it on his desktop edge. It made him grin every morning when he sat down to work.
The fourth one just had a little castle drawing and the words “Good morning :)” on it. It got put on the desktop edge as well, and Chosen spent about fifteen whole minutes making sure it was lined up perfectly with the other note already there.
“It’s like a vending machine,” Chosen remarked to the ceiling one morning. “I put in food and I get sticky notes in return.”
(The ceiling made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort.)
The notes came off and on ever after, appearing on the walls, the floor, Chosen’s cup. They were often stupid and random, dealing with anything from Dark complaining about the weather getting into his vents to science jokes to the flowers Chosen had picked for the tabletop vase that morning.
Chosen welcomed them, and often replied to them via the ceiling. (“Stop whining, at least the rain isn’t cold. It’s summer, for heaven’s sake.” “Why, Dark. WHY.” “What, do you not like the wilting daffodils? I’m hurt, Dark, truly hurt.”)
He liked the notes. They made him happy, and very few things actually made him happy.
The last scenario Chosen was prepared for, however, was Second showing up at his door asking if he wanted to go on a walk.
Chosen accepted, of course, because it was Second (the kid had way too good of puppy eyes – Dark would have been proud), and he had promised the kid he could show up at any time, so he really had no choice.
(It was the puppy dog eyes, he was just in denial about it.)
The two took the path around the bay, where the years–old scars from the Showdown were already filled with trees and growing things. Second talked a lot. Chosen liked it; it helped him remember what Dark sounded like. He would occasionally ask an intelligent question like, “Why?” or “How?” and that would set off another excited bout of words, to which Chosen listened intently.
Eventually, they circled back to the house, Second still talking, Chosen still listening.
(When Chosen opened the door, he thought he might have caught sight of a vent cover reattaching itself to the wall, but he ignored it.)
Second bobbed over to the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil. Chosen re–fluffed the couch cushions (Dark had been sitting on them again) and threw flame at the fireplace to light it.
The little orange hollowhead sat down cross–legged on the couch and watched him.
“Do you have squirrels?” he asked suddenly.
Chosen looked up, puzzled. “No. Why?”
Second pointed to the wall nearest to him. “I heard something.”
Ah.
Chosen stood and stretched. “Yeah.”
“So what is it?” Second asked interestedly.
Chosen shrugged. He left it at that. Talking with people other than Dark was hard.
Second narrowed his eyes at the wall suspiciously.
Sec ended up staying the night.
Chosen was uncomfortable with it, sure – would Dark get his food if there was someone else in the house? – but Sec and he couldn’t get back up to the skygrid before nightfall anyway, and Chosen had extra blankets since Dark had given back the one he used over the winter.
So Second got the guest room, and Chosen got his room. He had no idea where Dark was, but, knowing him, it was probably the vent system. He did live in Chosen’s walls, after all.
Chosen was awakened in the middle of the night by a screech and a thud scrabble scramble crash.
He groaned. “It had better be a lot later than it feels,” he grumbled, but rolled out of bed in his robe anyway.
When he got downstairs, he stopped and leaned against the wall, glaring halfheartedly at the scene before him.
Second, looking horrified, was behind the couch, staring at the lump in the center of the carpet. “Chosen– Chosen what is that?”
Chosen blinked at the lump.
It inched conspicuously away from him.
Chosen sighed. “Scaring children in the middle of the night is generally frowned upon, you know.”
The lump froze, then rose up to its feet and flipped back to reveal Dark’s apprehensive face. He eyed Chosen.
Chosen rolled his eyes. “I mean, c’mon, at the very least, you could have tried to not wake me up. Rude.”
Dark shrugged. He pointed at Second. “His fault.”
(Chosen quietly freaked out inside at hearing his voice for the first time in years.)
“No, it wasn’t,” he said firmly. “You knocked the vase over.”
Dark’s expression turned indignant. “No I didn’t! I stayed right here. He was the only one who moved at all!”
Chosen looked over at Second, who was still petrified. “Okay, fair.” His head swiveled back to Dark. “What was he even doing downstairs?”
Dark shrugged again.
Chosen heaved an exasperated sigh and herded Second back upstairs, grumbling the entire way.
When he got back down, Dark was eating his food on the couch, blanket swaddled around his shoulders. He looked up when Chosen descended the steps, shrinking further into himself the closer Chosen got. “Er... hi?’
Chosen crossed his arms.
Dark’s black eyes flickered between Chosen’s face, hands, and then the vent on the wall.
Chosen sighed. “That last note was unorthodox and you know it.”
Dark shifted guiltily and grinned at him. “Hey, it made you laugh, and that was all I was concerned with at the time.”
Chosen aimed a critical eye at the ceiling. “You’re living in my walls.”
Dark tilted his head at the quick change of subject. “...yes?”
“WHY,” Chosen said.
“...They were clean?”
Chosen stared him down.
“Okay, okay, fine. You destroyed my last home, so I moved here.”
“What, the shed?” Chosen inquired.
“No,” Dark shuddered, “though that was an option. No, I was living in Victim’s walls for a while.”
Chosen’s gaze burned.
Dark raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Hey, I had literally nothing to do with anything that happened in there. All I did was steal food from the cafeteria and make some of the grays thing the place was haunted so they’d leave me alone.” He shrugged. “So when you and Sec joint–wrecked the place, I moved over here.”
Chosen put one hand over his eyes, dragging it down his face. “Okay. Okay. This is fine.”
The red hollowhead watched him anxiously. “Please don’t kick me out. I like your cooking better than Rocket’s cafeteria.”
Chosen rolled his eyes. “Fine, go back to your walls. I’m going to go get some more sleep.”
Dark nodded sheepishly, put down his plate, and slid over to the wall. He removed the cover on one of the vents – Chosen wondered uncomfortably where he’d put the screws; Dark had a habit of swallowing small pieces of metal – and melted into it, eyes glowing red to light the way.
“Hey, be careful, yeah?” Chosen called after him.
A hand shot out of the vent, nabbed the cover, and fit it onto the open space. Chosen thought he saw the glitter of sharp teeth, but couldn’t be sure.
Second confronted him about it in the morning.
“You didn’t tell me you had a monster in the house!” he accused.
Chosen snorted into his coffee and looked disbelievingly over the edge of the mug at his younger brother. “Me? Tell you? That I had a monster in the house!?” He rolled his eyes and took a sip. “Yeah, gimme a break.”
Second’s mouth opened in a scandalized “O”, and he spluttered incoherently for a full three minutes before settling back down to grumble into his cereal.
Dark scratched the inside of the wall and Second almost leapt out of his skin. Chosen huffed, “Drama queen,” and proceeded to ignore both of them completely.
Five minutes later, Chosen was rather wishing he had paid more attention.
“PUT THAT DOWN,” he roared, trying to tug the shovel away from the orange hollowhead.
“It’s in your WALLS,” Second screeched.
The important thing here was not to panic. At all. At. All.
Chosen was failing.
“DO NOT HIT THE DARK LORD,” he bellowed, “OR I WILL REDACT YOUR DESSERTS TO MINIMUM ZERO.”
Second froze. He’d been about to bash the drywall in to find the ‘monster’. “Oh.”
Chosen successfully ripped the tool from his grasp, breathing hard. “Yeah, I’ll say, ‘oh.’ Is that– c’mon Sec, don’t hit The Dark Lord, he’s not even doing anything. He’s been lurking in my walls for almost a year now, and he pays his rent.”
Second blinked skeptically.
Chosen rolled his eyes. “Eat your toast and don’t raid my tool shed again or I’ll throw you to the wolves.”
Needless to say, when Chosen got kidnapped some months later, all three of his angry vengeful siblings went out to rescue him without any hitches.
(And they didn’t forget the shovel.)