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Elliot’s hungry. He’s out for a snack; his brain half melted. Despite only being kept awake before by the impulse to stare at his own pizza cook, he isn’t in much of a better state now.
(With his forehead found pressed to the glass of the oven, completely and utterly mesmerized, naturally Elliot was put to bed early that night.)
Elliot momentarily buries his head in his hands and rubs his eyes as he walks.
Minutes before, he woke up desperately missing the resident cat. Secondary to that, he still had no dinner and a craving for a tall glass of water. These conflicting wants clashed together all at once in a way that refused to let Elliot sleep; thus, he endeavored to make his way toward the kitchen.
He mostly succeeds until the point he veers a bit too far to the right. A clumsy mistake to be expected of someone in his state of mind.
Either way, it results in Elliot walking directly into something. For a moment he figures it must be a person, but it stands too tall and straight. And with its deathly coldness, it certainly can’t be what Elliot thought it was before. He begrudgingly stops, just about to pick up what his muddled mind pieces together as the lamp before he can walk past. He is not one to sloppily leave things out of place, after all.
However, before he finally decides to do so, someone rises from behind Elliot— or perhaps out of thin air, to an outside observer, if the dark had managed to trick their eyes. Before choosing to tread calmly after Elliot, thin fingers creep up the lamp pole, only tightening their delicate grip in order to fix the floor lamp back into its proper position. The floor barely creaks from under them. And the way they announce their presence is not by the tap of a shoulder, or their own footsteps, but the click of the lamp turning on; sufficiently illuminating both of their faces in the dark.
Regardless of the friendly face now revealed, Elliot jumps three feet into the air.
“Relax.” Their lips upturn in what must be a smile.
Elliot looks even more like he might pass out at any moment, but he at least is marginally more awake.
“Hi,” he says breathlessly, having only half-composed himself. “What’re you doing?”
“Checking up on our cook. He is a very valuable member of our team.”
Elliot doesn’t quite know what to make of such direct words. He merely hums in response, yet upon realizing the actual contents of what they had just said, quickly mutters a “thank you” shortly after.
Two Time nods, acknowledging his gratefulness. After, theylet the silence remain, apparently not a very social creature.
“I’m sorry.” Elliot suddenly remembers his manners in the nick of time.
“You’re alright. Are you hungry?”
“Yeah, actually.” A nervous laugh. Maybe this is a cruel joke. Maybe Elliot will end up eating shards of glass. Or maybe he’ll simply get stabbed. Or sliced. Or locked outside for a freezing cold night. He shudders at the thought.
And Two Time, undeniably having noticed the look on his face, pauses.
But then they start up again, so Elliot releases the breath he was holding at the unintentional tenseness. “You look thirsty as well. I’ll get you something.”
There are no sharp edges in how they speak and present themself to him. In his frazzled mind, this cultist, the type Elliot would usually never strive to really interact with, is someone who could be almost.. great company. Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking, especially considering the fact that Elliot still barely knows anyone here even after such a long time. Not on the level of real ‘friendship,’ however that’s defined.
Meanwhile, Two Time opens the oven to a stale, half eaten loaf of bread. It was freshly baked a week ago, but that part really doesn’t matter now. There’s their own half-eaten (raw) onion to accompany the loaf and a sprouted potato on the counter next to the stovetop.
They open the fridge. Bloxy cola upon bloxy cola take up two whole compartments. Around half of the cans have already been opened. Alcohol is pushed to the right side of the fridge. The sheer amount of raw chicken, variety of cheeses, and pepperoni completely take up the rest of the space. They shut the fridge immediately, massage their temples, and open the microwave.
Bagels.
Just the last few are left. Good. The survivors were truly crippled without Elliot (other than the select few who could live off energy drinks) but these? Especially when Elliot needed a break from making actual meals, bagels were a godsend. Other than the fact that after months, no one could stand to eat another.
’No one’ meaning everyone but Two Time. As if to make up for a lifetime of a strict diet, they could never seem to go off this foreign food.
They slice the bagel in half, get it into a toaster, and wait nearby in order to bring it to Elliot with a tub of cream cheese.
On their way from the kitchen to the table the lobby cat intercepts their path; their pace slows as the little thing leisurely passes by.
Nonetheless, like clockwork, Two Time appears at the table with the food. Elliot gleefully takes it. They leave him be for a moment in order to finish their task.
On their way back to the kitchen, they step over the lobby cat again as it slinks by.
They return again with a glass of water. Elliot takes sips, giving another timid ‘thank you.’ They acknowledge it with a smile that seems rare on their face. Perhaps, looking at them now, it fits them just a little more. Their expression fades with their new focus; now observing the manner in which Elliot places the glass down, then goes for the food.
“I thought you disliked bagels,” Two Time breaks the silence.
The culprit in question freezes, as if caught in the act. Having noticed this, Two Time tilts their head innocently. Trying to eliminate the tenseness.
“We just have them too much. And I’m hungry.”
Two Time nods slowly. “I see.”
Eventually, Two Time notices Elliot’s shoulders untense. Despite the gaze planted solely on him, the silent scrutiny and air of tenseness about someone who still seemed a stranger to him, Elliot chooses to speak again.
“When we’re out of here, you can eat at Builder Brother’s. For free.”
Two Time certainly must be awed based off of how quiet they are right now. Honored, even.
“And,” Elliot eases back into a trademark wink, sealing the deal, “you can eat there free for life.”
He hasn’t extended the offer to anyone else, mostly because the rest of the team will probably hate pizza forever after this, but his midnight companion must certainly feel lucky either way.
Two Time finally smiles widely.
“For life, you say?”
Perhaps a little too widely.
Elliot considers correcting the words to ‘two-lives’ or something like that but he figures it’s better to leave the details on the touchy subject alone for now.
“Whatever you want, Two Time. Whatever you want.”
Whether or not they truly make it out, allowing for Two Time alone to enjoy this generous privilege, is to be determined. But for now, everything finally settles into a comfortable silence that follows the two even after they part ways for the night.