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There's a tiredness in these bones that sleep can't cure. A coldness in this body that nothing can ever soothe. An all consuming loneliness putting shackles on his wrists and ankles.
Huddling into the corner, knees pulled up to his chest, he's cold. He's freezing. He's shaking and it hurts, the way his body trembles, desperate for some sort of relief. He wants to cry, but those tears turn cold too, damp against his skin so he doesn't.
He groans quietly, rocking back and forth and wonders how the sun would feel on his skin. Would it be warm? Would it be a kinder embrace than to keep going on like this? He's scared that it would kiss his skin with a frozen touch. He'd be sad if he burned away without feeling anything of it.
The door creaks. He looks up and the face peeking through the gap is not the homeowner.
"Ziv blf olmvob?"
He frowns in return, and fear flickers over the stranger's face. Deep terror, an expression he's seen so many times himself.
"I c-can't understand you", he mutters.
The stranger's gaze turns downcast.
He came last night, his mouth sewn shut. Cut the wires through, he supposes. They're gone now. He heard him cry for a few hours but he'd been freezing, he couldn't move. He's not sure he could've comforted him. He wouldn't know the first thing about it.
"Gsv Hfitvlm rh gsviv. Xzm R hgzb drgs blf?"
He sounds timid. Cautious, like he's afraid to be turned away at the door again. How long has he been wandering? He looks like a lifetime of grief.
He can't understand him, but he feels kind. Scared, just like he is himself. It's so lonely in this cruel world. He's afraid to try again, but it's all they have left.
He tries to smile through the clattering of his teeth and nods. He doesn't need to understand. All anyone wants these days is safety and some company.
The man enters the room, gently closes the door behind himself and makes his way over to the corner.
He didn't expect him to join.
Up close his lips are still bloody, crust building at the wounds. He sits and looks at him, tilting his head curiously.
He can only guess the question. It's all anyone ever asks.
"I'm a-always c-cold", he presses out, rubbing his elbows, "The c-coat barely makes a difference. I'm afraid I-I might just t-turn to ice..."
His brows knit. He inches closer, a cautious arm snaking around his shaking frame.
And he's so, so warm. He never allowed himself to be so close. It always ends in misery, once they know. He doesn't want the same fate to come for him, but he's so warm. He's like the warmth radiating from the sun turned flesh, turned kind, turned human. It does little to soothe his frozen core, but it's something.
"T-The galaxy is caving in on me", he whispers. His eyelids flutter shut. "W-Warm. Hmh. Warm..."
The stranger invites himself into the crook of his arm, resting his head against his shoulder.
Warm, warm, warm.
He can't help but shed a tear. His body strains and aches from the constant shaking. It eases for the very first time. It doesn't stop, but he's never felt it being less than unbearable.
He shouldn't. He doesn't deserve it, not really. Nobody needs him. Nobody should pity him. There's people having it worse, all things considered.
He looks like hell himself with those wounds.
"I'm not s-someone to stay a-around", he whispers.
He's been turned away too many times and he can't blame them. If they knew, if he knew, he'd do the same. And yet there's the lingering wish it would be different this time, that his secret would compel Death to skip their doorstep, if just once.
The stranger inches closer. His hair tickles his face and he sighs softly. He should know, it's only fair to tell him, but he's so scared to hurt him. Not many had been so nice. This might be the only door that would ever open for him.
"R'n hxzivw gll", the man says and he can't understand a word, but it sounds soothing. "Ovg'h yv hxzivw gltvgsvi."
Maybe it's not the words that matter. With his lips sewn shut it's clear that man suffered all the same. He knows pain. The way his breath hitches when someone looks at him, flinching when the homeowner just slightly shifts the gun. He's been turned away all the same. Simply because he can't say anything to his defense. It's not his fault they didn't speak his language.
At the end of the world, they are all fighting for the same thing.
Survival.
"Y-You're safe w-with me", he whispers and the man goes stiff.
He opens his eyes, afraid he'd leave but he doesn't.
He looks down on his hands, and then he sighs. He can only hope the sentiment gets across.
After that, he doesn't leave. People tend to keep their distance, but it doesn't seem like he minds.
At some point they fall asleep like that and only wake at nightfall.
There's a knock at the door, a loud pounding that jolts them both awake. They share a look and sink back deeper into the corner. Voices sound from the hallway and heavy footsteps wander from room to room until they also enter theirs. It's a man in a hazmat suit, eyes behind a visor mask scanning the room, stopping on them.
"You. Come with me", the hazmat demands. His voice leaves no room to complain. And he's pointing at the man with the bloody lips, who stares back at him like a deer caught in the headlights.
He thinks those yellow suits might just be more dangerous than the Visitors themselves.
"Not hearing well? Get going!", the FEMA agent shouts. He marches over and grabs his arm, and it's cold when he gets torn away.
"No, p-please! Not him!"
He can only beg and plead. The agent doesn't spare him a single glance.
"Take me instead!"
But it's too late. The man struggles to no avail, throws back a last fearful glance before he gets dragged away.
The room leaves an empty space, and he sinks back into his corner, trembling and shaking and each noise inside the house sounding way too loud.
The night passes at some point. It's afternoon when the homeowner comes to check on him.
"How are you doing?"
He blinks and wraps his arms tighter around himself. "Last night. Where did t-they take him?"
"Him?" The homeowner scratches his chin. "The Wireface guy? Why do you care?"
He shrivels under the scrutinizing gaze. "W-Warm", he presses out and the man scoffs.
"Quarantine Zone, I guess. Testing for signs, that's what they say."
"W-When are they going to... to bring him back?"
The silence that follows is suffocating.
The homeowner sighs. "Wouldn't get my hopes up. People they take... they don't return. I gotta stop allowing this, huh...?" Muttering to himself, he leaves him alone in the room.
It leaves him restless.
The people who come that night keep their distance. They always do.
Hours pass and he can't find any sleep.
The man in the bathroom says the sun would burn away their sins, but since he couldn't be purged, does that mean he'd be doomed to carry them forever? If everything happens for a reason, then what has he done to deserve this?
Why does he always end up alone?
The homeowner doesn't visit him during the day. Maybe he feels guilty. For letting them take him, so terrified, so lost in this strange world.
He understands, somewhat. FEMA doesn't ask for permission.
When night comes around, he follows the homeowner to the door. He'd been thinking. It can't stay like this.
"I have to g-go", he mutters.
It's colder than ever inside the house. He isn't sure if his toes are still on his feet. It hurts to walk but he has to.
"It's dangerous out there", the homeowner says.
He shakes his head. "I c-can't just abandon him... I-I..."
He doesn't know why it feels so urgent to go. He doesn't even know him. But he showed him kindness, the first one ever. Maybe it was rude to leave after he finally found a place to stay. Nobody would take him, but maybe that wasn't necessary anymore. Maybe he'd never return.
"I can't keep you", the homeowner states and looks through the peephole in the door, before he opens it. "Stay safe."
Fires dance in the distance. Northern lights flicker across the sky. The night is silent, ominous, cold. Moonlight douses the ground in frosty silver.
He shivers, but he keeps walking. He doesn't know where. Where did they take him? He doesn't have much time.
Maybe he wasn't even alive anymore.
But he had to know. Had to see with his own eyes to accept he was truly lost, all alone in this world. There's always been a certain hollow feeling residing inside his stomach, the ever collapsing black hole that consumes him.
But just for a night, someone tried to fill it, if just briefly. Even if it was just a hand covering that pit that ate away at him. It made him feel more alive than dead. It made him feel so far away from Death, a wisp of hope caressing his heart.
He spots other wanderers in the distance but they bear him no mind. They are too busy looking for shelter. Some of them may find their end at sunrise.
Wandering past the ruins of the city, he raises his head. There's a figure standing there at the crossroads and he stops walking. Tall, pale skin, an arm outstretched. Even from afar he can feel that grin layering the figure's face.
He's been told to keep away from the tall pale man, a dangerous being trying to access lonely people's homes.
He is lonely too, he thinks, but he doesn't have anywhere to invite him in. He isn't frightened. In the face of eternity it seems a small gamble to play with danger.
The tall man just stands there, unmoving, pointing.
He turns his head into the direction.
There are FEMA agents crowding the street, dragging people out of their homes. Their wails echo through the darkness. The agents are ruthless, roughly pulling them along.
They are headed for the Quarantine Zone. Is that where they took him? Wireface, the homeowner called him. Is he waiting?
When he turns his head again the tall man has disappeared.
His breath hitches. Small clouds waver out of his parted lips, teeth clattering. His heart is pounding. It brings a tinge of warmth to his fingertips. It hurts.
He clutches his fingers and runs through the dark, following the agents to a fenced off area. Containers line the premise, voices and hands pounding against metal. A gunshot here and there. The stench is nauseating. Decay, blood, something medical.
People come here to be killed. It's a truth he simply knows.
Guarded by the night, he makes his way around the perimeter and finds a part of the fence broken. Maybe someone tried to escape, has escaped, or died trying. He'll soon know which one it will be for him.
But how would he ever find him? There's so many people here. It scares him.
His arms snake tightly around his body and he hunches over, groaning. It churns, it hurts, but he must keep going.
It's easier to make his way through than he expected. The FEMA agents are too busy to be paying any attention to him when he quickly hurries past, eyes scanning the area.
He presses his jaws shut tight, suppresses his cold as best as he can. He hopes nobody notices he's odd. Not before he found him.
And then, he sees him. There's a line of people standing there, a FEMA agent rounding them, gun in hand.
His heart sinks. Wireface, he's there. Eyes wide, terrified, hands raised in front of his face. He pleads with foreign words and it only seems to agitate the FEMA agent further, waving around the gun.
He never wanted to hurt someone again. The last person who tried to be kind to him died because he showed them. He doesn't want him to find the same end.
"L-Leave him be!"
His voice cuts through the noise like an arrow, high-pitched and desperate. The FEMA agent whips his head around, the gun promptly pointed at him.
"Who the hell are you?!"
"Blf xznv uli nv?"
Wireface is staring at him, hands cautiously lowered. Tears streak his face. He must've been so scared.
Out here are no heroes. Nobody rescues anyone to save their own skin.
But he, he with nothing to lose, would gladly give his life for a single drop of redemption. He doesn't care for life or death. Both terrify him in equal parts. But the loneliness, the craving, the desire to be understood.
He found it, standing right there with incredulous eyes blown wide.
"Hey! State your name!", the agent barks. He draws closer, and he knows he has to do it.
For him. Only for him, he'll harm.
Frozen fingers curl under his coat, lifting the fabric. It's so cold, so cold, so cold. It churns, whirls, grows.
There's a scream and he starts feeling dizzy. It's going to swallow him whole, implode on him and then he'll stop feeling.
A hand grabs his wrist and pulls the coat back down. It rips him out of his stupor.
The blood on his face has turned dark. His eyes are wide in shock, but the hand he rests against the side of his face is so, so warm.
"Ovg'h tl", he says.
He stares in a daze and the hand returns to his wrist, pulling him along.
He manages a single glance back. The agent lay dead on the ground. The other people lined up are running to scatter.
Chaos breaks out and a siren howls while they escape.
Half way he catches his bearings and leads the way to the broken fence. Their feet thunder against the ground, gunshots pierce the air, but none of it is able to touch them out here.
They run, run and run and run until the world has gone cold and quiet around them. Fires lick the sky turning red and rosy in the distance.
It will be morning soon.
They slow and Wireface removes his orange jacket, gently layering it around his trembling shoulders.
"Gszmp blf", he says.
A smile steals itself over his face. He can't recall the last time someone tried to help him warm up.
Wireface takes his hand.
He stares back, teeth grinding, tears pricking his eyes.
"Woh… wwhar… wa-warm…?", Wireface tries. He looks confused, trying to mirror the word. He licks his lips and it's the first time someone gets a small, shy laugh out of him.
"Warm", he replies, "So warm."
And then they walk, hand in hand, knowing the sun would soon rise.
Death leads them, guides them, awaits them.
But they're together in the end, and that's what matters most.
A house rises against the sky. Wireface is panting, sweating. His hand is damp, but he doesn't let go.
The heat can't touch him, but Wireface is still mortal all the same. He could let go. Run, save himself, but he doesn't.
They step on the porch and Wireface knocks. A familiar figure appears, eyes wide in shock.
Did Death lead them back to where it all started?
Did he earn Her grace?
"I didn't think anyone else was coming tonight", the homeowner says, "It's almost morning." He scrutinizes them for a moment, before waving. "Come on in. The sun's rising soon."
The door clicks shut behind them.
It's still cold. It's still terrifying, but just a little less lonely.
Wireface looks at him, knowing. His secret, he knows. His bruised lips curl into an understanding smile.
Maybe he can't speak the same language, but there's a different space of mutual understanding. That fear, that loneliness. The endless pit doesn't feel so bottomless anymore.
He squeezes that warm hand tighter. He doesn't want to let it go.
If FEMA came for him again he'd show no mercy. For once, there's someone worth freezing for.
The cataclysm would have to take them both together.