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Repetitive, uninteresting, tiresome—all were words one could use to describe your day-to-day schedule. You’d wake with a lingering fog in your mind, make breakfast, go to work, return home, make dinner, and strain your eyes playing video games for hours until you were tired enough to collapse into bed. Then, rinse and repeat. Occasionally, you would have the brief spark of motivation to actually get something done. Clean something here, unpack something there, and maybe you could indulge in one of your very neglected hobbies if you really felt like it, but that was rare. You made enough to pay for necessities and could cook well enough to rely on yourself for food. It wasn’t an ideal lifestyle, (far from it, one could argue) but it was survivable. It was enough. You lived like this. Days would fade into weeks, and oftentimes it was difficult to remember any specific events as they’d all begun blurring together.
At least, that was the case until a special visitor broke up the monotony of your dull life.
It’s been two months since this creature—a towering, lanky thing with rubbery skin and glowing eyes—had forced its way into your home and became your impromptu roommate. It was the kind of creature that could pass off as a shadow or a hallucination if it stood still enough.
It had some strange habits. Like watching you from beneath your bed. And watching you from beside your bed. And watching you when you slept. And hiding in your furniture. And licking your plates. And getting jealous of your fridge. And.. and other stuff, but everyone has their quirks, right? Admittedly, you had grown quite used to its company. It was reassuring to spot a dark blob of flesh contorted to fit beneath your sofa, or bathroom cabinets, or any other hidden nook of your apartment it liked to stuff itself into when it wasn’t wandering around. You looked forward to each of your nightly interactions, and it seemed quite fond of you as well.
You opened the door to your apartment with a turn of your keys and sigh at the familiar layout. You don’t bother to turn on the lights—you haven’t in weeks, out of courtesy for your roommate, of course. Your living room is illuminated only by the light coming through the window. The pretty colors of a sunset paint the floors with orange and pink. The scene isn’t anything out of the ordinary, at least until..
It smells like something’s burning. Not like the scent of a campfire, but more like burnt popcorn. The scent wafts from your kitchen, faint but lingering.
You almost panic. You didn’t think your memory had gotten so bad that you’d forgotten to shut off the stove, right? Did you leave something in the oven? No—you reason that, by then, your apartment’s smoke detectors would’ve gone off. What’s making that smell, then?
Upon entering the kitchen to investigate, you pause.
It was always so dim, you couldn’t spot it from the living room. The creature you share this space with is hunched over your stove. It pokes and prods with a spatula at something on a frying pan with incredible focus. You don’t think you’ve ever seen it focused this hard on anything that wasn’t you. Curiously, you watch it for a bit longer, and when you take a step forward to see what it’s actually attempting to cook, its head snaps completely backwards to face you.
“You’re home.”
It rasps, and you watch its long fingers tighten on the handle of the frying pan, which clearly was not made for someone of its size.
“What’re you making?” You ask. You didn’t know it could cook, though judging by the smell, whatever it is might be a little overdone. “I am.. not finished with it…” It answers vaguely, blocking your view of the dish with its body as if embarrassed. It leaves you no choice but to see for yourself, you suppose.
You walk up to its side and peep over its shoulder, and you’re met with the sight of something unrecognizable and beyond charred sitting in the pan. It may have once been food, but you doubt it’s edible by this point. The creature seems to shrink a bit in shame. “You always seem to be tired when you cook at this time. I thought to.. do you a favor…” It explains, “Though I seem to… not have the same skill as you.”
Your heart clenches a little. It was trying to make you dinner?
“No, no, it’s alright. I appreciate the gesture.” You reassure, and you set your hand on its arm. Its rubbery flesh ripples slightly under your palm. Though this was endearing and all, you did actually need to make something to eat.
“We can just make something new together, right?” Perhaps you could teach it? As much as it seems to prefer being a passive observer, it would be nice to share an activity like this once in a while.
Your offer makes its face contort briefly, deforming in that strange way you’ve come to recognize as excitement.
—
You decide that tonight, the two of you would make an omelette together. It’s a simple, filling meal with few ingredients, so it’s perfect for teaching someone how to cook.. right? You crack open two eggs into a small bowl, and your first task for the creature is to whisk it with a fork. The cutlery looks almost comically small in its large hand.
Perhaps you may have overestimated its dexterity a little, as it nearly spills the contents of the bowl in its attempt. “This is difficult..” It mumbles. You glance up from the bowl to its face, ever focused on its assigned task, and imagine that its brows would be furrowed if it had any.
“Here, like this.” You clasp your hand atop its own and guide its long fingers around the fork properly, at least as well as you could manage. Its hand really was a lot bigger than yours. Of course, you already knew that—it’s got several feet of height on you—but it always felt a little strange seeing its unnatural proportions up close against your own. Its hand could easily envelop both of yours, and despite how skinny it was, it could likely still crush your arm without a second thought. It wouldn’t, though. It handled your fragile human body like delicate porcelain.
“Like this..?” It echoed, and with your help it seems to be somewhat getting the hang of it. At a certain point, you decide that it looks good enough and gesture for it to put the fork down. You season the egg mixture before giving the creature its next task: pouring it into the pan. That, it could do well enough. The mixture makes a sizzling noise as it hits the hot surface—the creature flinches backwards on instinct, but continues pouring as to fulfill your wish. Afterwards, it sets the empty bowl back down on the counter.
The savory scent emanating from the pan begins to cover up that burning smell lingering from earlier—of which you were grateful for. Your roommate really doesn’t like the kitchen vent mounted above your stove for some reason, and you never asked about why. The aforementioned roommate’s presence has shifted from beside you to behind you. You see the long lengths of its arms in the corners of your vision, and you bet that if the sizzling wasn’t so loud, you would be close enough to hear the distorted rumbling of its heartbeat.
“Do you wanna try flipping it?” You ask before feeling a weight on your shoulder. A glance to your right reveals that it’s decided to rest its chin there. The creature says nothing in response, so you follow its gaze, that of which lands disdainfully on your spatula. It glares at it like it was the appliance’s fault it had burnt its first attempt at a meal, and so you take that as a ‘no’.
It watches very intently as you use the spatula with practiced ease, and you feel its gaze flicker from the pan, to your hand, to your face, then back to the pan. It was actually a little harder to flip than usual considering the weight of its head on your shoulder, but you don’t tell it that. Instead, you fold the finished omelette and plate it on top of some leftover rice.
“Here’s the fun part,” You say, and it perks up. Its expression changes from intrigued to confused when you hand it a bottle of ketchup. “Now you get to draw something on top.”
Its wide eyes narrow a little, but its pupils dilate when its gaze lands on you. “I am not an artist..” It answers, and you give its arm a few gentle pats. “That’s okay. Just, uh.. have fun with it?” You tell it.
As unsure as it was, you were proud of it for at least putting forth its best efforts. Even if the result was a messy splatter of red that made your finished dish look a little bit like a crime scene. You think some of it got on your clothes too, but it matters not. What matters now is that you get to enjoy the fruits of your labor.
You take the first bite. The spoonful tastes mostly like ketchup at first, as well as the very faint taste of something charred (it looks like maybe you couldn’t scrape its first attempt off the pan completely after all), but otherwise it’s not bad.
You offer it a bite next. You’re very careful holding the spoon up to its mouth, internally reminding yourself of its reflexes pertaining to that area (you recall the time it nearly bit your fingers off on accident..)
Luckily, it eats without incident. “So, how is it?” You ask. The yellow of its eyes glow a bit brighter, only to be nearly swallowed by the expanding of its massive pupils. “It tastes like you.” It answers, and you catch sight of its tongue as it licks the spoon for good measure.
—
The sun has fully set, and you rely on your flashlight to see where you’re going. Perhaps that interaction had brought the two of you a bit closer, because right now it’s following you so closely you can literally feel it breathing down your neck. It reminds you of a stray suddenly becoming clingy after its given food.. Who knew that was all it took for it to be less standoffish?
As you climb into bed, you see the towering shadow of its body looming above you before it shuffles and slides into place right next to you. The mattress sinks a little on its side and it curls in on itself a bit as to not take up too much space. You hum in acknowledgment when its arm outstretches to wrap around you and to pull itself against your chest. It’s so close now, you can feel the pulsing of its being directly against your skin. Something compels you to make use of this closeness and you press a gentle kiss to its cheek.
It shivers, then contorts, then ultimately pulls you closer with a quiet whine.
Tonight, you dream of something abstract like you always do when it lies next to you. Though this time, it feels warm and tastes faintly of something charred.