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Zee hasn't slept in days. He's exhausted, it's clear, taking to his bedroom most of the time.
The mattress is bathed in a halo of light, emitted from the bedside lamp. The rest of the bedroom is pooled in thick darkness, staticky to eyes unadjusted. It being Zee's bedroom, the bed itself follows characteristics of his personality. As he neglects himself, eyes worn down by dark circles, the inanimate follows suit. Unkempt, messy, blankets strewn. As if lazily, the sheet hangs partially off of the bed. It doesn't matter its level of comfort, Zee has decided it's just enough.
He eyes the room through bleary eyes, reminding himself, again, and then once more, that he is home. Zee is no longer in the hole. He will never return. Rising with a creak, he straightens out his gray sweatshirt, it hanging about his midsection loosely. He steps into slippers (of which Regect teases him for), then sidles over to the door. Turning the knob, and pushing it open with his hip, he slinks into the hallway.
Adjacent, across from Zee's room, is Moe's, of which is painted a bright orange. She was adamant on adding the pop of colour to the hallway, to Regect's distaste. If it were Zee, painting in swathes of orange, Regect would've went over it in white. Moe was some sort of exception, Regect biting back most of his comments, or saving them for Zee when Moe wasn't around. He finds the vibrancy gaudy, preferring duller hues.
Zee remembers Regect's petty attempt at painting his own door, with his lack of expertise.
Zee, after a rather tedious trip in the mines, was mid-stride towards his bedroom for a much needed nap. Dreaming of sleeping off the ache, he is then met with a splash of lavender on the floorboards, to the left of his door. It trails, breadcrumbs pointing towards Regect's door. After an ample bout of complaints towards Moe's addition, Zee had snapped and told him he could've added something for himself, if he were so very inclined.
And so, he did. Or tried to, at least.
Regect's artistic finesse was limited, made clear by the accumulation of paint on both his talons and the floor. In contrast to the clementine, he had painted his a dull lavender. It was surprising— Zee would've expected a black or gray. It was reminiscent of alliums. Regardless of any speculation for the choice, Zee was furious. With a lack of precision, Regect pettily swipes the paintbrush in large, gloppy stripes of colour. Zee is mortified regarding this.
"For fucks sake, Regect!" he snaps, pushing himself towards the crouched entity.
Although seemingly devoid of a head, and thus featureless, he faces Zee, diverting his attention. "Oh my God, you said I could decorate," he defends himself.
Zee pinches his nosebridge. "Get out of my house."
"I live here," Regect retorts.
"I never said you could— you just never left!" Zee moans.
Regect shrugs. "Well yeah. Obviously."
Zee sighs in defeat. He never said anything against Regect moving in unofficially, and acting as if he owned the place. Maybe, deep down, he liked the company.
"Fine. Just get the paint off of the floor, you dumbass." he orders haughtily.
Regect says nothing in reply.
"Are you even listening to me?"
"Yeah."
"...Listening to me with what?"
With a talon coated in paint, he places his hand to where his cheek would be. As if floating, suspended in the air, it stays, sticking to an invisible face. "I have a face," he explains smartly.
Zee decidedly walks off to his bedroom without saying another word. "I'm done!" he announces, throwing up his hands.
The memory makes Zee smile a little, although he wouldn't admit it. Their squabble; Moe interjecting later, when more arguing ensued after the floor was still splattered in lavender. Eventually, a carpet had been deposited at Regect's doorway, as to conceal the rest of the paint that just wouldn't come out of the floorboards.
He strides past the doors of his roommates, and into the stairwell at the end of the corridor. Winding down the stairwell, he makes his way towards the kitchen. The house is small, but nice enough.
Leaning against the counter at midnight, is Regect, sipping a mugful of brew. It's ridiculous, it being raised to seemingly nothing and slurped. It steams, smelling of orange peakoe. With likely a raised brow, he studies Zee's slouched, worn out, frayed-at-the-edges form. His eyebags are as if bruises, a testament to the time spent in the hole. Tucking his pasty white hands into the pouch of his hoodie, Zee sidles up to him awkwardly. He came downstairs for a break from his thoughts, but, knowing Regect, he'll probably interrogate him about whatever's bugging him (to offer critical advice). Worries, tucked in the back of his mind, crawl into front, pestering him.
Is Regect real? He has to be.
Real or not, he's good at reading people, there's no denying that. His stress is obvious enough to the entity.
"You're not a good liar. So are you going to tell me what's wrong?"
The question hangs in the air awkwardly. "I don't know," Zee replies uselessly.
"You're going to have to decide eventually," Regect states bluntly.
Zee leans against the kitchen counter, a hand moving to ruffle his messy, black hair. Regect waits patiently, setting his tea aside. The entity takes on a slightly kinder demeanor, but his personality still shines through his words. Blunt; caring. Zee continues to chew on his question, and statement. Feeling Regect's eyes fixed on him makes him anxious. When had the two grown closer? Close enough to have a real discussion, like this.
"Nothing's wrong," Zee answers finally, "I should be fine."
"Obviously you're not, dude." He turns towards him pointedly.
Clearly there is no escaping this. He needs to be wholly honest; he needs to spit out something Regect won't see past. Regect has him trapped in his own kitchen, cornering him, and ready to wrangle out an answer.
"You've been acting weird. You hardly do anything; you hardly leave the house. Are you okay?" he asks, genuine.
"I'm fine," Zee responds, unsure.
"Just be honest with me."
Zee sighs internally.
I hate this.
"Can you promise me you're real?" he asks, almost defensively, hating the vulnerability.
"What makes me not?" Regect counters haughtily, so alike him Zee wonders whether he should worry at all. He can't help but stress still, after everything.
Zee can feel the guns weight in his hands; he can imagine the gunpowder, coating his white hands as if soot, choking out his pores. Then he snaps into reality in a flash. He's here, in this kitchen, with Regect; Moe is sleeping upstairs. He's home.
There had been small alterations in the false Regect's form, as if he'd been misshapen out of clay. Wrong. Difficult to pick up on, but just there enough for a keen eye to spot. The metallic sheen of his golden, exposed ribs was off, giving a plastic feel; his voice just wasn't right; he didn't have a face. Zee knew Regect— the real Regect— has an invisible face, he had shown him himself. The doppelganger must've looked at him on a surface level, getting the rough sketch of his features and taking on his identity. It hadn't thought to replicate that detail; the bullet he'd shot had passed through empty space, completely devoid of a head.
The small light above the stove top, creates a halo between them. It casts warm light, homely. It mirrors the secluded feel of his bedroom prior, with everything else being dark; the difference is the company. Regect, at his side, waiting again for a response.
Zee raises a hand, hovering near where Regect's neck ends, golden collar adorning it.
"Could I...?" he trails off. "Just to be sure."
Regect shrugs. "Go ahead."
Slowly, Zee brushes Regect's face. Cool; smooth. Both similar to glass in the strange texture in translucency and the quality of it being see through. His thumb slides over his cheek, Zee applying pressure, as if to double check. Him being an entity, it's different than human skin. The moment passes and he pulls away.
The two pause, close to one another. Another moment, confusing, passes. Then Zee fills the awkward silence with noise.
"Do you trust me?" Zee asks.
"Yeah man," Regect promises, backing away slightly.
Zee sighs relievedly. "I was really fucking worried."
"The fake guy was terrible at what he was doing, don't worry about it."
Zee flicks on the kettle, the rumble filling the kitchen. It's domestic, and comforting in that way. Deep down, he can't help but enjoy this moment of solitude, of understanding. Regect doesn't speak, he only leans against the counter, waiting for Zee to take the lead. As much as he takes pleasure in irritating Zee, he knows when to be quiet, every once in a while. Zee lets out a breath, calming down. Being in the moment helped, with someone dependable.
He couldn't believe that Regect would end up mattering to him at all.
But, perhaps, it was worth it.