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TW: catcalling, violence
George hated living in this stupid "apartment building". It was weird, in a sketchy neighborhood, somehow still super expensive, and beyond lonely.
What he honestly wanted was a roommate. The way the apartment creaked at night was unnatural enough it made George wary when he was all alone. He didn't know where to find a roommate though.
He'd been kicked out of his last place— That's how he'd ended up here. He thought it was unfair, but his old friend, Quackity, claimed it was because George was "too argumentative" and "picked fights" and was "a pessimist" and his "worldview was unchangingly hopeless and it made him bummed".
George preferred the term "realistic". George was practical. He was smart. He knew, statistically, he could die any second of any day, and he felt that sometimes people seemed to forget about the likelihood of death.
He spent a lot of his time in uninterrupted silence, which one might figure he'd enjoy, but quite the contrary, he couldn't stand it. George needed somebody to talk to desperately. And the people from his old boring life just weren't cutting it anymore. He needed to meet somebody interesting.
That's how he met Dream Taken.
All around, Dream was a weird fucking guy. He was tall— at least, taller than George— and had dark blond hair that needed to be cut. He was generally quiet and his green eyes always made it feel like he was judging or... Evaluating?... you. He disappeared at night for hours at a time, only to return early the next day.
But, hey. He knew how to cook and helped a lot with rent.
And once when George was trying to get to his apartment, some creepy guy kept trying to get him to leave with him and Dream decked the guy in the face. That's actually how they met. George still has no idea why Dream was there, but he was, and George was thankful, though he didn't care much about what the man had been saying to him.
He got where he stood. He was a vaguely grouchy computer science nerd. He was quiet and had a small figure and lived in a weird place, so, yes, he'd been catcalled before. It was definitely unpleasant, but George had already come to terms with the fact that people suck. Funnily enough, though, after that first run in with Dream, the weird guy from across the hall never tried to talk to George again and... now that he thought about it, George hadn't even seen the guy since that situation.
No matter.
George had thanked Dream, invited him in— just out of politeness and having expected him to decline— for a drink. Dream did not decline. George found pretty quickly that they'd had a similar sense of humor and got along okay.
Which is pretty much how George got his weird-ass roommate Dream Taken. Now George found the apartment slightly less off-putting, because he knew there was somebody who lived there who could beat the shit out of people for him.
And the longer the two lived together, the weird George found Dream.
***
"Jesus fucking Christ, Dream, you smell like blood. Who'd you beat up?" George asks jokingly with a deadpan expression on his face as Dream walks into the kitchen, ignoring George, who was unpacking groceries.
"Nobody," Dream responds shortly. A man of few words.
To be fair, George thinks to himself, he did look pissed. Maybe he just had a hard day? "I'm making food, you want something?"
"Please," muttered the taller as he rummaged around under the sink, seemingly looking for something.
George finishes putting away the food, and grabs out a pot for spaghetti. "'Scuse you," he says rudely. He knows Dream knows he's joking, though.
"Fuck off." Dream waves him off, searching the cabinet and pushing various cleaning products aside. "Are we out of trash bags?" Dream finally asks, removing his head from the cabinet.
"No. I moved them just to fuck with you," he snarks. "Yeah, we're out," he concedes when he gets an annoyed look from Dream.
Dream's foul mood didn't seem like it would get better. He stands up, closing the cabinet loudly and stalking out of the kitchen. George jumps out of the way, and flips him off.
***
Dream doesn't get back for another few hours, and the spaghetti is cold. George just puts his plate in the microwave and goes to his room to just sit around and maybe pretend to read a book. Then, he hears the door quietly open at the front of the flat. "Foods in the microwave," he yells with no enthusiasm.
He can hear the microwave open and the plate rattle, and Dream's heavy footsteps heading over to the small table George had stolen in the chaos of the guy upstairs moving out. George thought it was only fair. The guys apartment was right above his and he was always blasting music. George used to have to bang on the ceiling with a broom to get him to turn it down.
"This spaghetti fucking sucks," shouts a voice, suddenly at his door. It startles him. Something was a bit off about it. It definitely wasn't Dream. A fist pounded on the door, and the handle rattles.
George's heart thumps loudly and he'd suddenly very glad his apartment is shitty enough and he's poor enough that the old doorknobs didn't get replaced. The jam gives him a few seconds to jump up and lock it.
"Let me in, kid! I mean no harm. I'm looking for a Mr. Taken," he says, suddenly taking on a much sweeter tone, like he was just trying to coax a scared cat out of a crate. George keeps his mouth shut as he panics, figuring out what the hell he's supposed to do in this situation. Nobody's ever broken into his house before!
Well, once. But that didn't count. Story for another time.
At the lack of response, the kindness immediately leaves the guy's voice, and he yells again, pulling the door so hard George thinks it might fly off the hinges. "I know the fucker lives here! Open the fucking door!"
George does not open the door.
Instead, he opts for doing the opposite. He barricades the door with his bed and dresser, all the while being screamed at. He deeply regrets leaving his phone by the sink with his dirty spaghetti plate.
"He'll come back eventually! He will, and when he does, I'll kill him!" More knocking. Then, silence.
Suddenly, George hears a creak and the slam and crack of his bookshelf in the living room being knocked over. Then more crashes, now from the kitchen. Finally, a few bang against the hallway.
Horror dawns on George as he realizes what's going on. A thousand ideas were running around his head, and this being an elaborate prank was now ruled out. He really was going to kill Dream. And he must've had motive, so he was trying to make the scene look random.
Like a fight. Scuffs on the wall and knocked over furniture. Surely the man had taken his phone and keys by now. He was making it look like a robbery gone wrong.
1208 words
IN MEDIAS RES, LOSERS (please somebody know what I'm talking about)(also this is actually a very bad example of in medias res)
I had sudden inspiration so I put this together and now I'm publishing it instead of doing homework.
YOU ARE READING
It's Called: Freefall
Fanfiction--- "Are we out of trash bags?" Dream finally asks, removing his head from the cabinet. "No. I moved them just to fuck with you," he snarks. "Yeah, we're out," he concedes when he gets an annoyed look from Dream. --- OR: George hates his lonely apa...
