You enter the apartment area with mixed feelings.
You're sharing the place with another guy; who he is you don't even know. Your friend Jade said he'd pay for half of the rent cost though, and besides, he needs the interaction as much as you do.
Okay, she had mumbled that part. Probably you weren't supposed to hear it. You only asked about the part pertaining to you though.
She said that you were a little different from other people, but not too much, so you and Dave? would get along.
You didn't really see how you're that different. You'd just been through a lot of shit. Getting harassed by people because you didn't like the same things, had a bad childhood etc, etc.
Jade said it's important because you're accepting of people, and that's exactly what he needs! Well he doesn't really need it but it'd help him, she thinks.
You just shrugged, at the time. She has some mad intuition, and you re not gonna try your luck against that kind of crazy shit.
So you walk to the door of your new home for as long as your college life, stick your new key in the hole(wow that sounded more sexual then you meant), and find a couple of boxes strewn around along with...Are those swords?
Eh, whatever. Probably some thing the guy has- oh holy fuck when did he get into the middle of the room.
You have a stare off for a while. As close to a stare off as you can get with a guy who s wearing shades indoors.
You find this odd, and the guy in the room knows it. Who wouldn t know it, you're staring at him like he's on display at Wal-mart or something.
"...Hey, so you're Dave, right?"
He nods. You...Guess you should nod back? You want to ask about the shades already but nope you don't let yourself because maybe he has an eye condition and is sensitive about it or maybe he just doesn't want to show his face. Whatever floats his boat.
It s not like you're even going to talk that much. You aren't friends, you're two guys who aren't rich and therefore need to live together but can't stand dorms. That's it for you two.
At least, you think so.
Cut two weeks later.
All your stuff is in your room. All his stuff is in his room. You provide the table, he provides the dining chairs. He provides the xbox, you provide the games. The housing manager provides the refrigerator, Dave provides Swords. Holy shit, you almost got blendered by a bunch of swords in your fridge. And that sounded pretty retarded.
Two weeks in, and you're starting to regret listening to Jade.
You get straight away that Dave is...Unique. Aren't all musicians? You're one too, after all, albeit not a DJ but a legitimate saxophone-slash-piano-slash-violin playing one. But a DJ is pretty cool a job and living, and he already made his half of rent for the month, so it's cool.
But the sword thing. That has got to change. Especially because your eggs are in there and nobody gets in between you and breakfast.
"Hey, Dave."
Dave looks up. You feel kind of bad, he was doing quantum physiiiiiics- holy shit why is he that smart how the hell is he that smart you wish you were that smart. But back to the point.
"Can I ask why you put swords in the fridge?"
"Because that s where I normally put them?"
You open your mouth. Is he trying to mock you or something? But you hold that thought. Then you twist it.
"Sorry to tell you, but swords don't really go in the fridge most of the time. And uh, frankly, I don't really care where you'll put them if you live alone sometime, but I kinda need the fridge space for, you know, food."
"So I don t have to store my shit in the closet?"
He literally looks like he's contemplating the idea. Where the fuck did this guy live.
"Okay." He answers, thankfully, like a relatively sane person would.
"Cool." You nod, and he nods back. It s like Antartica in this bitch.
Wow okay you don't even know why you said that. Either way, you feel like more specifics should come into play.
Also, that just rhymed. Apparently Dave has more of an effect on you then you thought.
"You can have the right half of the fridge, and I'll take the left. Sound okay?"
"Yeah, sure." He goes back to his physics.
Three more weeks pass.
"Dave, you've warned me about stairs at least four times in the past month."
"It's just that they're life's enemy, and it just keeps happening-"
"Hey Dave, you're doing it again."
"Oh, shit."
He's gotten more talkative. Which is...Good. Yeah. Better than stoic, which he was for a while. Swords rarely pop up in the fridge, and when they do, both of you sort of smile. It's like an inside joke.
But it's not, because you aren't really friends, you're just sharing a living space and wow you sound like you're trying to cover something up.
Two months pass.
Sometimes you still hear them. The voices, telling you you're a piece of shit that'll never amount to anything. But that's drowned out nowadays.
Dave has taken to the habit of playing records and mixes when you're having a hard time sleeping. You're not even sure how he knows. You never said anything about it, and you're damn sure you haven't screamed in your sleep for a long time.
But he's got intuition too, you guess.
And you hear him talking to Jade over the computer, along with two other people you don't actually know. You can hear laughter in his voice though. You can hear him talk, a lot. He goes off on the wildest tangents.
It's sort of endearing, even though you never get his wild tangent talks.
Another week.
Sometimes, you hate Dave, and other times, you wonder how the fuck you would've gone by not knowing someone like him. He can be an insufferable prick.
But he's a cool guy, too, and you're glad that Jade suggested living here.
His obsession with time is sort of off-putting. Especially how he has a metronome constantly going. That ticks you off the most. But you let it slide, because hey, he buys all this apple juice and is teaching you how to use a shitty sword. You kind of understand his flash-stepping now too.
In exchange, he hasn't put any swords in the fridge(besides the joke ones that cannot cut off your toe), the stairs thing is long gone, and he's used your sax-slash-piano-slash-violin stuff in his work.
You never said it, but you thought that last one was sort of a bonus on your part, too.
You think that maybe, by some strange chance, you and him have become friends.
One last week.
You re walking down the street, it's dark. There are drunk fucks everywhere.
A car swerves onto your sidewalk. You narrowly avoid it.
Thank god.
Oh.
You re on the ground. You think you're bleeding.
How'd that happen?
Oh, a second car. You get it.
Suddenly, you get everything.
You're at a hospital.
Your friends are crying around you, thankful that you've woken up.
You're already aware you're going to die, though, so you don't quite get why they're all so happy to see a person who's going to be dead anyways.
Dave walks in. The rest of them leave. Dave stays.
"Hey."
"Sup."
It s a joke. You always say hey, he always says sup. That's life for you two. However, it s about all you can say.
"You look like shit." Always to the point. "But you re gonna live, so it s all good."
You just shake your head. No, you aren't.
He doesn't notice it.
You try your hardest to croak out more words.
"Dave. I'm. Going. To. Die." He gives you a sharp look.
"No you aren't."
You give him the look. He walks over, takes off the shades, and then he stares you straight in the eye.
What a nice color, red is. But you don t let go of the stare. Not until he says out loud, "You really are going to die, and that's why you know it, isn't it."
You nod. Then you say, "Pretty color."
He doesn't say anything.
You wish you could tell him that, oops, there was a little baby crush on him happening in the back of your mind. But that takes too many words, and would probably kill him at this point.
Instead, you opt for, "Not being...Sarcastic."
He gives you one long, steady look. Then, as if struck by sudden realization, he asks,
"What's your name?"
You wish you could laugh. All the days spent living together and just now you both realize, he doesn't know your name. But instead you just make him come closer because you re getting tired, and whisper it.
Another week.
You're now Dave Strider, and you're at a funeral for a roommate whose name you didn't even know until they day they were in the hospital.
Jade's sobbing a fountain next to you. Somehow, you can't bring yourself to cry.
Their other friends give you a dirty look. You remain passive.
Later on, you take every song and creation with their contribution and throw them out or store them, never to be used again. Every lullaby mix you made because you could hear them crying in their sleep, you put away and decide that they'll never see the light of day. Every shitty sword that you kept dull for fridge purposes is sold. The metronome is clicked off, and the stairs are ignored.
And you can't even look at eggs anymore.
Goodbye, roommate.
It was nice while it lasted.