Demyx tripped his way up the creaking wooden stairs of the ratty old apartment complex, stumbling not only on the cracked and broken parts of the stairs, but all the shit littering them as well. The single mother that worked from home in apartment 6B let her two snot-nosed kids play on the stairs everyday- one of these days those little shits were going to take a fatal tumble down the deathtrap stairs and that'd be the end of them- and they left their toys all over the goddamn place. Not to mention the cigarette butts, empty beer bottles, condom packets, and various other things which were to be unnamed dirtying up the stairwell, and making the whole hallway reek of, in Demyx's words, cheap whore and back alley sex. It was amazing to the blond that any mother would let her children play on these things seeing as how dangerous and disgusting they were. It's not like a shitty place like this had a cleaning crew, and none of the tenants would be willing to perform any upkeep on them. It was amazing, really, the interesting cast of characters here had yet to be evicted and the whole place condemned. Most of them, including Demyx, had two or more months of back rent due, but the landlord couldn't give two shits about the money owed or the people who owed it. He was a wealthy senator that bought a plot of land, built a crappy, makeshift apartment complex on it, and called it 'community improvement to provide housing for the lower class citizens'; in other words, a slum. That asshole was a modern day slumlord, but he didn't really care as much about receiving the monthly rent. He had other more pressing matters to attend to; like the county office building workers that'd open their legs if somebody pulled a wallet out in front of them. Welcome to the biggest shithole county on the face of the earth. Enjoy your stay and make sure to get checked for any STDs on the way home.
Grunting a bit as he reached the landing, Demyx kicked a crushed beer can out of his path as he reached the dented metal door to his apartment. The dents come from his roommate's temper that flared if he was given a look that could even be considered a mild challenge. It wasn't uncommon Demyx would throw his sorry ass out, take his keys, and lock the door. This led to punching and kicking against the door that left some pretty nasty markings that warped the metal, and a lot of tension between the two males. For being such a small kid, he sure could pack a wallop.
Fishing his key out from the front pocket of his worn jeans, Demyx unlocked the door and let himself in sighing as his ears were instantly assaulted with The Ramones screaming through the crackling speakers of the audio system Demyx had picked up for ten dollars at a garage sale two years ago. The speakers were partially blown when he'd gotten the stupid thing, but now they were all but unable to even produce a clear sound unless the volume was cranked up. Waaaaay up.
Demyx rubbed at his temple with one hand as he dropped his work bag on the cluttered kitchen table upon passing it with the other. A couple past due bills hit the floor with a muted thud, but it could hardly be heard over the sound of 70's teenage rebellion. The already frustrated blond clicked the stereo off the moment he reached it, not even caring about the backlash he knew he was going to get. As if on cue, a furious, "What the fuck!" rang out from behind the bathroom door above the sound of a shower running.
"I have a headache, and it two in the goddamn morning, Zexion!" Demyx called back, padding across the stained, what-used-to-be cream coloured carpet to the old couch full of holes 'fixed' by shitty duct tape repair jobs and singed by cigarette ashes gone astray. The blond ran his finger over a particularly dark marking in the faded brown leather, sighing softly to himself as his finger blacked a bit from the spot.
It only took a few minutes of sitting on the rock hard and sunken couch before Demyx started dozing off. He was rudely awakened by the potent stench of a burning cigarette and a pissed off, "Hey, shithead."
Cracking one cyan eye open, Demyx sighed as he saw his roommate, clad in a pair of used-to-be skinny jeans that sagged on his bony frame in all kinds of places, and a ripped and stained tee shirt with the logo of some punk band he probably didn't even like, standing with a burning cigarette in one hand, and the other raking through his damp slate hair that had been hacked short like a half-assed Mohawk on one side so it fell to the right and covered part of his profile in uneven layers. "What?" Demyx huffed back, agitated, leaning his head against the back of the couch and bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. A classic gesture that meant 'Demyx has had enough of your shit. Go away.'
"I was listening that. Care to enlighten me as to why you turned it off?" Demyc could already sense his roommate's temper flaring up like a match teetering dangerously over an oil spill. Under normal circumstances, the blond would've backed off, but he was exhausted from work, and fed up with Zexion's shit day-in, and day-out.
"I told you already. It is two in the goddamn morning, and I have a headache."
"So take a Tylenol, and get over it." Zexion rolled his eyes, leaning over and ashing his cigarette in the full ashtray atop the makeshift coffee table. "You whine like a little bitch sometimes, I swear."
This comment really irked the blond, and he opened both his eyes tiredly. "I worked all damn day, Zexion. I am tired. What did your lazy ass do all day?" He nearly snarled, but kept his voice cool and aloof as he possibly could under the circumstances.
"Recorded half an album at the studio. Contrary to your single minded beliefs, I do actually do shit during the day."
"You mean you actually do something else besides smoking, drinking, and fucking anybody stupid enough to fall for your advances? I'm impressed." Demyx said back in a tone absolutely oozing sarcasm.
"Hey, go fuck yourself." Zexion sneered, taking a drag of the cigarette all but forgotten until it had started burning a little too close to his fingertips. He put the butt out in the ashtray before walking to his bedroom, leaving the smell of stale smoke in his wake.
"Fucking asshole…" Demyx grumbled under his breath, rubbing the palms of his hands into his eyes. "I'm going to go to jail one of these days, you know!" He hollered to the other male.
Zexion reemerged from his room, now sporting a pair of beaten combat boots- the ones with a million straps and buckles that Demyx hated because he thought it was all just unnecessary bullshit on a pair of perfectly good shoes- and an equally worn leather jacket the bluenet wore whenever he was going out. As in going out.
"You? Go to jail? Pssh, yeah, right." Zexion laughed as if it were the funniest, most improbable thing he'd ever heard. "What for? Being a stuck up asshole? That's very likely."
"Get a grip, Zexion," Demyx sighed, the agitation in his voice clear as day, yet it didn't faze the other male in the slightest. "Your life is a goddamn train wreck. And no matter how much your drink, or how many cigarettes you smoke, or no matter the amount of meaningless sex you go out and partake in, you will never be fulfilled unless you get your act together and settle the fuck down."
Zexion reached into his pocket and withdrew a cigarette, sticking it between his lips as he fished out his silver Zippo from a separate pocket dedicated to his lighter as a precaution so he'd never lose it. "I didn't ask for a life lesson from Mr. Never Fulfils Anything He Sets Out To." He rolled his striking blue eyes with deep purple shadows looming below them, his whole face seeming to be sunken and concave. Alcohol, cigarettes, very little sleep, and not eating all that often did that to a person.
"I'm not giving you a life lesson." Demyx interjected, tonelessly.
"I don't really care what you're doing. I'm going out, and you can do whatever the hell you want. You're getting put in jail, right..?"
"Not right this second, but I will be."
"Ppfft, for what?"
"Murder of a punk-ass twenty something."
Zexion laughed teasingly, god how Demyx loathed when he laughed like that, and earned a flipping of the bird from the bluenet as he rolled his eyes. "You'll have to find my ass first." He laughed again, the sound causing Demyx to set his jaw in a tight line and force himself to stay seated on the couch rather than getting up and punching Zexion right in his goddamn face.
"Don't stay out until five in the morning." The blond warned, and Zexion gave a dismissive wave.
"You're not my mother." The bluenet stated before slipping out the door, slamming it behind himself.
As soon as Demyx was sure Zexion was out of earshot, he groaned loudly, running a hand through his mulleted hairstyle, and tugging harshly on the blond strands. He knew somebody needed to reign that boy in, and put his cocky ass in his place. That cockiness would be the death of him- if lung cancer alcohol poisoning, or some untreated STD didn't get to him first.
"Goddamn idiot. Cocky-ass bastard…" Demyx hissed venomously beneath his breath as he dragged himself from the couch to his bedroom and dropping like a stone against the lumpy, uneven mattress. It didn't take long for Demyx to be out cold, and his final thought before actually succumbing to sleep was how much of it he was going to actually get before Zexion came bursting back in; most likely drunken and sexed up and reeking of alcohol and stale cigarettes. This was his wake-up call most nights, and that troublesome bluenet was really trying his luck lately.