Hey guys! Just wanted to say a massive thank you to those of you for reading and also to those of you who have taken the time to review, follow and/or favourite, it really means a lot to me. I'm really glad you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you enjoy this one too.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Chapter Two
Nothing. Absolutely nothing is what follows Austin's outburst and maybe he should have expected that, it is three in the fucking morning after all. This is what he gets though for being such a lazy idiot, isn't it? He's hopeless, completely and utterly hopeless; Ally had known that, his new neighbours now know that, and whatever doubts his mom and dad had regarding his capabilities as a fully functioning member of society will be confirmed for them Monday morning. He might actually hate himself.
It's only as Austin is rolling around on the surprisingly grungy carpet whilst simultaneously wailing and pulling desperately at his hair does his beacon of hope relight itself, this time in the form of a voice. The words are muffled by layers of drywall but Austin knows he heard them. "DID YOU SAY PENIS?"
Scrambling to his feet Austin throws himself in the direction of the voice, flying down the miniscule hallway that leads towards his bedroom. He stops just short of the wall, staring up at it like it holds all the secrets of the universe. With his heart pounding heavily in his chest, adrenaline and hope running through his veins, Austin beats his hands against the wall as loudly as he possibly can.
"PENIS! PENIS! PENIS!" He cries, banging his hands as hard as the wall will allow without totally giving way. "C'MON! PENIS!" He's creating such a ruckus that he almost misses the sound of someone shuffling around the apartment on the other side.
On slightly wobbly legs (because the hands of fate have intervened to save his ass and he's never been so grateful in his life) Austin hurries towards his front door, ripping it open just as the person outside has begun knocking.
"Penis?" Austin breathes up at his new neighbour in sheer bewilderment for fate has not delivered him a busty blonde with the wifi password written across her chest (the pornography industry has let him down yet again; reality fucking sucks), but instead has deposited a human giraffe clad in plaid pyjamas and moose slippers.
"Penis," The man affirms, offering Austin what might actually be the biggest smile in all of history. "May I come in?" The man doesn't wait for an answer, simply takes Austin's astounded silence as a 'yes' before brushing past him and into the living room.
Austin shuffles dumbfounded after the man, noting the ease at which the stranger moves about the room, despite the fact that the two have yet to exchange more than a handful of words. For all this guy knows Austin could be a serial killer looking to prey on his latest victim, and yet the man seems totally unperturbed by this as he sinks down onto the couch, placing Austin's computer onto his lap.
"Oh," Austin says taken aback. When he'd invited the stranger in he'd expected the man to just tell him the password, not make himself at home right there on his couch (he's actually put his feet up on the cardboard box Austin's been using as a table). "I thought you might just… right, you're going to put the password in, yeah?"
His neighbour, who has been typing furiously while Austin had stood awkwardly at the doorway, pauses to look up at him, his eyes are surprisingly bright for three in the morning. "Yeah… unless that wasn't what you wanted me to do? I just figured you were following the instruction on the available network tab, but maybe you just have a phallic obsession… I had a roommate like that once, he was alright though once you got past all the dick talk."
Austin thinks he's supposed to laugh but he's too dismayed to do so. Instead he finds himself continuing to gawk at the stranger settled on his couch, crooked flower crown perched atop a mess of fiery orange hair and baby blue eyes that make even the summer skies seem dull.
"What the fuck are you?" Austin mutters, mostly to himself but the man appears to have bat like senses for he halts his ex-roommate horror stories, juggles the laptop into one hand and moves to shake Austin's own hand with the other.
"Dez," The man says, pumping Austin's hand with a level of enthusiasm Austin struggles to comprehend. "Sorry, thought I'd introduced myself already, I guess not. Didn't mean to be rude, I promise. I'm a bit tired though and I tend to be forgetful when I'm tired."
"Won't stop you from remembering you're the wifi password though, right?" Austin asks, because really that's all the man is here for anyway. He leads Dez back to the sofa, plopping down in the space beside him. His body is heavy with sleep but he needs to reply to that email, preferably yesterday but he supposes now will do. "M'Austin by the way."
"Austin," Dez repeats before shooting the man in question yet another one thousand watt grin. "I've never met an Austin before."
He's struggling to keep his eyes open, his mother's list still clutched firmly in his hand, but Austin somehow finds it in him to reply. Unfortunately the sleepiness, and whatever is left of the alcohol (fucking Dallas), makes him respond in a way that can only be described as forward. "You're not a serial killer are you?"
Dez snorts with laughter; he sounds a lot like a goose, Austin thinks. "I think if I were I would have murdered you by now, don't you?"
Austin shrugs. "Maybe, maybe not. I don't know much about serial killers. Just didn't want my life to come to an end at the hands of a guy wearing moose slippers and a crown made of daisies." And even though he should probably respect this guy's boundaries, Austin goes ahead and snatches the crown from his head, twirling it around his fingers several times before placing it upon his own blonde locks. "How do I look?"
"Dashing," Dez responds with a giggle, evidently unruffled by tipsy Austin's lack of respect for personal space. "And they're peonies, not daisies."
Austin shrugs. "Tomayto, tomahto."
Dez doesn't respond, merely returns to typing away on Austin's laptop. He knows he's no expert but Austin's fairly certain that filling in the wifi password shouldn't take more than a few seconds, nor should it involve this much typing. However, beyond the oddly melodic sound of Dez's tapping, there's only silence to be heard throughout the apartment, and it's almost enough to lull him to sleep. The sharp corners of the card in his hand serve as a reminder to keep his eyes open and his mind alert. He needs to send that email.
"Not that I'm not totally grateful that you're allowing me to steal your internet but I kind of really need to reply to an email, so I was just wondering how much longer you were gonna be?" Austin inquires in a tone that he hopes isn't as brash as he knows it probably is. The alcohol makes him want to be happy, his brain is making him sleepy, his delight at having company in his otherwise desolate home is encouraging him to make his neighbour laugh some more, but ultimately the card in his hand wins; he's becoming tetchy instead, on edge because he needs to prove to his parents that he isn't a complete screw-up.
"Oh! Sorry!" Dez sounds genuinely apologetic, crystalline eyes alight with surprise. "I just… I noticed that you didn't have a very good anti-virus so I figured I'd do something about that for you, you know so you don't send your laptop to an early grave with all that porn you download." Austin finds himself blushing furiously at Dez's words; what kind of person checks out someone else's download history? Noticing Austin's violently red cheeks Dez hurries out, "Not that I think that's weird or anything. In fact it's a perfectly healthy activity to engage in and –"
"I get it," Austin grunts out, taking his PearBook from Dez's notably large hands and hastily movie to open his internet browser (he also makes a mental note to delete his download folder). "Thanks for the password, and the anti-virus," He tacks on as an afterthought.
"No problem," Dez takes no notice of Austin's change of mood, or if he does he doesn't care. Instead of bidding his neighbour a goodnight and graciously leaving like any other person would, Dez remains seated at Austin's side, glancing around the room with curious eyes.
"You can leave now," Austin tells him, a frustrated bite to his tone. His fingers aren't moving as fast as he needs them to, this email needs to be sent NOW.
Dez, who's looking around the room with a similar sense of wonderment to that of a child, shakes his head. "You've got my crown. I can't leave without it."
Austin doesn't think as he pulls the crown off of his head and tosses it carelessly in Dez's general direction. He doesn't take his eyes of the computer screen, watching anxiously as Zaplook takes it's time to send the email. He does, however, hear the flower crown tumble to the floor.
As his computer sounds its familiar chime, allowing him to breathe with the knowledge his email has been sent, Austin looks up, a sheepish look in his eye. "I didn't mean for it to fall on the floor."
Dez waves him off with an airy hand as he bends to retrieve the crown. It's even more lopsided now and one of the flowers has dropped off but Dez returns it to its rightful spot upon his head nonetheless. Austin can't help but think he's weird.
"How do I look?" Dez asks, a smile playing in the corner of his lips.
And because he knows he's been rude, Austin replies with his own conciliatory smirk. "Dashing."
Dez cackles out a laugh, his guffaw ricocheting off of the peeling walls of the tiny room. "Good. I don't want my viewers thinking I'm anything short of debonair," He says, climbing to his feet and heading towards the door. "G'night Penis Pal."
He's gone before Austin can respond in kind, giving the blonde not chance to inquire further about his 'viewers', or why he gave him free anti-virus software, or why he's up at three o'clock in the morning waiting for someone to steal his wifi, or more importantly, what the fuck a 'penis pal' is.
Monday comes around far too quickly for Austin's liking. He'd spent Saturday in bed doing exactly what Dallas had predicted, nursing a hangover, and Sunday had been spent lounging on the couch and exchanging dirty text messages with the checkout girl from Mercedes Lenz. He hasn't been on his laptop though, no matter how much he'd wanted to spend Sunday night kicking ass at World of Warlords.
You see, to begin with he'd really appreciated Dez's kind gesture of installing free anti-virus software onto his computer, unfortunately one sour dream now had him convinced Dez was in fact a serial killer, regardless of what he'd said, and was now using the software to spy on him and plot his ultimate demise. Austin knows it's stupid, knows Dallas would probably spend the next month taunting him over his amateur dramatics but he can't help it, he's convinced.
So instead he avoids his laptop like it's the latest carrier of plague and occupies his time with exchanging nudes with Felicia (he wonders if he'll get free shades out of this) and unpacking some more of his boxes. Most of the cardboard creations are crammed with a mixture of clothes and DVDs, so it's not difficult to immerse himself with the activity in the hour he has before he has to leave for work.
Stupidly Austin doesn't check the writing on the next box he chooses, assuming the weight of it is a result of his poor packing capabilities and so when he opens it he expects to find his winter coats. Its contents are far less pleasant; books from his high school years, his varsity letterman jacket, an assortment of CDs that he knows without checking are his various demos, and finally, Ally's book.
His chest aches as he settles on the floor beside his bed, ancient journal in hand. He wants to open it but he's not sure he can put himself through that kind of torture again, even if he probably deserves it. Somewhere in the room, in a box much bigger than the last, is his guitar, he figures if he wants to add to the pain that's currently eating at him he should haul that out too.
He's had his guitar years, it's the oldest friend he has or at least it used to be. He can't remember the last time he touched it, let alone used it, it's been locked away for years now, a relic of his past. It carries just as much heartache as the book he holds in his hands.
He knows it's not going to end well, knows he's probably going to end up on the shower floor curled up in the foetal position, but he opens the book anyway. He flicks through it carefully, scared timeworn pages will crumble to dust if he moves too fast. His fingers are gentle in their motions, light to the touch and wary. Every turn of the page is like a bullet to his chest.
God does his miss her.
He traces his fingers across the loopy curves of her writing, years of calligraphy camp having blessed her with enviable penmanship. Of course there are pages that are filled with his own handwriting, hurried lyrics and misspelt words, but they don't resonate with him as much as Ally's do. Somehow, even though it's been years since he's seen her, she still holds the key to his heart, and as he acknowledges this he hates himself a little bit more for throwing hers away.
Somewhere inside the apartment, probably stuffed between the cushions of the couch, his phone is blasting its obnoxious ringtone. He knows without looking that it's his mom, knows that's she's worrying about his whereabouts and why he's not at work, knows that if he doesn't answer his dad will call next, but he can't find it within himself to care.
Instead of acting as the responsible adult his parents are so desperate for him to be, Austin folds himself into a ball on the floor, Ally's book hugged close to his chest. He wonders when he became this person, when he stopped caring about, well, everything. He hates his job, he hates his apartment, and even though Dallas is his best friend he doesn't even think he has the heart for him anymore, that maybe spending time with him has become a chore too.
He looks to Ally's book for answers but as usual the only thing it provides him with is tears. Nothing matters, not now and nor will it ever. He resigns himself to lying on the floor and staring blankly up at the ceiling. He knows he should haul himself up and off to work but he can't, so instead he just lies there, willing his world to kick start again, to find the lust for life he's been missing since he was eighteen and stupid.
Across the room a stack of haphazardly piled boxes collapse, their contents spilling out onto the floor, landing just short of Austin's face. He turns to see his guitar lying in the empty space beside him. He supposes that's his answer; it sounds a lot like fate laughing at him.