Damien was puzzled. This wasn't really the sort of word that Damien used frequently, but it seemed the best way to sum up his feelings. Confused didn't really cover it and wasn't quite such an entertaining word. There was no paper on his desk. Nor was there a computer, or any pens with which he could graffiti on the computer. His paperclip chain was missing, and the stain in that chair had not been left there by him. Damien Harrow did not defecate in his chair. He was quite convinced that the toilet was there for just that very purpose. Looking up at the ceiling, he was further puzzled to discover that there actually was no ceiling. This led him to discover that there was no floor, which in turn led him to wake up on the floor of his bedroom with bits of paper and food stuck to his face. Something was buzzing, and said something was not welcome if it was going to continue doing so.

"Alarm clock," he muttered into his floor and dragged himself to his feet. Scanning the room, he was vaguely concerned to find that his alarm clock had gone missing. He scratched his head, searching in all of the places that his clock seemed likely to be. Under the bed, inside the wardrobe, behind the wardrobe, in the chest of drawers… and of course, the window sill. It wasn't in any of the places that he looked, but something was still buzzing. Realization suddenly hit him and he groaned. The goddamn doorbell. What was it with builders and doorbells?

"Open the bloody door, Damien!" Whoever was outside had clearly been there for a long time. This was not welcome news, because they'd probably been leaning on the doorbell for the whole time and robbing his precious batteries of their energy. Cursing, he leaned out of the window, with no regard for the fact that he had no clothes on, and told whoever was so desperate to get into his house to consume faeces and expire. His language was, of course, markedly coarser. "I am not leaving until you open the door," was the reply. Damien growled and flung himself back inside, grabbing the nearest thing that might pass for an article of clothing.

"This is not my t-shirt." This was quite true, because the t-shirt in his hands was brown and Damien would sooner lick a dead seal than wear a brown t-shirt. The buzzing of the doorbell seemed unlikely to stop any time soon, so he pulled it over his head anyway and located a pair of jeans. Thundering loudly down the stairs, before he even got to the door he had begun insulting and threatening the idiot on the other side. "Unless this is very, very important I am going to gut you like a fish," he snarled as he flung the door open, doing it's rusted hinges so favours whatsoever. Tobias stood there, looking very annoyed indeed. So annoyed, in fact, that for a while he failed to notice the fact that the door had been opened and continued wearing out the batteries of the doorbell.

"Took you long enough. I've been here for nearly half an hour, looking very much like a wet fish," he began at a length, falling silent and waiting for a reply to his accusations. Damien made an odd noise, that suggested he really didn't give a rat's ass if Tobias had been stood there for a month. It was his money he was wasting on new batteries, which made the fact that Tobias had been standing in the freezing cold for an awfully long time perfectly acceptable.

"I don't know, a frozen fish might be more appropriate given the weather," he mused, staring up at the sky which was an unpleasant shade of grey, showing equally unpleasant flecks of white down on to England. Augh, snow. It usually meant children, which were horrible little blemishes on the planet and should, as far as Damien was concerned, have been put in an underground bunker and birth and left there until they were old enough to know that there was nothing funny about pointing and saying "what is wrong with that man's face?" It was hardly Damien's fault if the crappy printer had decided to explode, and it was hardly his fault if that vast amount of coloured ink had made him look something like a clown. Anyway, if they cared that much they should have asked him.

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Staring at nothing in particular while I freeze to death on your doorstep."

"In my defence, last time I did that you were in the house and perfectly warm."

"Shut up and let me in."

"No." With that, Damien shut the door and trooped up the stairs, with every intention of going back to bed. He was blissfully unaware that it was 3pm and that he probably should have been very much awake at that hour. The doorbell started up again, and Damien heaved a long and suffering sigh as he turned back to the door, muttering profanities under his breath. Once again he flung the door open, tearing the bottom hinge clean off in doing so. "I hate you, Tobias. I hope you know that."

"I love you too, Damien."

"Shut up." He replied irritably, rather wishing his friend had frozen to death a while ago. Bundling him into the house, Damien closed the door and pointed towards the kitchen. "Go. Eat. Leave." He grunted, returning to the stairs and starting up them.

"You think I came all this way - on a bus, mind you - just so I could get some breakfast?" Tobias demanded. There was another distant grunt from Damien, and the sound of his door thudding shut. This was followed by it being locked, and the dull thump as he threw himself on to his bed.

'There is someone in my room.'

Who could possible be in his room? The door was locked, for the love of all things holy. Damien groaned a demand that they leave right away, and shut the door on the way out. They didn't seem to listen, because the next thing he knew there was some very cold water on his face. This was even less welcome than the ringing of the doorbell earlier, and indeed made him scream, lunging vaguely and punching his attacker square in the jaw.

"Ow! Jesus!" It was, and this surprised him very little, Tobias in his room.

"What are you playing at?"

"What are you playing at! Did I really deserve that?"

"Did you really need to throw a glass of stagnant water over me?"

"How else was I supposed to wake you up?"

"Ever heard of the saying 'wake up Damien, you lazy asshole'?"

"Can't say I have."

"Well you're a cunt, then." He replied simply, getting to his feet and glancing towards the door. It was still bolted shut, which was rather curious. "How did you get in, anyway?"

"Ever he--"

"How about you just tell me?"

"The window," Tobias replied with a wicked grin. Damien laughed, shaking his head.

"Nothing is safe."