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The time was about 7 in the morning, with a new day’s light pooling into an otherwise lackluster bathroom. It was there that Medkit stood in front of a running faucet, scraping a cream-ended blade down his jaw. Beside him was a phone, which faintly culled his morning thoughts with music older than himself. Admittedly, the tune barely sung over the water.
Perhaps that was Medkit’s mistake—letting the music run as low as it did—as it was then that his thoughts stirred into reflection.
His hand lowered the blade and held it to the sink, letting the white noise cleanse it of foam and hair while his gaze stared aimlessly ahead. It was mornings like these, lazy and quiet, that he grew to remember times he tricked himself into viewing as fond. Times where arms draped around his hips, and a chin rested atop his shoulder.
The thought alone sent disgust down his spine with a thread pulled down between his brows. Accompanying it, came a name that beckoned the bile in his stomach.
Subspace.
He disliked repeating it, whether it’d been through thought or voice. Much to his disdain, however, it was impossible to convince an unruly mind so easily. So, like a stubborn child, Medkit elected to ignore it—to bring his hand to his phone, press his thumb against its side, and muffle it with music he now hardly recognized. Yet, as a clean blade now hung uselessly under water, he could still only stare.
…How was he doing now, anyway?
Nonsense. He blinked, shook the water from his razor, frowned, and took it back up to his jaw. Yet, the more he tried to ignore his mind, the faster it raced—stumbling over itself with memories and assumptions, contradicting, heightening. With each stroke, his hand tensed, and tensed, up until it finally shook just an inch wrong. He felt a sting bloom, drew back, and came about a realization.
His research… Now he thought about it—his later documents, all of them… They were still there, in that prick’s very home, weren’t they? In such a rush, he could hardly believe he’d forgotten such a dire thing.
And that was a dangerous folder to leave behind—particularly in that monster’s hands.
Yet, the thought of retrieving it was enough to make time freeze. Muscles grew still as he stared ahead, far removed from the present. Hand lowered from his face, the logistics of it all began to take and sculpt his mind, recounting every last place he’d remembered putting it. Perhaps he’d misremembered—he thought back to his bedroom, every drawer beneath his desk. If he couldn’t remember it within a drawer, then perhaps it was tucked under the desk itself. If not the desk itself, then perhaps it was in the bathroom, in the cabinet—
His spare hand lowered to the cabinet below the sink and pulled it open. He bent to look inside, prying his gaze around a few desolate bottles and pipes. It stood there for a few beats, scanning more than thrice, then flew away.
Perhaps the shelves.
The blade dropped on the counter and the sink continued running. He looked over the few bottles and boxes, hoping to catch the shine of a green folder.
But it wasn’t there.
He continued like this, later abandoning the bathroom to check his desk. Then, he checked his kitchen. About the house, he held a bookshelf, though he’d always known it to be barren.
He checked anyway. It was the same as before.
Nothing.
Twenty minutes later, he found himself back in front of the sink. As defeat sung a sickening melody down his head, he glanced to the mirror to find a bright streak of red beneath his cheek. He frowned, grimaced, and leaned forth to take a closer look, holding a couple fingers beneath. He stared for a few seconds, then let one swipe across to reveal an abrupt smudge. This brought his gaze with it, in which it lingered.
Then, his muscles sank loose.
A sigh bled from his throat, and he finally went to fetch a tissue. His spare hand drew toward the faucet, twisted it quiet, then hushed his phone the same. Once a tissue was retrieved and pressed against his face, his feet carried him to a hair tie.
***
Now, the time must’ve been 9 in the morning.
The hum of an engine stirred beneath Medkit’s feet as Blackrock’s smoke decorated the air around his car, disgusting him like flies about a carcass. As he’d haste to point out, the vehicle itself was newer and unrecognizable: given that the entire faction desired his head, he found that precautions were rather necessary if he valued his life. With this came tinted windows, enough to completely veil what lied within—something he’d explicitly tested before daring such a drive.
Before he knew it, that same vehicle took him to an old colleague’s doorstep.
Pulling into a terribly familiar driveway, Medkit’s face fell at a mere glance of the home ahead. Once parked, he took a few moments to breathe, then ripped the key from its ignition. With jingling in the air, he shoved them into his pocket, then did the same for his phone. The door swung open with his legs, announced his arrival with a loud slam, then followed it up with the chirping of locked doors. His expression replied with disdain.
If he had luck, perhaps Subspace was gone today. If he was, then, maybe—just maybe—he’d be allowed the grace of postponing this visit another few months.
Yet, no matter how much time he took, Medkit found himself exactly where he expected: stood in front of a vile door, accompanied by a taunting bell, enough to tremble his hands with a glance. He swore that an eye had sunk into him through the window, and perhaps it was only this time that Medkit was inclined to believe it.
He hesitated, then pulled up his knuckles to knock the door thrice. It swung open before he could land a third.
Could he be any more obvious?
The two stared at each other for a moment—Subspace with disbelief, and Medkit with exhaustion. It was after a moment's recollection that a foul voice finally pierced the air.
“Well, well! Look what we’ve got here!!” Like that, Subspace leaned against the doorway, a grin sprawled across his face. “Thought you were done with Blackrock! Change your mind?”
Medkit wrinkled his nose at the surge of toxin.
“Oh, yes.” He said, “I’m here on holiday.”
“You are..??”
“Obviously not.”
A frown fell upon Subspace, disappointment hushing itself beneath his breath. With that same expression, he granted a brief silence, letting his eye run about Medkit with a vague curiosity. Medkit returned his gaze, though stiff and awkward.
What in the world was he supposed to say..? Now that he was here, he swore that a wall built itself into his throat. He couldn’t just tell him that he needed vital information, less he gained a sudden craving for cement.
And so, it had to be Subspace who spoke next.
“...So, what is it??” His stare bore into Medkit, while the other froze momentarily. With only a beat or so to think, his thoughts stumbled after themselves in an effort to reply.
“Unfortunately, I forgot something. I need it back.”
“Forgot what??” A smile, again, lifted his face, “There’s plenty of things you forgot!”
“A briefcase. And a few shirts.” His voice grew clumsy, “Can’t you let me inside? I’m freezing.”
Subspace thought on that. Then, a cheekiness climbed in his expression.
“I don’t know… Can I?”
“May you let me inside,” He deadpanned.
“I’d like some more manners than that!!”
“Perchance, let me inside.”
“You know that’s not what I meant!! What’s the magic word, huh?”
The two stare again, albeit this time with furrowed brows: Medkit stood high with dignity, while the other leaned beneath. Given some awkward silence, Subspace gains a grin once more and pokes his chest.
“C’mon, say it..!!” He says, “I’m not letting you in otherwise, you know!”
A visceral shiver flinches Medkit away from Subspace’s finger, resulting in another pause. This alone throws the two into a dense silence, emphasized by distant staring, and staring, and staring– up until he finally resurfaced, breathed out frustration, and bit his tongue. Out came a sigh, and with it, his last shred of decency.
“Please, let me inside.”
“That’s more like it! Come in!” Stepping to the side, it’s with a whisper that Subspace adds, “But keep your hands to yourself, alright?”
Though Medkit obliged, he regarded his words poorly, eying his old partner with disdain. As he let himself inside, the man swore a similar dosage of loathing followed, delivered only with a strained smile. Medkit himself hadn’t bothered to think about it, if not intently tracking dirt into the other’s carpet. In this way, his demeanor rather matched that of a spiteful child, bitterly dancing his gaze anywhere Subspace wasn't. This led it towards the walls, in which he’d take in useless décor and knick-knacks alike—dreadfully familiar in themselves. Nostalgic photos of old pets, projects, and moments, lined up like filth.
His nose wrinkled again.
All he needed was his folder. Then, he’d take it, excuse himself, and never return again. If he was lucky, only one drop of blood would–
He couldn't even think without an obnoxious interruption.
“Can I get you anything to drink, Meddy?” He heard steps trail toward the kitchen.
“Don’t call me that.”
“I’ll say whatever I want!! The least you can do is answer me.”
Medkit thought for a moment, then grimaced. “I’d rather not drink cyanide—but help yourself, by all means.”
“Hey!! I wasn’t planning on cyanide, you know!”
“Apologies. Was it arsenic?”
A smile lifted his voice, “Oh, you know me so well.”
“I wish I didn’t.”
Thankfully, that shut him up for now.
He resumed his browsing, keeping a keen eye about any shelves or hints of green he could find amidst the clutter. Kicking aside an old, discarded bottle, Medkit tensed with a violent shiver. Welling with disappointment, his attention hung on it for a moment, much before he pressed on with a sigh.
Nearly a decade now, and he's still acting like this.
He examined another shelf, then found the roar of a worn coffee maker in the distance—enough to jolt him in his skin and rip his attention toward it. Almost on cue, he heard Subspace loudly comment on it, though he lacked the energy to listen nor care. It was so that Medkit ignored it, then carried on with his search—fast and rampant, scouring every inch he could see. Spying past dusty books and useless toys, frustration built in his face as nothing came.
Was he seriously smart enough to hide it?
His back flew upright and his feet hurried him away, off to his old colleague’s T.V stand. Quickly, he dropped to a knee and peered about what he could, much before he decided it useless and moved on. He continued like this, snooping about his living room, when a voice finally froze him in his tracks.
“Thought I told you to keep your hands to yourself!” Subspace hummed, though sickeningly unreadable. As Medkit reeled his head back to the air, the smell of dark coffee filled his senses.
…Subspace didn’t drink that.
“A guest makes himself at home.” He spares a glance to his mug, “Finally adjust your tastes?”
The other laughed as Medkit climbed to his feet.
“No, silly!! I made it for you—being courteous, and all.”
“I told you I didn’t want anything.”
“I know you do! Have some!!”
“I said I didn’t want it.”
“C’mon, it’s your favorite! I went out of my way for you and everything, didn’t I??” He nudges the mug against his chest. “Let me be a good host here!”
Again, Medkit flinches.
“A good host listens to what a guest wants.”
“Then what the Hell do I do, Meddy?! You’re all tense!”
“You listen to me when I say I don’t want a drink from you.”
“Do you still think it’s poisoned?”
There isn’t a reply, save for a wary stare at the drink. Subspace pauses, gathers an assumption, then sighs.
“...That was so five minutes ago. What’s wrong with you?? Hold on," says Subspace, much before he lifts the mug to his lips. Downing a hearty sip, it’s a mere second before he offers it to Medkit again, visibly biting back a scalding sensation. “See?? Not poisoned! So you should drink it!!”
Medkit gave only disdain.
“...Try letting it cool down first.”
“Just drink the damn coffee!!”
“God damn it– fine!”
Irritation built in his voice, Medkit takes the mug from Subspace and forces down a sip, immediately regretting the moment it pooled past the rim. Boiling coffee scalded his tongue, his face wrinkled, and he tossed down his gaze for the following moments. While he tries to drown the heat in his mouth with spit, Subspace doesn’t waste a moment before eagerly cutting in.
“So?? How is it?” He asks.
“Terrible. Did you source your water from Banlands?”
“Actually, I think I did!”
“I could tell,” Medkit scowls, “Was my eye not enough? Need my tongue too?”
It was then that a frown happened upon Subspace.
“I’m just trying to help for once!! Can’t you just appreciate it?!”
“I told you several times that this wouldn’t help. Nothing is going to help– quit pretending it will,” His voice tenses, “I’m here for things I forgot from our break-up. That’s it. If I had a choice, then I would’ve slept in and forgotten all about you.”
“...Oh, you wouldn’t forget about me. I know you wouldn’t.” His voice hushes again, and Medkit hesitates.
“Then I wish I would.”
There’s a thick silence between them—dense enough to cut with no less than a hatchet, suffocating the room around them. Though no words are exchanged, plenty of emotions find themselves muffled between them—walled away into their eyes, rather than their throats.
It’s after a few seconds of this, that Medkit’s gaze flees from his own doing, now tense and uncertain.
“So,” He raises, “Do you have any idea where my shirts are?”
Subspace’s expression doesn’t change.
“Are you really just looking for your shirts, Meddy?”
“My briefcase, too. Why?”
“You’ve had almost a decade now to look for them, you know. Isn’t it just a little strange you’ve decided just now??”
“You’re well aware of how I procrastinate.”
That beckons a slight smile again, though Medkit loathes the relief it gives him. To that, he subconsciously lifts the mug to his lips for another burning sip, as if to drown it with something worse.
“I am!” Subspace’s voice lowers again, “But they’re shirts you never cared about. Nothing you’d show up at 9 am for, you know!”
“What are you implying..?”
He steps closer, and Medkit steps backward. A wariness struck his face, then.
“I just think you’re lying to me, Meddy!”
“Do you really think I would make up excuses to come here?”
“If you left something extra important, yes. Yes, I would!”
The smile that armed Subspace grew to feel more illegible than desperate, which alone sunk Medkit’s stomach down to his feet. Dread sent his brows downward, narrowing his eye.
“Just show me the shirts, Subspace,” He says.
“You wouldn’t want them. They smell like me now!”
“Have you ever heard of a washing machine?”
“Obviously I know what a washing machine is!!”
“Wonderful.” He takes a step away, mug in hand, “Then, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll find what I need.”
As he trails away, he feels a frown sink into his back—enough to send a shiver down his spine. Following is the sound of hastened footsteps, albeit more hesitant as they neared. Regardless, Medkit found himself among silence again, and perhaps that was a gift he treasured more than the folder itself.
Before he knew it, his shoes carried him through a loathsome hallway, stepping about familiar litter and misplaced items alike. As if it’d been muscle memory, he found himself, once again, faced with Subspace’s door. There, he halted to twist the knob, only to feel a familiar presence hovered over his shoulder.
He pauses, then disappointedly redirects his gaze.
“Yes?” The door creaks forward and Medkit lets himself inside, caring little for the other trailing behind.
“You know, Meddy,” A smile must’ve lifted his face again, “I’m curious what got you remembering this place!”
“I looked at my wardrobe and noticed more drywall than clothes.”
“Really? And that’s what spurred you all the way here??”
Medkit hung a brief silence in the air as he approached Subspace’s closet. Then, he let a tentative voice leave his tongue.
“...Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” Medkit reinforced his certainty, though it wasn’t believed.
“You wanna know what I think??”
“Not necessarily.”
“I think you were thinking about me!”
“I wouldn’t test vomit on your carpet, Subspace.”
“Oh, quit being so dramatic!!”
The two bickered some more, though Medkit busied his eye more with the contents laid ahead. Skimming over the clothes, he soon lowered to scrutinize the disheveled pile below as well. Still, he caught no glint of a folder, so he frowned, sighed, and pulled himself back to his feet. With a turn of his heel, he hastily approached another half of the room, much to Subspace’s confusion. His voice followed, though Medkit replied too curtly to mind.
Sooner or later, Medkit found himself at Subspace’s bedside, lowered unto his knees with a tired gaze traveling beneath. Prying it about the darkness, it was only then that he froze with the world around him—his spare hand curled on the comforter above. Everything fell still, save for a single, green folder nestled in the clutter.
He recognized it in an instant.
Finally—his research. It took him long enough, didn’t it?
Except, it couldn’t have ever been that easy—certainly not for Medkit, at least. He felt a particular eye burn the back of his neck like his terrible coffee, now laid on the floor beside him. Before Medkit could dare an inch forward, a harrowing voice broke into his thoughts.
“Find something interesting?” Medkit could hear a smile in his voice, though it was darker—terse, if that was even a word Subspace knew.
Medkit clambered quickly for words.
“...Yes. Yes– is that…” He paused, “...Subspace, what is that down here?”
“What’s what??”
“Come look.”
Stupidly, he watched as Subspace obliged, squinting past the bed’s gloom. There, before he could look further than the clutter and forgotten trash, adrenaline flurried through Medkit’s veins, compelling him to act. Throwing his hands against Subspace’s side, he shoved him onto the floor, then quickly swept the folder into his hands. Coffee spilled beside him and yelling sprung forward, though his mind wasn’t present enough to notice.
Instead, Medkit focused on racing to his feet. He wasn’t alone.
He had to be quicker.
He raced around the doorframe, the folder now clenched under his arm. Swerving down the hallway, he briefly hit a wall before sprinting quicker. The prior decorations hazed and ran past him as his world focused on the door ahead.
Unfortunately, he could only run so fast.
Impact hurled against his back, and the ground ran up to meet him. A body’s worth of weight pressed him against the floor, enough to make him hiss and writhe, cusses struggled beneath his breath.
“Damn it– I was right!! Is this seriously what the benefit of the doubt gets you?!–” He heard Subspace’s angered voice curl downward, sinking into his skin like knives, “What the hell was that for?!”
“Let me– go!” His voice was barely more than a breath.
“I was just trying to be nice, and this is what I get?!”
Subspace’s hands dug into his hair, knotting it with a pain he could only heave at. In return, Medkit flung himself upward, managing Subspace off just enough to surge forward. Clambering onto his feet, he almost reaches the door, until he feels a yank against his shirt. Thrown against the nearby kitchen counter, he catches a blurry Subspace ahead.
“Talk to me, God damn it! Talk to me!!” The more he spoke, the worse his voice felt– like nails against a chalkboard, pruned fingers atop a towel, all scraping his mind with an agony he could barely compare. Sending himself forward, he tried to shove his way past Subspace, only to be thrown downward again.
…His eye stung– why was it stinging..? Out of all of the times to tear up, why now?
“I told you I came here to get what I forgot,” He gave.
“You didn’t tell me it was the one thing I needed, you prick!!”
“I’m not an idiot.”
“Give that back!!”
“No!”
Toxin again flooded his senses, enough to wrinkle his nose and fight harder. This, in turn, made it easier to stumble himself away, once again shoving Subspace to the side as he darted off. Subspace acted quicker, however, hands reaching to rip the folder from his arm. Medkit tightened, and tightened, but it all fell in vain.
The folder slipped from Medkit’s fingers and he stumbled backward. He spun to face Subspace, and, for a moment, he swore he saw surprise lift the other's brows. Silence hung in the air for a few seconds more—deafeningly slow, deafeningly quiet—as the moment caught up to them.
Then, a smile took Subspace—taunting and dreadful in Medkit’s eye.
“...Can’t leave now, can you?! Not without this!!” His breath was heavy though erratic, hands desperately clung like death atop the folder. Gaining back his own wind, Medkit narrowed his eye again at the other.
“Is that seriously what this is about?” He continued, “Keeping me here?”
“I– Uh–” Subspace’s gaze darts around the living room, only for a laugh to follow—nervous and uncertain. “Obviously not!! I don’t care!”
Medkit falls into his usual quiet, letting the other grow increasingly flustered. Admittedly intentional, he watched as the silence grew just for a few seconds more, up until it was ravaged in a panic.
“But– But it wouldn’t kill you to finish your coffee, you know?! I can… make you another mug…” Subspace’s words trailed away, hesitant enough to sound almost self-aware.
“You’re delusional.”
Then came humiliation. “Well– Then screw me for trying!!”
“I told you we’re done, Subspace. Hand me the folder.”
“No!!”
“Hand me the folder!”
“I said no!”
Irritation built like a tidal wave within Medkit, up until it finally threw him back forward—hands lunging again for his much-needed research. As expected, Subspace stumbled back, his arm ripping away just out of Medkit’s reach. In an effort to catch up, Medkit shoved him against a nearby wall, only to be plunged backward in retaliation. A surface hit his back and he heard something rush down beside him—a fallen piece of décor, no doubt. Breath heavy in his throat, Medkit watches as Subspace spins away, only to yank him back by the arm.
The two continued like this, scuffling about the living room with disturbed furniture and the occasional shout or two. Pain was muffled in the face of raw adrenaline, even when heads were banged against walls, or shoulders against countertops.
By the time they were finished, they’d carved themselves a new path through the floor’s trash. Everything caught up to them, then—the tears in their eyes, the aching in their muscles, their whitened knuckles. Medkit stood back by the door with his research clenched in hand, while Subspace leaned against the couch’s edge, staring with a hint of desperation.
Neither felt that they could move. Neither felt that they wanted to move.
The silence between them, again, drew itself out, save for the faint panting as they regained their lost breath. It went, and went, and went—it felt to be almost a minute, though the two could never be so sure. Regardless of the time, it was when an eventual rattle of the doorknob froze Subspace.
Then, his voice flung out again—this time, more tired, more frightened.
“Please– Medkit,” He takes a breath, “Can’t you just stay awhile..?”
The silence he returns is deafening, though his eye speaks measures. He lingers there for a moment, then silently turns again to the door.
He hears Subspace shuffle to his feet.
“Please– Please, just…”
He opens the door, glances briefly, then sees himself out. Truly, he didn’t care to wound himself with what expression Subspace must’ve given him.
The door clicks shut, he walks through the snow, and climbs back into his car. He carried his hand into his pocket, to the ignition, and revived the engine’s hum. It was with a blank face that he held the key in its slot, bore ahead with a dwelling emptiness.
Then, his arm lifted atop the wheel, and down went his face. His hand slipped from the key, and he felt the fabric of his sleeve dampen the further he shoved himself closer.
He always hated seeing him.