There is a minute, a brief flash, they say, where the worlds meet. Where silence meets sound and light meets dark. Where opposites repel and similars attract. It is from that flash that our world was born, it is from that flash that this alternate reality has occurred, dumping us into its infinite chaos. 

We learn to deal, most of us. But the hopeless few who don't... 

I'm afraid they're doomed. 

I swept through the streets, staying close to walls when possible and dodging people. Where was that bastard? I was beginning to get annoyed. 

I turned the corner and almost ran right past him. 

“What, did you think I would just leave you here?” I kicked at a can next to his ear, startling him awake. He sat up, glaring at me with more malice than a villian facing off a hero that had taken away his whole world. 

“What the fuck do you want?” he growled, sitting up, pushing dirty hair out of his face. 

I surveyed him coolly. “I want you to get off your deadbeat ass and get your life together.” 

“What do you want that’s within the limits of reality?” 

“World peace.”
 
He glowered at me. “Very funny.” 

“Well. Are you going to get up?” 

He looked at me, laid down, and pulled his shirt over his head in response. 

“God damn it!” I hissed, crouching down and pulling his shirt off of his face. “Get up.” 

He didn’t move. 

“Get up, now.” I grabbed his arm and pulled him up. “Jesus, you reek.” 

“No shit.” He shook me off, straightening his shirt. “You know, this hasn’t worked the last hundred times you tried it, and it’s not going to work now.” He gathered his things. “You can try to clean me up and get me a job, but you know I’m a useless, talentless, bag of-” 

“Hey!” I barked. “Negativity is not allowed. You are coming with me, you are getting back on your feet, and that’s an order.” 

“Sir yes sir,” he muttered sarcastically. 

I walked to the subway station, not looking back to check if he was there. Swiping my card twice on the turnstile, I watched out of the corner of my eye as people gave him a wide berth. “C’mon,” I mumbled, pulling him through the turnstile and onto the platform. 

“Look, man,” I said to him, once we were on the subway. “I get it, I really do. You want to just sit there and rot, and if I was anyone else, I would let you. But I’m your friend, and I believe in you, even if you don’t believe in yourself.” 

“You’ve said this to me a million times.” 

“And you still don’t believe it.” 

“Because it’s not true! Why would I believe it if it wasn’t true?” 

“But it is! It’s not true to you, but it’s true to me.” 

“How do I know you’re even real?” 

I glared at him. “Assuming I’m a real person, assuming that this is reality, assuming that nothing and no-one is going to grow extra tentacle arms -” he gave me a sheepish smile at that “-assuming that this is the normal world you grew up with, I am real.” 

“But you’re saying that as an assumption.” 

“If I wasn’t real, why would I want to help you?” 

“Because my brain is trying to get me to stop being a slacker, I guess.” 

“Fine. Assuming I am a figment of your imagination, and therefore I am just you telling yourself to get your shit together, why won’t you listen to me?!” 

“Because I don’t want to get my shit together!” 

“You sound like a whiny five year old.” I stood up, marching to the doors. He followed me, pouting. 

“Dude, you’ve tried this before,” he complained, trailing behind me as I stomped up the street to get to my shitty apartment. “It doesn’t work. I’m not worth your time.” 

“Don’t try to guilt trip me.” I ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, his footsteps echoing behind me. He was huffing and puffing by the time we got to my floor. As I turned my key in the lock, he was gasping for breathe next to me. 

I open the door grandly, like a butler opening the door for a queen, and dip into a phony bow. “Welcome to my humble dwelling, sir. Make yourself at home.” I looked him up and down, then held my nose theatrically. “But first, take a shower. And be careful with the hot water, it runs out fast.” 

I sauntered into the house, dropping my bag on the couch (which was an interesting shade of purple, as I had picked it up from a roadside garage sale and then accidentally drove through a colour run.). He walked in behind me, tentatively placing his things next to the door. I reached for my head, to pull my hair up, and was momentarily surprised when I realised there’s nothing there, before remembering I had gotten it cut short. “Goddamnit,” I mumbled, and collapsed onto the couch.

“You okay?” he asked, a flicker of concern running across his normally emotionless face. 

“Of course I’m okay. Get your ass in the shower. Leave your clothes in front of the door so I can wash them.” I gesture at him vaguely, and he walks off. The bathroom door creaked closed, and I sighed. 

I get up and gather up his stuff from a corner, going through it to see what I should wash and what I should deal with separately. 

One can of expired green beans. Two cans of refried beans, good until a spanking 2020. Wow. One can of cologne that was still full, one packet of wet wipes, unopened, and a toothbrush. No toothpaste. 

Three pairs of boxers, all of which were a strange yellow-green colour. I’ll have to bleach those. Two faded old T-shirts, two pairs of pants, and one sweater. And his disgusting old backpack. They all went into the “wash” pile. 

“Ace?” he yelled from the bathroom. “I put my clothes outside the door.” 

“Okay,” I holler back. “You don’t have to yell, I’m only like a foot away from you. And the neighbors might get mad.” 

I could hear him chuckle, and the shower turn on. I shook my head. Gathering the dirty laundry on my arm, I walk towards the laundry room, passing the bathroom as I went. I stooped over to collect his clothes - ew - and turned into the laundry room. 

Humming to myself, I put the clothes in the wash, then went back to the kitchen to make some food. As I put the noodles in the pot, I bit my lip. Lane was a strict vegetarian, would he eat it with chicken flavouring? 

I wait for the shower to turn off before speaking. “Lane, I’m making ramen, okay? It’s got chicken flavouring, by the way, are you cool with that?” 

“Yeah,” he replied, the door clicking open. He walked out, a towel wrapped around his waist, another one around his neck, under his hair. “Are the clean clothes still in the drawer?” 

“Mhm. You need a haircut. We’re getting you one tomorrow.” 

He breathed behind me. I turned around slightly and raised my eyebrows at him. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, I guess,” he mumbled reluctantly.  

“There’s a new toothbrush in the medicine cabinet, by the way. Your teeth are disgusting.” 

“Okay. Thanks.” I heard him walk away. 

I had the ramen in bowls by the time he returned, fully clothed, still smelling a bit like street but not as bad as before. I nod towards the cologne, which I’d left on the counter, before he sat down, and he gave me a glare. 

“Can’t I eat first?” 

“No.” 

He walked over, grabbed the cologne, and was about to spray it when I interrupted. 

“Stop!” I said, leaping to my feet and almost slapping it out of his hands. “Use it next to the window. I don’t want my apartment to stink of your annoying mens cologne.” 

“Okay, okay,” he grumbled, walking off to spray it next to an open window. 

I slurped a noodle from the bowl and waited for him to sit down. The chair across from mine scraped across the floor and he dropped into it, the cheap plastic buckling slightly under his weight. 

“So, what are we going to do with you?” I asked, in between bites. He looked up from his food, eyeing me warily, then shrugged. “That’s not a good answer. I need your help with this.” 

He slurped the noodles loudly. I waited for a second, hoping he would reply. He wouldn’t freaking anwer me. “You know if I had the funds to send you to a therapist, I would,” I said. He stiffened. “I don’t have it right now. So I need you to help me. Please, Lane, if you won’t do it for you, then do it for me.”

“That’s cheesy,” he rasped. “Why would I, huh? We’ve tried it before, and it hasn’t worked. Why do you keep coming back for me?” 

“I…” I start to reply, but hesitate for a second. That second was all it took for him to jump in. 

“I knew it. You don’t know, right? And you’re always so high and mighty, logical Miss Ace,” he snarled, dropping his fork onto the table with a surprising clatter. 

“You didn’t even give me a minute to reply!” I nearly screamed, my fingers tightened around the fork. Two lone noodles hung off the fake silver prongs, and for a moment I hyper-focused on them. 

“If you had a reason, you wouldn’t need a minute to reply!” he bellowed back. 

“You know what. I am done with this conversation for right now.” I stood up, grabbing my bowl of ramen (ow, hot). “I am going to go eat in my room, and then I will go to bed. And then I will wake up and go to work, and then I will deal with your bullshit.” 

I stormed to my room, Lane not saying anything that I cared to remember. “You can sleep on the couch!” I yelled from the confines of my room. “Good night!” 

And cue the door slam. 

My least favourite thing about living in close confines with someone is how much noise echos. If Lane so much as breathes, I can hear it. When he walks across the room, I can feel the floor vibrating. It’s infuriating. 

“STOP THAT!” 

“Stop what?” Lane grumbled. 

“Walking. Breathing. Being so damn loud!” 

“You want me to stop breathing? Believe me, brudda, I would if I could!” he retorted.

“What did I say about negativity?!” 

“Jesus, okay, fine. What-freakin-ever,” he rasped. The couch springs squeaked slightly, and then the apartment was silent. 

“... Lane?” I called weakly into the silence. Goddamnit, I felt bad. Also, I couldn’t hear him breathing, and that was insanely worrying. 

No reply. Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. 

“Laaannee. I didn’t mean stop breathing. Please don’t stop breathing.” 

Silence. 

“Laaaaa-” 

“Fuck off, Ace. Let me sleep,” he cut me off. I breathed a deep sigh of relief. He was still alive. 

“Good night,” I whispered into the air.

I could almost hear him smiling back at me.