chibin knocked at the door, all too aware of the sleet melting down his neck. he couldn’t stifle a shudder. that damn puffer jacket. he should have retired it years ago, with its countless tears and its tiny sleeves that barely reached his wrists. and he was 5’6” !! that thing, he supposed, had been originally sold to children, and misplaced by the thrift store workers. hence the impressively low price tag that had attracted him in the first place. he was no longer tethered to thrift stores, but in a bid to appear less fashion-forward, chibin elected to keep his wardrobe generally unchanged. his secured position in his friend group, though it filled his pockets on good days, certainly did not offer him any sort of stability or security.

he’d been forced to conclude as much then, pondering before the closed door, regretting the life choices that had led him there.

now, he was stuck with icy water dripping down his spine, wetting the back of his t-shirt. waiting for some stoner he barely knew to be his lifeline. how he hated depending on others !! but self-preservation often came at the cost of pride. he couldn’t afford to be prideful now.

when at last the door swung open, chibin launched into an explanation, before his poor customer even had a chance to speak: ❝ look, i know how weird this is, trust me, ❞ he said. ❝ but there’s a literal hole in the ceiling at my place and you’re the only person i know who lives nearby. ❞ and the only one who wasn’t nurturing various colonies of fungi in their living room. hopefully.

chibin hoped – almost prayed, despite the whole atheism thing – that his effort to find a temporary sleeping arrangement would be fruitful, though he inwardly writhed at the embarrassment that was innate to asking for help. especially when the only thing this guy knew about him was that he pushed drugs for a living. that certainly didn’t make for a lovely reputation.