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The crack of a beer can opening startles him out of a sleepy daze.
It's an unreasonable hour, the muffled sound of frantic knocks on the front door only proving that fact. He can hear the sound of discussion, can hear the creak of the front door as new people are introduced into the house, even the sound of outraged shouting as others are denied sanctuary. But yet, despite how quickly other rooms are filling up, there are still only two occupants in the living area.
He isn't too sure how he feels about his lanky roommate.
Sleep hasn't been gracing him lately. Everything keeps him alert. His shivering is unrelenting and constant, forcing him to be aware at all times. He feels he could go mad under these circumstances. The room is far too small, lacks light. Suffocating and cold. The only sliver of illumination they're offered being a small candle that burns much too low. The hermit of the house explained it to be a safety precaution. They shouldn't be advertising that anybody was home, so the lights shouldn't be utilized. If Coat Guy were more of the confronting type, he would've pointed out that their room had no windows, therefore nobody would know they had lights on, but he had kept his mouth shut.
His couchmate, however, doesn't seem nearly as bothered by their situation as he is. At least, not outwardly. His face is set into that deep frown he always harbors. He's seemed to accept the impending doom of their situation, swallowing down borrowed beer and sitting lax on a sofa that isn't his own.
He's quiet, at least. The only sound the man ever makes being the occasional shuddering cough and the opening of a beverage. He must be quite loud in comparison, he thinks. Chattering teeth and audible shivers at all hours of the day. He wonders if the man thinks him to be a nuisance.
He blinks exhaustion out of his eyes as he keeps them focused on his couchmate, watching the way the man doesn't waste a moment before bringing the rim up to his mouth and beginning to down it like it was water. He pulls his oversized coat tighter around his quivering body, noting the way the fabric retaliates the grip of his fingers with a quiet creak. Watching his companion down an evidently cold liquid with no issue is enough to make something in his stomach prickle in envy. But the feeling dies as quickly as it comes.
The lanky man seems keen on finishing the beer by his lonesome, head titled and can already half drained, but he pauses, and Coat Guy knows his staring has been noticed.
He's quick to avert his eyes, instead training them on the small candle resting in the center of the floor. He almost wants to crawl over to it and curl around the flame, but he figures it would be selfish to hoard the light in a useless attempt to warm himself. The silence drags for a long moment, the flame flickering and dancing on the wick. He can't find it in himself to glance back over at his companion.
But the quiet is broken by the sound of an aluminum can tapping against a solid elbow, and Coat Guy can't help but stiffen at the contact. Even though there were layers upon layers of clothing to soften the impact, he felt the cold of the beer like a shock wave.
He turns his head, and he can't make out the expression the man wears. The illumination of the flame doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"Were you looking to join a depressing drinking escapade?" He asks, and his voice is gruff and gravely, like all the words are forced to crawl through glass before they're spoken.
He stares at the half empty beer can. He's never dabbled in anything alcoholic, he had no interest. But he finds himself hesitant to deny the offering. It was an oddly kind gesture, beer was harder to come by these days. He shifts in his seat. It wasn't often people went out of their way to attempt to include him in something, even if that something was just getting drunk on a strangers couch.
So, despite all better judgment, and despite how his body urges him to put an unreasonable amount of distance between him and the cold can, he pulls his sweater sleeves over his hands and takes it.
The fabric doesn't help to keep the frigidness of the can confined, unfortunately, but he refrains from showing any obvious signs of discomfort.
The tall man sinks back into the couch, crossing long legs over one another and folding his arms to his chest. Coat Guy watches him for a moment before the light of the flame finally reveals a perplexed expression on the man's boney face. Right. One is usually supposed to drink an accepted beverage, not just hold it.
He looks away quickly before raising the rim to his lips, subconsciously taking in a deep mouthful, and his body retaliates immediately. The liquid feels painfully cold, his tongue aching as if it burns, and he's quick to swallow it in an attempt to avoid the feeling. But even as it travels down his esophagus, it feels sharp and painful, like a block of ice scraping up his throat.
And the taste, he thinks, is even worse. It's bitter and heavy, so sharp it makes him want to gag.
His face screws up, he's quick to offer it back to the man.
"...Awful."
The reaction earns an amused laugh from his couchmate, and it's a rough sort of laugh that startles him. It sounds painful, the rasp obvious, but it's a nice noise nonetheless. He'd take anything over hearing the mumbles of insanity from other occupants of the house.
The laugh doesn't last long, however, quickly morphing into sharp coughs. The beer gets taken from him, and he finds himself relieved. His hand aches ferociously.
The beer is drained properly after Coat Guy's pathetic attempt, easing the stranger's aching throat. Coat Guy had noticed that about his companion. He harbored a cough he couldn't seem to shake.
"Fucking awful." The man agrees, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he observes the can. "Bober Černý. I'm occupying the house of a man with terrible taste. At least there was good beer back at the bar."
The tall man leans over the arm of the couch, adding the freshly empty beer to the small huddle resting by the furniture. It was his third one of the evening, and yet, he didn't seem all too affected. A remarkable tolerance.
Coat Guy doesn't respond to the complaint from his couchmate, focusing on rubbing the front of his throat, hoping the friction will provide some warmth. Drinking something so chilling was certainly not his best idea. The taste lingers on his aching tongue.
"Do you have a preference in ale, my good man?"
He pauses his rubbing at the question, moving to wrap his arm back around himself. "Not.. not really. I don't care for it." He shivers out. "Unless there's a company that specializes in serving it warm..."
The man frowns at his answer, shaking his head. "Most, including myself, would consider what you just said to be an insult." He informs, but he doesn't seem too offended. Coat Guy can see him scan over his shivering figure, taking note of the severity, and he seems to earn the man's forgiveness for his terrible beer preference. "But it can't be helped. You're shaking hard enough to make the room tremor. It's almost remarkable. You're aware the sun is melting people down to their very bones, yes?"
Coat Guy listens to the gruff words, and he only stares. He lost the urge to defend himself long ago. It was well understood that he was peculiar, and explaining himself to others was hopeless when he hardly understood his body himself.
"Hard not to be aware." He answers quietly, shifting to sink deeper into the couch. It's soft, at least, even if the fabric lacks warmth.
The tall man falls silent at that, perhaps realizing the bluntness of his words. He doesn’t appear to look too guilty, but his frown visibly deepens. He lets out a small cough before continuing.
"Yes, I guess it would be. But I suppose everyone has their quirks. I'm sure you're not the only person in the world to find hot beer appealing, either." He continues, eyes flickering over to the candle burning steady. "I'm assuming you've never been to a bar?"
He shakes his head in response. Why would he? There was no benefit to him. The music, the lingering smell of smoke and alcohol, the constant chatter? It would only serve to give him a headache. And he figured, despite the building being full of people from different walks of life, he would still be the odd one out. Forcing himself to try and blend in was impossible at this point. He wasn't meant to connect, he wasn't meant to enjoy. He'd given up a long time ago.
"A shame." His couchmate says. "It's not a bad place to be." Another pause as he drags his eyes back over to Coat Guy. "They're usually quite warm."
He stares in response, lifeless eyes boring into exhausted ones, and he tilts his head slowly. Out of all the things he envisioned a bar to be, warm wasn't quite one of them. "...Is that so..?"
The man grins, seemingly enjoying the switch of topic, and he leans in a bit closer. Coat Guy resists the urge to flinch back, managing to stay perfectly still. He feels a knee brush against his own, and the contact is startling. The lanky man hardly seems to notice as he begins to speak. It's clear the contact wasn't intentional. Perhaps his couchmate was more affected by the beer than what was previously thought.
"You sound surprised." He chuckles roughly. "A bar can be plenty warm, even when by your lonesome. The alcohol is enough to make you sweat. But you don't seem the type of man to indulge." His breath smells faintly of cigarette smoke now that he's closer. "A packed bar might be nicer in your book. When there's far too many people and all their body heat fills the building. Dancing, singing, laughing, arguing. All of it exudes warmth. The overhead lights feel like a heat lamp overhead. All it takes is a handful of minutes and you'll feel blazing. It's enjoyable, even for a man such as myself."
The way the man speaks is fluid and fond, like a pub was a haven in plain sight, and Coat Guy can't help but blink in mild awe as he listens. To feel so attached to something was a sensation he himself hadn't ever gotten to experience. His life was essentially one large void, literally and figuratively. Hearing another living being talk in such a way was compelling. It struck him as perplexing that this stranger was putting him into mind, attempting to curate a scenario that would appeal to him. It was an oddly nice gesture, and he finds himself relaxing.
"With there being so many people, conversation is easy, even if you're an awkward man." He continues. "That's what I enjoy. Even if you sit on a stool by your lonesome, you'll still hear snippets of interesting stories, or you'll catch someone's eye and they'll slide in the seat next to you to strike up conversation. It's an easy way to remember the universe isn't solely about you. The world is fucking everyone over, your sorrows aren't entirely foreign."
Coat Guy can envision the scene being described quite well, but the idea that someone would go out of their way to strike up conversation with him was perplexing. But, he realizes quite slowly, wasn't that exactly what was happening right now? This man had no reason to be speaking with him, and yet, here he was.
He watches his couchmate look up for a moment, glancing at the pale ceiling. The ceiling that was far too low for Coat Guy's liking, and from his eavesdropping on his roommates and the homeowners' conversations, it was far too low for his companion as well.
"The room never feels as if it's trying to crush you." He adds as he looks back at Coat Guy.
He blinks. He doesn't know how to describe the current feeling brewing in his chest, but it aches slightly. It feels a bit like longing. Like suddenly the idea of being in a packed room full of strangers wasn't so bad.
"I s-see."
He doesn't know what else to say other than that. This was an interesting development, to actually want to experience something. He moves a hand over his own chest, rubbing at his heart absentmindedly. It was almost like he was attempting to savor the feeling.
The lanky stranger sits in silence, not offering much more. Coat Guy knows he should be contributing more to the conversation, but he felt too perplexed to say much of anything. He knows he probably seems uninterested despite his best intentions.
And then, the man is standing up with a grunt. His shadow stretches across the room like a blanket. The flame continues its dance on its wick.
"Well, forgive me for keeping you up with idle chatter." He grumbles, stretching as he does. Coat Guy hears a painful sounding pop from the man's back that makes him want to twinge. "I'll leave you be. I'd like to see if that hermit is willing to spare me another beer."
The couch suddenly feels much too big. He fidgets. A sensation akin to static prickles at his knee now that there's a lack of contact, and he has to resist the very sudden urge to latch onto the man's wrist and guide him into sitting back down. He'd like to hear more about the bar, about what other places were warm and could make you feel like a human being. What did it feel like to belong?
But he refrains. It was odd to cling to a stranger, wasn't it?
The tall man steps towards the door of the living area, not sparing Coat Guy a second glance. But just as he grips the doorknob, words fall out of Coat Guy's mouth before he can cage them.
"I'd.. like to go someday."
It's a sudden admission. A quiet one. His couchmate stills for a moment before turning his head to look at him. He could retract his words, fall silent and refuse to elaborate, but the feeling of longing is tugging at him.
"A bar." He clarifies. "Would... would you i-introduce me to one sometime?"
It's quiet, so quiet. He feels mildly fearful at how vulnerable the words come out, but it was much too late to take them back now.
He can't make out the expression the man is making. With how tall he stands, the illumination of flame can't stretch high enough. But his body language is lax, not stiff or awkward. He doesn't seem to mind the question.
"If we survive this hopeless situation, rest assured I'll take you to one with one hell of a crowd."
And with another shuddering cough, the door is opened wide, the light wind from the momentum making the flame falter. It's only with the shift of the light that he can see the stranger's expression, and the quirk of a smile is resting on his boney face.
Nothing else is said after that. The room falls silent as the door is shut behind his couchmate. It's eerily quiet, but the conversation repeats in his head like a broken record. A lighter emotion fills his chest, intense all the same. He feels the muscles in his face move, and when he brings a hand up to feel over his face, he finds the curve of a smile resting under his fingertips.
Oh, he thinks. He couldn't recall the last time his face had done that.