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Owen woke up with Curt staring at his face again.
At first he didn't say anything. His eyes were heavy with sleep, and he couldn't properly form words, but the longer Curt stared the angrier Owen got.
“Shut up,” Owen snarled, even though he didn't say anything. He rolled over and swung his legs out of bed.
He used to just sleep in his underwear, but since Curt had started dropping in he'd taken to oversized shirts and sweatpants. Owen was going to keep his dignity in his own home, dammit.
Curt followed him out of the room, as usual. It was routine, at this point. Get up, make breakfast, ignore Curt throwing cooking utensils around the kitchen because he was upset Owen wasn’t making him food, then either go to work or try to lay around in a stupor (and fail; again because of Curt).
“The rules are the same as they are every morning,” Owen growled as a metal spider was thrown at his head. “If you tell me what you want, I’ll make it for you.”
Curt glared at him.
“Oh no, it seems that I don’t know what you want,” He deadpanned, cracking an egg into the pan. “How could I ever properly make you food? Looks like you’re not getting anything.”
Five minutes later he was sitting at the table with his plate of eggs and a very pouty Curt across from him. He ate in silence, refusing to humor Curt at all at least until he was done with his fucking breakfast.
Owen swore he was just as needy as he was before.
“Alright,” Owen sighed, standing with his plate in hand. “Let's start the day, hm?”
“Starting the day” was mostly another hour long nap before he started cleaning. The place hadn't gotten a decent dusting in six months. Owen was going to develop some kind of lung affliction at this rate.
As usual, Curt was no help. He mostly just watched Owen from corners or read the ingredients of cleaning products that Owen always coincidentally needed at the time. He was like Owen's old dog when he did the dishes as a kid; somehow always standing in the right place to trip on him.
The silence bothered him. At one point he started blasting ABBA just so that he didn’t have to deal with the overbearing pressure of Curt’s eyes. He didn’t even like ABBA, it was just a playlist that Curt had made a long time ago and it was the first one he found, so he settled.
During his time throwing his month of unwashed clothes into a pile to do laundry, the music suddenly shut off. Owen’s head jerked up at the abrupt shift to silence. “Hey!” He shouted. “What did you do?”
He stood up and stormed out to the living room, where Curt was standing next to his phone where it had been casting to the little bluetooth speaker in his room. Curt raised his hands in a it wasn’t me kind of gesture.
“Oh yea, and who else did it?” Owen snapped. “You know what? Sure, this day couldn’t get any fucking worse!”
Owen started walking back to the bedroom, and he could tell Curt was following him. Just watching, maintaining his every oppressive silence that was tearing at Owen’s mind until he couldn’t fucking think straight and-!
Owen grabbed Curt and shoved him against the wall.”Say something! You never used to be able to shut up!”
There was no fear in Curt's eyes. After all, Owen couldn't hurt him when he was already dead.
He let go, sucking in a breath and taking a step back. “That’s what I thought. Don’t mess with my stuff again.”
Weeks of Curt following him. Around the house, to the stores, and only Owen could see him. And still, no matter how much he screamed, Curt said nothing.
The one time Owen could almost enjoy Curt's presence was during the time he actually acted like his old self. When Owen had climbed into bed for the night and Curt was curled up at his side, not reaching out but letting himself be touched.
It was something they used to do after a series of exhausting days. When Curt was finally too tired to say anything and for once Owen was left to ramble until they drifted to sleep.
It was funny. Ghost Curt rarely went to sleep with him now. Usually he hung in the corner shuffling through his old books and then Owen would wake with him two inches from his face.
“What star do you think that is?” Owen mused. He was staring out the bedroom window at the one star visible through the light pollution. “It has to be something like Sirius, otherwise it wouldn't be bright enough.”
Curt shrugged against his side. He shifted around, tugging some of the sheets his way. Owen didn't mind. The cool air felt nice.
“It lonely, to not talk to anyone? Surely you have things you want to say." He sighed. "When it gets back to morning I'm going to hate you again. I hate you right now. It's fine, though. What's a few minutes out of a lifetime of loathing?"
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Curt frown. "You always were the emotional one. Anytime we had a falling out you'd come back ten minutes later with a stack of notebooks and force me to participate in some exercise where we wrote down what we thought. I'll hand it to you, it did work. It just fell short one time." Owen smiled even though he felt like he was about to shatter. "It's always been so hard to be emotional without you."
He tightened his grip on Curt, bringing him closer. He fell asleep like that, one arm wrapped around Curt and one star shining through the window.
”This place is falling apart,” Owen mumbled, kicking one of the walls of the apartment.
“Yea, well we’re cheap bastards so this is the best we can do right now.” Curt collapsed onto the old couch that had taken them two hours to get in. “It’s only temporary, right?”
“Sure. Do we have any drinks?”
“We have lukewarm beer and a half empty bottle of water.”
“Ugh, I’ll take the water.”
Curt blindly fished around at the foot of the couch until he found the bottle and tossed it to Owen. He caught it, grimacing at the amount of liquid inside. It was barely half a bottle. He unscrewed the cap and knocked it back.
“Someone needs to go get groceries later,” Owen sighed.
“Well, if I go I’ll get an entirely unreasonable amount of baked goods. I haven’t had a cheese danish in forever.”
“I guess that means I’ll go so you don’t waste all of our funds on cinnamon rolls.” Someone knocked at the door behind him. “Oh, good. I totally have enough energy for company.”
“Don’t be a Debbie Downer,” Curt grinned.
As soon as Owen had opened the door an inch, Barb was throwing it the rest of the way. “Surprise!”
“What are you doing here?” Owen asked.
“We’re the house warming party!” She held up a plate of cookies and tilted her head to Tatiana standing behind her. The colorful party hat was in absurd contrast to her usual stoneface expression. “Ohhh, I can’t believe you guys finally moved in together!”
“It’s just a smart financial decision,” He mumbled.
“Shut up, you love him!”
Curt laughed across the room as Owen’s face burned. “You shut up!”
“Geez, it’s so cute to see you flustered for once! I was starting to think that you and Tati were having a contest to see who would be the first to show joy.”
Owen struggled to gain composure, storming over to join Curt on the couch. “If you came here to make fun of me, you can just leave.”
“Don’t be like that! We brought you cookies.” She set the plate down. "I'm glad you two are finally getting back on your feet."
"Aw, as if we ever fell down." Curt threw an arm around Owen, grinning and shining like the sun.
“I hate all of you,” Owen growled.
Curt laughed, and Owen couldn’t help but smile. They really had made it. Sitting in a shitty apartment surrounded by half finished decorations, they’d gotten to a better place than they were before.
Also, he’d be making fun of Tatiana for that stupid party hat for years
One day. He wanted one day of rest, to just sleep on the couch and disappear. But no, Owen wasn't even allowed to have that.
Curt prodded his arm like an insistent child. Owen swatted at him, trying his best to disappear into the couch. “Go away.” It just continued. He groaned. “Fine, fine! What is it?”
Curt gestured to the door. Seconds passed, then a buzz rang through the house.
“You want me to answer the fucking door?” Owen deadpanned. Curt nodded. “Why do you care who’s trying to bother me? I thought that was your job.”
He ranted at Curt as he got up and made his way to the front door. “Did you learn how to use Amazon or something? Order a bunch of comic books just to fuck with me?”
Owen tore open the door to see Tatiana standing on the doormat.
“Oh.”
“Oh,” She parroted. “Have you been well?”
“I suppose.” Owen felt Curt rest his chin on his shoulder and reach through the gap between his arm and chest to wave at Tatiana like he used to do when he was drunk and clingy. Owen's breath hitched. “What on earth are you wearing?”
Tatiana looked down at the long, tulle skirt she had on. “I'm allowed to wear things other than pants.”
“But do you want to?”
“Maybe, Owen.” She sounded exasperated with him already.
“What do you want? You haven't stopped by without a reason in months, and I doubt you'd start now.”
“I want to talk to him. Curt.”
‘I want him to talk to me.’ Owen thought bitterly. Instead of saying that out loud, he just sighed. “And why do you come to my house to do that?”
“He lived here, where else would he be?” Tatiana gathered up her skirt. “I'm going to do this.”
“I mean, I'm not going to stop you with anything short of a breaking and entering report and the paperwork is just so tedious,” With his sarcastic remark out of the way, Owen stepped to the side to allow her in. Tatiana nodded politely and accepted his offer.
He followed her to the living room, watching as she sat on the couch and crossed her legs. Curt leaned against him all the way.
“You know most people visit a grave to do this,” Owen said after a long period of silence.
“That's just so impersonal. This is our last conversation.”
She took a deep breath, smoothed out her skirt, and closed her eyes. Sitting there with her spine as straight as a rod, she just looked far more poised and put together than Owen had for over a year now. It wasn't fair.
“Hello, Curt,” She said softly. “We haven't spoken in a while, hm?”
Owen stood there awkwardly. Should he be participating in this too? No, this was Tatiana’s conversation.
He noticed as Curt left his side to go sit on the couch with her. He did his best not to feel slighted.
“Barb got a scientific award.” Tatiana smiled. “It's not the Nobel prize, and frankly I can't really remember the name but she's so proud of it. You probably wouldn't have remembered the name either.” She paused. “It's nice to have something in common still.”
She pulled her bag into her lap and started rustling through it. “Oh, I brought some pictures that I thought you might want to see.” The little slips of glossy paper shone in the afternoon light. Owen’s heart leapt to his throat when he recognized a photo of Curt and himself laughing on a dirty couch. “Some of these have gotten really old, I know. It’s embarrassing.” Tatiana laughed softly. “I used to never smile.”
Curt leaned his head onto Tatiana’s shoulder and she visibly shuddered. If she felt anything more than a chill, she didn’t show it. The two of them gazed down at the photos, sitting in silence. Owen bit down on his lower lip.
“Tatiana…” He trailed off.
“Just give me a few more minutes, Owen.” He realized just how shaken she sounded. “I forgot we even took this one. Remember that trip to the old printing press museum and one of the pieces of equipment almost fell on you? We thought you were going to die."
Her shoulders shook, and for a second Owen thought she was laughing again. Then he realized that those sounds were sobs. Tatiana Slohzno was crying in the middle of his living room.
“I’m sorry, give me a moment.”
Curt placed his hand over hers as photos fluttered to the ground.
”It’s okay.”
Both Tatiana and Owen froze. It was so soft he almost couldn’t understand it, but it was there and he spoke to her.
Why the fuck wouldn’t he say anything to Owen?
“Get out.” Owen said tersely.
“What?”
“I said get out! You don’t have the right to come here and do this!”
“What is going on with you?” Tatiana stood, staring Owen down.
“Get the fuck out of my house and don’t come back!” He shouted.
She scowled at him, hiking up her skirt and marching past him. “Fine! If that’s what you want!” She stormed away and left Owen alone with the sound of the front door slamming.
Owen turned to Curt. “What the fuck?!”
Curt was kneeling on the floor, staring at one of the pictures that Tatiana had dropped before. The one of Curt and Owen laughing. Owen marched over and kicked him.
“Why won’t you talk to me?! I mean, now that I know you can that means you’re making a choice and I can’t fucking handle that!”
Curt smiled sadly at him, like he understood something Owen didn’t but couldn’t tell him. Even though now he very obviously could, he just wouldn’t.
“I hate you,” Owen spat. “I’m glad you’re dead.”
He locked himself in his bedroom. For once, Curt didn’t follow.
”What’s been bugging you?” Owen asked, taking a sip of tea from his mug.
“I’m just thinking about some things.” Curt said.
“Oh, well careful there, you don’t want to hurt yourself,” He teased. Curt didn’t react. Owen sighed and set his tea down on the kitchen counter. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know you just seem… distant.”
“Distant.”
“I’m just worried about you, that’s all.”
Owen scoffed. “Worried about me, huh?”
“Don’t laugh at me, that’s not a weird thing to do!” Curt tapped a finger against the table, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “This is what I’m talking about. Anytime I bring up stuff with feelings you start sidelining the conversation until it moves on.”
“That’s because I want to stop talking about it.”
“Well, I don’t! I’m concerned about you and the best you can muster is one flippant acknowledgement and then we move on!”
Owen ran a hand back through his hair. “Jesus Christ, why is this coming up now?”
“Because we keep not talking, and not talking, and not talking about it and it’s killing me!” Curt waved an arm dramatically. “How much longer before we actually fix this?”
“I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
“That’s the exact problem! ‘Now’ is never the right time!
"Shut up, Curt!" Owen yelled. "For once in your life, shut the fuck up and think!"
Curt stopped. He pursed his lips, body shaking minutely. Owen would bet he would be the only one that could see it. Without another word, Curt grabbed his jacket off the kitchen table and started walking away.
"Where are you going?" Owen asked. No response. He followed Curt. "Oh, very mature, Mega! Giving me the silent treatment like you're fucking four!"
Curt opened the front door. He stopped to look back at Owen. There were a million different things Owen could have said to maybe mend things over, or to at least dampen the raging emotions between them. But he didn't.
"Fine. Leave. Don't bother coming back unless you’ll just let this rest."
Owen jackknifed up in bed, heart pounding from the dream. No, nightmare. No, memory.
He buried his face in his hands. He hadn't had that dream in months now, even after Curt had showed up again. Owen looked up from his fingers, to where the ghost now sat in the corner.
"We both know how that ended, hm?" Owen said in a hollow tone. "Four hours later, a call from the police." He snorted. "I guess I got my wish though. You've got a sick sense of irony."
Owen laid back down and rolled over so his back was facing Curt. If he had another nightmare, so be it.
There was a full week of nothing but laying in bed too tired to even yell at Curt anymore.
Owen could use a fucking break. Curt was a constant exhaustion, a tax that was becoming more and more difficult to pay. He decided on taking a bath because hey, if Curt showed up at least he could drown himself.
He turned the tap off on the bath once it was full, walking over to the sink to splash some cold water on his face. He felt like he was falling apart, mentally and physically. All because of a teeny tiny bit of trauma.
Christ.
Owen rose back up from the bathroom sink. He grabbed the little cup he kept on the side, filled it, and knocked it back. Before he could spit it back into the basin, he caught sight of Curt in the mirror.
He spat the water at both of their reflections. “What do you want?”
Curt just watched him with a profound kind of sorrow. Sympathy so strong that Owen could feel it.
Owen spun around to face him. “Why are you doing this? You haven’t done anything except be infuriatingly silent! You just keep standing there, watching, and throwing stuff at me when I don’t make you food!”
Curt stepped backwards, closer to the tub. Owen followed him. He was not allowed to back out of this.
“Yell at me!” Owen demanded. “Fight back! Show some fucking guts for once since you died!” He shoved Curt, sending him stumbling back once again. “Am I not good enough for you? Is this punishment?” His voice cracked. “Why are you doing this to me if you love me?!”
The only sound after the outburst was Owen’s own labored breathing. His hands were balled into fists at his side, a heavy ball of tension right between his shoulders. And Curt just stared at him.
Owen lunged forward, pushing Curt back into the bath. He crashed to his knees and shoved him under the water, breathing heavily as it splashed into his face. The struggling slowed, but he could tell Curt was still watching him. There was an ironic spark of life in those eyes.
Submerged up to his elbows, Owen kept a firm grip on Curt's neck. He was trembling, still not breathing correctly. What was the point of drowning a ghost? This was the equivalent of going out on a punching bag.
Owen flinched as a hand rose from the waters. It rested against his cheek, cold and dripping wet. “Please.” Owen whispered. “Say something to me.”
Curt looked up at him. Was that sadness in his eyes? Pity? Maybe even fear, having seen Owen lose his grip on the mask of humanity he showed to everyone so many times now.
“Anything.” He begged.
Curt's lips parted, but no sound issued forth. Nothing came out. Owen realized it was just an effect from his body going limp. The hand on his face slipped away and fell back into the water. There were no more feelings in his eyes to question anymore.
“Curt!” He let go of his throat and pulled him out of the tub by his shirt. Owen knelt on the floor, cradling Curt in his lap. Water soaked through his sweatpants and T-shirt, but he didnt care. “Shit, I'm sorry, come back!” He couldn't be dead, you can't die twice. “This isn't funny, you idiot!”
Owen grabbed his wrist, pressing his lips against it. “I didn't mean that, you're not an idiot. Oh, god, I called you that so much.”
He was shaking, shaking, shaking, but everything around him was completely still. The walls held their ground, the room wasn't spinning. It was all just silent. Overwhelmingly grounded.
He dropped Curt's wrist. The full implications of what he had done settled on him, and he scrambled back to the toilet before he vomited on the floor instead.
What was he supposed to do now? He hadn't really committed a crime, he couldn't even turn himself in for this. Last time may have been an accident, but this time Owen was well and truly responsible.
He was going to have to function like this. Go through his life remembering this moment, look Tatiana and Barb in the eye. A whole lifetime knowing he’d done this to the man he loved most with his own hands.
And right now he was sitting in a tiny room with a body only he could see.
Owen vomited again.