Conrad had woken up like this before: scared, alone, and drenched in his own sweat. Only this time, he couldn’t completely remember the details concerning what had happened. His mind was still a bit hazy, but he knew he had died. He just couldn’t recall how. But if those fresh circular-shaped scars on his arms were any indication, it probably had to do with Pree.
Shit, Pree.
That’s when it clicked. Conrad’s attention snapped down to the bed, searching for any trace of blood. But the sheets and the carpet were perfectly clean. Not a single drop of evidence was left behind from what had occurred. Save for those nasty fang marks near his wrists.
Conrad nervously rubbed over where the wound had been. He wondered how much time had elapsed since Pree had come to his room that morning. From the look of things, the hotel was back on it’s island, so clearly some time had passed.
He then moved over to the wall. He always tapped at the same spot when trying to get his neighbor’s attention: just above the lamp on the nightstand, directly between the two beds. Today, that knocking would be a little less enthusiastic than it normally was. “Mike? You there?”
Mike didn’t really know why Conrad always thought that he’d be in his room -- or maybe, he’d never considered the fact that there might have been times when he knocked at the wall and Mike simply hadn’t been around to respond in kind.
It was a strange and slightly uncharitable thought, really, considering his (newly proclaimed) best friend had been dead for the better part of the week and Mike hadn’t really been expecting the knocking, but maybe he’d just been in the sort of negative mindset needed to complain about literally anything.
It took him another second to snap out of that thought, perking up slightly when he realized what that knocking really meant -- and pushed his head through the wall without a knock or response in return. “Jesus, fuck, man,” was his greeting, a little relieved.
The sudden appearance of Mike’s face through the wall didn’t startle him. If anything, it brought comfort to Conrad. That relief was mutual. Maybe a little more so on Conrad's end. Since he didn't know how long he'd been gone, for all he knew, all his friends could have been sent away from the Crown Plaza in his absence. Thankfully, at least his dear neighbor was still around.
Conrad had questions. So many questions. But the first one to come out of his mouth would be, "Hey.. can I come over? I don't want to be in my room right now." Yes, their rooms were identical, but it mattered to Conrad. He didn't even want to look at his own bed if he could help it. Currently, it brought back far too many negative images.
“Yeah,” Mike said immediately, no question asked -- he had died here, after all. Or that was what Mike’s junior detective skills had told him when he’d found the body. Conrad’s body. Mike wouldn’t want to stay in the room he’d died in either. Even though 1408 was a different sort of beast completely. Instead of going back to his own side -- his own room -- Mike slipped further into Conrad’s.
They could walk over together. No reason for his friend to be alone right now, not after all that. And if Mike was being honest, he wanted to keep an eye on him. Apparently when he looked away, weird things like death happened. “You want to grab -- a change of clothes?”
The longer Conrad reflected on what had happened (or at least, what little he could recall) the more shaken up he became. Pieces were falling into place and reality was sinking in. And god, it was an awful, nauseating feeling. He absently nodded, popping open his top dresser drawer. His actions were on autopilot, though, because his mind was somewhere else entirely.
“What happened to me? Do you know?” Conrad asked over his shoulder as he pawed through his sock drawer. Socks that he didn’t really need if he was just taking a walk next door. “I think.. I have an idea, but I don’t know for sure.”
“Yeah,” Mike said, never really one to soften his words -- mostly because he knew Conrad didn’t really want them softened to begin with. “I’ve got some theories, seeing as we’ve been sitting in shithole Seattle in the middle of a plot meant for a young adult book in the mid 2000’s,” he said, opening Conrad’s door and waiting for the other man to finish grabbing his things to meet him out.
“You sure you wanna deal with this stuff this second?” He asked, after a beat. It was a lot. And being alive now didn’t negate the shit that had happened before -- Mike was pretty sure he got that more than most.
Conrad probably should have slowed down. But slow wasn’t really his speed. He’d rather confront it now and get it over with rather than fret and put it off. That, and he sort of needed to know, in a weird way. He tucked a fresh set of clothes under his arm and trailed after Mike, muttering a low, “Yeah. I do.”
Of course, only after the fact would he take that advice and pump the brakes. His mind had been running a mile a minute, trying to make sense of everything. But now that he was following Mike and looking at him - really looking at him, with his full attention - his focus briefly fell away from his death.
“Hey, wait -- come here.” Conrad reached out, carefully tugging Mike into a hug. An awkward hug, since they were still out in the hall and he was still holding his clothes under his arm. But it was also completely genuine, because truly, Conrad couldn’t possibly be more relieved to see Mike. And being able to hug him again was more important than talking about vampires.
Alright, fair. Some people just were better at not feeling like they had to avoid things constantly. Not Mike, he was a master at running away from his problems and into new ones but --
Oh. He stopped for a second, turning back to Conrad and was -- maybe a little shocked by the hug, but also not completely. “Shit,” he said after a beat, almost a laugh in his tone but that was to cover up something that was far more emotional. “And here I thought I’d been rid of all your clinging.”
Not that he wanted that, not ever.
"Such a shame for you, isn't it?" Conrad's arms had wrapped all the way around Mike, his words slightly muffled from burying his face into his collar. Every now and then, Conrad still grappled with what was acceptable behavior and what wasn't (especially when it came to his friendships with straight men, which he totally still thought Mike was). But right now, he couldn't really bring himself to care if it was okay to hug him like this or not. Because Conrad absolutely adored this man and the thought of never seeing him again was an awful one. Unbearable, even.
Once he leaned away, though, Conrad's mind redirected itself right back to where it had been prior. Which caused him to spit out an abrupt, “It was Pree.” The Brit was lost on the details of what had followed. But Conrad knew, without a shadow of a doubt, what face he had seen before he had slipped into darkness.
He nervously glanced over his shoulder, almost as if he expected Pree to magically appear. He'd then quickly follow Mike the rest of the way into his room, feeling rather silly for keeping them out in the hall like that. "Mike, tell me what happened. How long has it been?"
“Terrible,” Mike agreed, but hugged back fiercely until Conrad had had enough for the moment. Mike was hardly straight, but sexuality had little to do with anything in this moment; he’d simply missed his friend over the last week. He knew the hotel brought people back, but there was always a little thread of fear in Mike that maybe this time it wouldn’t. Or worse, they’d come back different. He’d lost a lot of people that way, too. It wasn’t easy, watching Richie and Jinn move on as brand new people without any kind of care for him at all.
“It was Seattle,” Mike corrected, not unkindly -- although the detail was good to know. “It was the location that the Hotel brought us to. Everyone was a victim. And it’s been -- nearly a week.” He opened his door, ushering Conrad in.
A week. Shit. Wes must have been beside himself. But Conrad didn’t want to track the assassin down just yet. Conrad knew he was an emotional wreck right now. And he really did not want to show up at Wesley’s doorstep as a blubbering mess. Even if such a thing could be forgiven under these circumstances, the idea was still awfully embarrassing to him.
Apparently crying in front of Mike was way more acceptable. As soon as Conrad was in his friend’s room, he set his fresh clothes aside and crawled into Mike’s bed as if it belonged to him. Which was sort of gross, all things considered. He had just been dead until a little while ago. Conrad probably should have showered before wrapping himself up in someone else’s sheets. But clearly Conrad felt like they were close enough for him to take this liberty.
“Are you okay? ...is Wesley okay?” Conrad knew the two didn’t exactly talk on a regular basis, but surely Mike would have heard over the Network if something had happened to him. “You didn’t have to deal with any vampires, did you?”
If Mike was bothered by how messy the concept of a previously dead guy making himself a burrito in his bed was, he didn’t show it. He only sat down on the edge of the bed and patted comfortingly at whatever lump it was of Conrad in the middle of the pile of blankets.
It was true, he didn’t regularly talk to Wes -- they only really bothered if Conrad was in the same room most of the time. It wasn’t that Mike didn’t like the guy, they just… didn’t show up on each others’ radars, he supposed. “He seemed a little out of sorts,” he said mildly, which was probably a huge understatement but Mike hadn’t really been paying attention.
Was he okay? Absolutely not. Which was why he hadn’t answered the question directly.
“I didn’t. Turns out, vampires don’t really see a point in fucking with ghosts. Go figure.”
“Ah, lucky you.” Conrad smiled up at Mike. Yeah, that made sense. There were quite a few perks to being a ghost, weren’t there? Even if a vampire did decide to chase him around, he could just slip through a wall to get away. Not to mention, Mike probably had the smarts not to mess with vampires in the first place, even if said vampire was a friend.
The thought caused Conrad’s smile to falter. He didn’t particularly want to think about dealing with Pree right now. He had no idea how to even go about addressing that issue. Because he’d see him again. He knew he would. And when he did, a freak out was bound to happen.
He reached out, giving Mike’s hand a tug. “Come here.”
Mike was already plenty close, but Conrad wanted him closer. So that he could ugly cry into his chest, granted, so it wasn’t exactly for a happy reason. But Mike had become a source of comfort for Conrad and honestly, that was all he wanted to do right now: sob pitifully while Mike hugged him.
That was alright. Sometimes crying was just the right response. Smarter than some of the things Mike would have done in the past. Yelled, flipped tables, punched a few walls. He supposed he hadn’t done those things when he’d died, exactly. But with Katie he had. So. he got it, in a way. A loss of something or a betrayal really took it out of a person.
So he sat down, tucked in closer until he could get his arm around Conrad’s shoulder. And let him have as long a moment as he wanted. Everything else could wait.