Chapter Text
Guest preferred to keep his life simple.
After being discharged from the army for his honorable work, the veteran found himself on a decline to minimalism—mainly to cope with what he had seen on the battlefield. He liked his current life: it was resolute. To Guest, it was his fresh air to cleanse his lungs from the smog of war. It was his soap to wash away the blood sewn into the wrinkles of his hands. It was the ability to conquer what he was drafted to conquer.
It was peace.
But it was also quiet.
No matter what he did, his home always felt empty. The silence accompanied his migraines with disguised dread. The decoration, while lovely, only served to be an empty vase. He was sprawled across his couch, staring idly at the ceiling in recollection. His hand tapped against the armrest with contempt. A bullet grazed his memory, digging beneath his skin once more. No gun fired, but Guest flinched anyway.
The fabric of the couch creaked as Guest finally decided to get up. It seemed he left an imprint anywhere he tried to go, though it was a welcome contrast to the past red rivers and rotten bronze shells. He needed to clear his head. A few of his bones crackled with life as he stretched, popping bubblewrap between his joints.
Guest groaned with exhaustion before wandering to the kitchen like a lost rat to get some food. In his version of an adventure, though, he didn't find much—he only had ingredients. He could have used them, crafted something out of nothingness, but he had no energy to cook at that minute. His laziness in his life of comfort—or the mirage of it—might damn him. Even keeping in shape didn't seem to save it. He wasn't like this before. But he didn't want to go back.
Guest snatched his keys from his shabby keyholder as if it were a mission. He reached for his wallet on the dusty table by the door, and abandoned the shallow house to prioritize something more important than staring at the ceiling and doing nothing. This was supposed to be his weekend day, he may as well get out of the house for a little while.
The engine of Guest's truck hummed with interest. His fingers tapped anxiously on the dashboard. He couldn't focus. He seriously needed a hobby or something, because he only seemed to weaken every time he thought about the past. Staying strong was Guest's utmost priority. He didn't regret his service. He had no choice, anyway. But the impact he left, lined with blood, couldn't be outweighed by the occasional discount he got or recognition for his work.
He had no idea where he was going. He decided to pretend like his turn signals were a gambling game, and that pressing random ones would take him somewhere worthwhile. That seemed to be the common flow of things now. He was clueless on any definitives that weren't tomorrow.
After 20 minutes, his eyes landed on a quaint pizza place at the end of the road. 'Builder Brothers Pizza,' the name was. With a shrug, he did a quick zip into the parking lot. Pizza sounded nice. He hadn't had it in a while. Sure, the grease would probably be horrible for his health, but he didn't care at the moment. It was just going to be one, anyway.
A whiff of freshly cooked cheese and sauce wafted into Guest's face as he entered the pizzeria. It was a surprise to see a vibrant, bustling pizza place. There was a family of five messing around at one table, some teenagers at another. It was gilded with red paint, firm brick walls, and a polished wooden floor. Usually, they were shabbier. Smaller, more unkempt. Maybe older wood. If he wanted to move on, he'd have to adjust to changes like that more.
"Hi," the person at the counter greeted. A vibrant blonde with hints of marigold, and drooping petals under his eyelids. Matching the building, he wore a bright red polo with a stitched and worn logo on the very upper right corner. He spoke again, swapping to professionalism like it were coded. Though the code seemed just slightly faulty in disguising a human. "Welcome to Builder Brother's Pizza! How ca- sorry, may I help you today?"
"Hm-?" Guest acknowledged, before glancing up at the menu. They did seem to have a lot, but he didn't want to make the cashier wait. He spotted a sheet pizza for $31.99 and went with it. He had the money, anyway. "... I'll take a sheet pepperoni, if that's alright."
"You got it! And- you should probably know it'd be really weird if I wasn't alright with that," the cashier laughed. "It's kind of my job." That polite giggle—even if it was most definitely for customer service reasons—was a gracious thing to hear. The corners of his lips pulled back in a slight smile.
"I guess, yeah. Hey—" Guest began, glancing at a scribble of what looked like letters on his nametag. The careless writing made him hesitate. He could only really make out an 'E' and an 'L'. Was that a 'T'? "Elll.. liot, is it?"
"Yeah. Why?" The cashier, Elliot, mumbled as he scribbled something down on an order slip. "Just curious," the veteran replied. "It's refreshing to see a friendly face around."
"Oohh, okay," Elliot said distantly as he messed around with the register. "Are you waiting here for to-go or do you want delivery?"
He would do just about anything to not go home right now.
"I'll stick around," murmured Guest. He was about to turn on his heel and scurry, but he was stopped with a halt.
"Hold on!" The cashier called, almost sounding urgent—but perhaps it was just how Guest perceived it in his own hurry. "Your pizza will be ready soon. It'll be..." He trailed off as he tapped at the register like a woodpecker driving its beak through a pine tree. "... $34.55. Also, I'll need a name for it. We call you up when it's done, blah blah blah, you get the point."
He chuckled a bit, nodding. "Guest," he replied while scowering through his wallet. Elliot took the opportunity to print his name down on the order slip before popping it through a small opening to the kitchen. Guest put a few 10s along with a 5 on the counter, which the cashier took and stuffed into the register with practiced ease. Elliot murmured a '45 cents' to himself as he fished for coins, before plopping the change in Guest's hand.
"Thanks," said Guest, who squandered back to his table like some opossum fleeing to its stolen nest. He partly regretted not bringing his phone, now he was bound to do the exact same thing he was just doing at home. He also regretted even coming here. Though the other possibility was no less boring; purely playing dumb puzzle games in either place. His gaze drifted off into space, and his calloused hand tapped methodically against the table. The only thing that caught his attention briefly was the hint of Elliot's gaze on him lingering, before it vanished.
He hadn't realized he had zoned out for so long. He was so lost in thought that he couldn't even respond to his own name. Twice. The third time was always the charm, it seemed.
"Guest." The sudden voice made him snap out of it, blinking twice before sitting up. He hummed in question, glancing up at the cashier.
"Get a book or something, you look out of it," Elliot chided. "Anyway- Pizza. Sheet pepperoni, right?"
"Right- sorry," mumbled Guest. Elliot said something back, but he wasn't listening. He was more focused on getting out. He slid out from the booth, grabbed his pizza, and dropped the five dollar bill he was folding out of boredom on the table. The doorbell rang as he left.
Again, Elliot's gaze lingered. Guest caught it this time. A slightly narrowed eye with a furrowed brow, scrutinizing him. He could compare it to a raven's gaze that he once saw stalking him from the fence, right where he tossed an old helmet. He turned away again, and Guest did the same, soon leaving his parking space vacant.
He later discovered a small note on the side of the pizza box after he got home. 'Feel better soon'.