Chapter Text
The door to the apartment closed softly, and the silence that followed draped over Sal like a weighted blanket. It was comfortable, relieving as he took a few steps backwards from the front door and deeper into the studio that he now called his home. While he loved Ash, she could be overbearing in her concern for Sal and his well-being, the pouty hassling that the shorter boy call her if he needed anything still echoing about in his head. His mask dropped off of his face as Sal sighed in relief, the chilled air of the room washing over scar tissue and bringing its own form of comfort with it as he removed his prosthetic.
It had been a long day, to say the least.
It was nearing one in the morning now, and Ashley had only just left. If Sal listened hard enough, he could hear the revving of her motorcycle as she peeled off down the city streets, back towards Nockfell like the rest of his friends. They had insisted on helping him move, something Sally had been thankful for. While Todd and Neil had taken their leave at around seven that evening, Ash’s worry took the shape of her hovering well past even Sal could stomach. As endearing as it was, Sal was happiest to have the apartment to himself to both relax and process the changes of the day.
He missed the townhouse. He missed his bedroom, and the porch, and the work space that he and Todd had carved out of the shed in the backyard. He missed Nockfell already, despite the majority of his life being spent there and how insistent he was that he was tired of living somewhere so small. The weight of this hit him all at once as the silence of the apartment washed over him, conflicting with the content and peace that came with it. Nockfell had become home to Sal over the years, familiar and comfortable. Time wasn’t as forgiving though, and once Todd and Neil had gotten engaged, a silent sort of tension had risen up in their home whether the trio wanted it or not.
Todd and Neil deserved their space, to make a home and a family for just themselves. Sal had often felt like a third wheel despite how hard the couple tried to avoid letting that happen, and some part of Sal had known that the peace he found in the town house just wouldn’t last. So, as summer was reaching a peak, Sal Fisher decided to find his own little haven somewhere else. It was high time he be more independent anyways, and as he rapidly approached his twenty-fourth birthday, it felt more necessary than ever that he learn to live completely on his own.
The studio apartment was quaint, and a little run down, but it was more than enough for Sal in his opinion. One room, a closet of a bathroom and a wall nearly made of windows that gave a perfect view of the sunrise, or so he had been told. The hardwood floors creaked and the ceilings were water stained. To top it all off, there was an unsettling, lingering sensation of being watched resonating throughout the small space, but all-in-all the apartment was enough for Sal. The complex itself was on the edge of the city, not too far from downtown while still being a reasonable distance from Nockfell. Visiting distance, he had told his friends to try and ease their stress about him moving away.
As Sal paced through the one room apartment, passing stacks of boxes and bags of belongings, he let out a deep yawn. As excited as he was to move into his new home, the strain of getting the boxes and furniture up to the fourth floor had drained him entirely. He stretched as he unceremoniously shoved the nearly empty pizza box into an equally as vacant fridge, not caring much for its interior at the moment. He would tackle the fridge tomorrow along with the rest of his things, Sal decided as he shut the fridge door. He paused, however, at the sight of vibrant color against the cold metal.
Within the mess of colorful letter magnets haphazardly stuck to the front of the fridge (something Ash had insisted on giving Sal upon moving: five sets of letters and numbers, to be exact) was a nauseatingly colorful greeting of “Welcome home” in all capital letters. It caught Sal off guard, but he grinned down at the phrase all the same, echoing it back to himself as he took everything in.
“Welcome home,” he breathed out, closing his eyes for a moment. He was home. This was his home now. A huge step towards the future, towards independence, towards himself. Something to be proud of, and something to celebrate.
Sal gave the shell of the fridge a final, gentle pat next to the greeting, something he would probably tease Ash about given she was the most likely to have done something as dorky in the first place, before he padded the few feet across his apartment to the mattress that lay bare under the tall windows on the far wall. Prosthetic discarded next to his pillow and clothes in a heap on the floor next to him, Sal settled under a worn blanket and stared out the windows at the night sky. Tomorrow was a new day in a new life, and while it wasn’t as monumental or impactful to Sal now, he felt that it would be good when the weight of the change fully sank into him. It would take a while for him to adjust to the new space, to stop the disorientation of waking up somewhere that wasn’t the townhouse, but he would get there, and he would welcome it when it did.
He was asleep within five minutes, and for the first time in a long time, he dreamed of nothing but a listless, warm darkness and the nostalgic scent of summer.
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It was far too early to be waking up in Sal’s honest opinion, but the sunlight filtering through the windows of the boys new apartment had another idea it seemed. The listing was correct in its initial statement: The windows DID give a wonderful view of the sunrise. Sadly, the wonderful view of the sunrise decided to shine down directly into Sal’s poor, unsuspecting eye. Sally groaned softly, voice rough and throat dry, as he threw an arm over his face in an attempt to block the light. A dull ache resonated from within Sal’s skull, paired with an almost sticky sensation just behind his right eye. He curses himself when he realizes he never took his eye out before bed last night, and it’s the discomfort and need to clean it out that ultimately drags him out from under his blankets and towards the bathroom to clean himself up a bit, prosthetic face still discarded on his bed.
There was a new level comfort and freedom found in having his own apartment, and Sal was finding he enjoyed it even more than he thought he would. He didn’t have to wear his prosthetic if he left his room anymore, or pants for that matter, even if that was just because his entire apartment was his room and it was all Sal’s now. It felt weird to go without his face, it had become a part of him at this point, but it was also exhilarating at the same time. Sal’s father, however much he would insist that Sal could go without it at home, had always cringed or looked away when he saw his son without his mask on. Sal would also never dream of going without his prosthetic while living with Neil and Todd in the townhouse. Throughout his life, it simply became a habit that Sal never go without his mask unless absolutely necessary. It was a part of him; A large facet of his identity, so much so that Sal felt something was missing if he went without it for too long.
Sal was finding he quite liked the change of pace though, as he shuffled the few feet into the small bathroom in nothing but his briefs and a pair of mismatched socks. It takes a few moments of rifling through a cardboard box labeled “BATHROOM” to find his toiletries, but within fifteen minutes Sal has washed his face, left his glass eye to soak and clean itself in a glass of water, and brushed both his teeth and his hair, though the latter still remains a bit of a tangled mess despite Sal’s best efforts.
Admittedly, Sal was rushing. He wasn’t sure if it was the new space or something else, but the insistent feeling of eyes watching him as he moved about the apartment still lingered from the night before. It made him antsy. It put Sal on edge, despite trying to brush it off as simply being alone in his apartment. The cramped nature of the bathroom definitely wasn’t helping the matter either, and so Sal tried to get through his morning routine as quickly as possible. He could air out the apartment once he started to unpack; Air out the watchful feeling on the back of his neck as well.
Once he had deemed his attempts at cleaning up good enough, Sal gave another stretch and finally exited the bathroom. With a quick stop by his mattress to grab his prosthetic and clip it on out of habit, as well as fully throwing open the blinds and windows, Sal headed for the kitchen to scavenge for breakfast. He’d still have to go to the grocery store, probably today if he wanted to have a real dinner. For now though, the remains of the pizza from last night were calling Sal’s name.
Before he can eagerly dive into his food, however, Sal’s fridge door catches his eye. He pauses, blinking down at the new words sprawled messily across the door, trying to comprehend the sudden change. “Good morning,” it says, in lowercase magnets now. Sal squints his good eye down at the words, confusion evident on his face.
“Didn’t that… Say “Welcome home” last night?” He mumbles to himself, what remains of his eyebrows knotted together under his mask as he reads over the greeting a few more times. He didn’t make that up last night, did he? He knew for a fact Ash or Todd hadn’t snuck into his apartment thisi morning, they didn’t have keys and Sal was so sure he locked the door anyways…
“Weird,” he breathed out, before he went to open the fridge regardless. Maybe he was dreaming, Sal mused around a yawn. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had a dream that began mundane, like waking up in his own home, or getting ready to go to school or work. It was just a matter of time before they melted into inconsistent, incomprehensible nightmares. He idly pinched at his side as he rifled through what little food he had in the fridge, giving out a soft hiss and a wince when he dug his nails in a bit too hard.
So maybe it isn’t a dream, if the sting in his side was anything to go by. Sal reluctantly considers this as an option as he withdraws the mostly empty pizza box from the fridge. “I’m probably just imagining things,” he tells himself as he closes the door, though he eats his words when he stares at the magnets on the fridge once more.
“ Pizza 4 breakfast? Rly? ” Is what stares back at him, and Sal can only seem to stand and stare down at the words as he tries to comprehend what was happening.
Is his fridge talking to him? That… Didn’t make a lot of sense, but Sal supposed weirder things could happen. Was his fridge haunted? Was that it? And now the ghost had decided to critique his breakfast choices, it seemed. A roll of irritation runs through Sal at that realization, a mildly insulted look on his face.
“What’s wrong with pizza for breakfast?” He grumbles down at the fridge, waiting for a response. Nothing changes for a few moments, and Sal gives out a soft huff in response as he goes to settle on the floor in front of the fridge. A snarky ghost was… Definitely a new addition to Sal’s life, but it could be worse. It could be an asshole ghost, that broke his things or tried to scare him. Sal was pretty sure he could handle a bit of sass.
“Cold pizza is the breakfast of champions, fuck you very much. Who are you to judge my breakfast choices anyways?” Unclipping the lower half of his mask, Sal opens up the pizza box and takes a large bite out of the first slice he can get his hands on to prove his point, all while staring down the letters on the fridge with a new-found dedication.
Sal nearly chokes on his pizza when the letters slowly, awkwardly start to move around the front of the fridge. It’s a slow process, but eventually “ I’m Larry ” is spelled out on the front of his fridge. So his fridge was named Larry. Sal supposes there could be worse names out there for a fridge.
“Well then, Larry, why are you haunting my fridge?” Sal asks, a bit more honestly this time. He slouches his chin into his palm as he stares up at the fridge, curious as he slowly eats his food.
“ Not the fridge. ”
“Not the fridge? So, like… The apartment?”
“ Yea. ”
Huh. So his apartment is haunted by a ghost named Larry.
“Did you like, die here then? Is that insensitive?” That felt kind of insensitive, but Sal was curious, and it was his apartment now. When the most he gets out of response is another “ Yea, ” in the form of the “ a ” circling the word before settling back into place, Sal decides it’s best to not touch on that subject again.
“Well Larry, I’m Sal,” He says, discarding the crust of his pizza back into the box before diving for another one.
“ Dude, eat ur crusts, ” The fridge reads when Sal glances back up once more. His face twists up before Sal can take the first bite of his next slice, pouting under his mask.
“Eat my ass,” he sasses back.
“ Take me 2 dinner first. ” Sal can’t help his laugh at Larry’s reply, shaking his head a bit as he chuckles around his food.
“We’ll see. For now, Larry, you want to help me unpack a bit? Can you like… Interact with stuff enough to do that? I won’t have any freeloader ghosts in my apartment if I can help it,” Sal teases as he grabs his pizza box and finally stands from the floor. He stretches while he waits for Larry to finish shuffling the magnets about on the fridge.
“ Kind of. I’ll try. ” There’s a pause in which Sal nods and moves to stand, before the letters start to shuffle about once more. The shorter boy watches curiously, a soft laugh leaving his chest as he watches “ I was here b4 u, 2 ” form on the front of his fridge. Sal can almost feel the pouting coming from his new housemate even without seeing him.
“I’m still paying rent though,” Sal snarks back, tossing the remaining pizza back into the fridge before he stares at the clutter of boxes taking up space in his kitchen. Sal definitely had his work cut out for him, even if he had a ghost to help him. He’s pretty sure the entire process would start with him putting on a bit more clothing though.
The pair settled into an easy, quiet rhythm after Sal redressed, with Larry opening the moving boxes and laying the contents out on the counters or floor while Sal tackled sorting through it all and putting it where it belonged. The kitchen was an easy place to start, between already being there and it having only three medium sized boxes to go through. After a few hours of work the bulk of the boxes had been emptied, and all the dishes had been put away with only one mug as a casualty.
“ Ill fix it ,” the fridge had read moments after the mug shattered against the floor. The air felt almost static with electricity, but Sal brushed off the remark, stooping to pick up the broken pieces with little more than a shrug towards the loss of the cup.
“It’s not that big of a deal, I have loads of mugs,” he reasoned back, dumping the ceramic shards into a nearby empty box while the fizzing nervousness of the room slowly faded. He brushed his hands off after that, giving a stiff stretch and a pained groan as he looked over the kitchen. It was… Quaint. He didn’t have much stuff to begin with, but he’s pleased with their progress so far. The cupboards were kind of full. A somewhat sad looking plant sat on the window sill, next to where the cheap table and chair set Sal had bought at Walmart now lived. A keurig rested in the corner of the counter next to the toaster and the microwave, all crammed up against the fridge. It felt a bit more like home, with his own belongings strewn across the surfaces. Sal smiled before motioning towards the rest of the apartment.
“Wanna start getting the rest of the bedroom set up? We don’t have to do it all today,” He mused, still tired from how early he woke up this morning. Larry responded with his usual “ Yea ” before the pair shuffled into the bedroom and set to work.
By the time they had finished setting up the apartment, the majority of the boxes had been unloaded and their contents placed in their new spots. Posters covered the walls, Sal’s guitars found a place in the corner by the closet, his clothes were put away, and all that remained were a few assorted boxes of items Sal didn’t want to deal with, as well as his TV and consoles. The sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon, the sky darkening into a deep blue through the windows by the bed.
“Wanna help me set up the TV and then watch some shitty movies together?” Sal questions in a lazy tone, throwing a sidelong glance towards the fridge from his bed. The “ fuck yea ” that appears across the door is by far the fastest response Sal had gotten that day.
That’s how they spent the rest of the day. While setting up the TV had been more of a debacle than Sal would have preferred, between Larry trying to mount the thing to the wall and Sal not being the most skilled when it came to cords, they managed just fine in the end. Soon, Sal was curled up under a heap of blankets on his mattress and staring intently at the movie currently playing on the screen across from him. A feast of cheap Chinese takeout is spread across the floor in front of Sal, slowly being picked over as the hours pass. It was casual, and comfortable, and almost nostalgic. Sal vaguely felt like he had experienced all of this before, and the sense of deja vu had weirded the boy out a bit.
The weirdest thing to Sal, however, was the subtle weight of a body sitting close to his own. While Sal couldn’t see Larry, he could sense him there beside him. In the dip of the mattress, in the sudden chill across his skin if he leaned a bit too far to the side, in the quiet rustling of the sheets when Sal could swear he hadn’t move an inch. It was as unsettling as it was comforting. He didn’t feel nearly as alone as he anticipated he would in his new home, and it was making the transition a lot easier for Sal.
“Oh yeah, I found you...” Sal says, voice trailing out as he remembered something from earlier in the day. He shifts on the bed, arching to reach for something near his pillows after pausing the movie. He sits back up only a moment later with an old spiral bound journal and a cheap pen in his hands, a nervous exclamation of “This!” following. He offers it up to the space he assumes Larry is taking up. ( From the immediate, icy chill that shoots through Sal’s veins, he can only assume he shoved the journal, as well as his hands, straight through Larry’s chest on accident. )
He sits and waits- admittedly stupidly- for a response from the other man before he sputters out a bit more of an explanation.
“I-it’s for you to write in! I thought… It might be easier, than just the fridge?” There’s a pause filled with nervous laughter before, finally, Larry acknowledges the gesture. Relief washes through Sal when he feels a pressure pulling the pen and journal from his hands, and he watches it shift through the air as if floating. The pages flutter as the journal is opened, Larry flipping through them to find that it’s entirely empty save a sloppy scrawl of “Sally Face” on the back of the cover.
“ Sally face? ” Is the first thing Larry decides to write in the journal, and it only draws more laughter out of the blue haired boy.
“It’s… What my friends called me in highschool, because of the prosthetic,” he elaborates with a vague gesture towards his face.
“ Some friends. ” Larry responds.
“Yeah… I guess they weren’t great, but I thought if I owned the name then no one could use it against me.” Sal gives a shrug at that, a hand reaching up to fuss with a loose thread on his blanket. The journal bobs slightly, as if Larry is nodding in agreement.
“ That’s pretty metal, Sally Face. I like your face. ” That brings a smile to Sal’s face, and he finds he’s relieved that Larry isn’t pressing matters like why he wears a mask, or what might be under it. Sal would rather pretend that Larry hadn’t seen his face before he knew the ghost was also occupying the apartment. That was a story for another time.
“ Thanks for the journal, ” is the next thing Larry scrawls, his handwriting scratchy and a bit rushed. He hangs the journal in front of Sal’s face, like he’s a bit over eager for the other boy to read what he has to say. It makes Sal giggle, grinning as he turns to look in Larry’s general direction once more.
“Yeah, dude. I figured it was easier,” he hums in response as he stares vacantly out towards his kitchen table. A question pops into Sally’s mind as he watches, trying to find something to discern Larry’s shape in the setting afternoon sun.
“Can you not, like… Appear?” Sal questions awkwardly. He wasn’t… Quite sure how to word it, but he’s curious. Ghostbusters had only taught him so much about spirits, and his now ex-roommate Todd had only taught him so much more. It was never something either of them got that invested in, beyond stalking about abandoned lots and burned down houses late at night in their teens. The most Sal can recall his friend saying was that some spirits could appear, some couldn’t, and sometimes they needed a little help manifesting.
There’s the sound of rushed writing before Sal once again has the journal shoved in his face.
“ Not anymore. I used to, but over time I stopped being able to. ” The journal is tugged back, and there’s more writing. “ I can’t leave the apartment either. :( “ Sal can barely stifle the amused snort at Larry going so far as to draw out the frowning face in the journal. It was… Cute . Still though, Sal had never heard anything about a spirit just… Not being able to manifest anymore.
“That’s… Weird, you just stopped being able to?” he mumbles, frowning behind his mask as he thinks over those words. Maybe Todd could help. Sal makes a mental note to text him tomorrow about what’s going on and see what he can do. “I’m sorry, Larry. ”
“ It’s fine ,” is the reply, though Larry seems to hesitate on writing more, air crackling with nervous static energy once more. Ultimately, it seems his desire to speak wins out over the nervousness as he continues to write. “ It was like something sucked up a lot of my energy. ”
That was concerning. Sal hums in thought, turning to stare down at his lap as he considers Larry’s words. Sucked up his energy? He definitely had to talk to Todd now. The building was old, so maybe Larry wasn’t the only spirit here?
“We’ll figure it out. I got a friend that might be able to help, actually,” Sal says, smiling towards the journal. Sal is startled to see a well rendered thumbs up as the next response, accompanied by a small “ Thanks Sally Face ”. It’s returned with a snicker, a matching thumbs up from Sal, and a quiet hum of “No problem, Larry Face.”
The conversation for the night dwindled down after that. Sal resumes the movie and picking over his food, while Larry is a comfortable (if not cold) presence at his side. They still chat occasionally, Larry or Sal commenting on the movie or cracking a joke, but it otherwise is quiet between the two. The later it got, the more Sal found his mind wandering. He was thankful that he had moved, that he had met Larry. Sure, the dynamic was a bit off, and having a ghost roommate wasn’t how Sally had anticipated starting this new journey in his life, but he was more than glad to have someone by his side for it now. From what he’d gathered from Larry, the ghost seemed more than happy to have some company as well.
By the time 4am had rolled around, Sal has managed to fall asleep sitting up and surrounded by cold, half-eaten take out. The sight makes Larry laugh, barely audible in the space of the apartment as he takes in his new friend and his sleeping habits. It couldn’t be comfortable, but it was a testament to just how tired Sal must have been at that point and how much effort he had been putting into staying awake.
Sal is a lot lighter than Larry had anticipated he would be, despite Larry’s having seen just how thin he is. He’s gentle as ever as he lays the other boy down on his mattress though, tucking his blankets around his frame before the ghost goes to put the leftover Chinese in the fridge. There was no use in letting it go to waste, and Sal had helped him out a lot that day. The companionship and the conversation was more than enough, but go so far as to try and help Larry manifest…? The ghost could swear he felt the whisper of a flustered beat coming from his still, dead heart at the thought of someone going so out of their way for him.
Returning from the kitchen, food put away for the next day, the final thing Larry does before settling in at the foot of Sal’s bed with his journal and pen in hand is pull up Bob Ross on the television. The volume had been turned down, the artist’s voice soft as it echoed throughout the room. It left Larry feeling nostalgic and content as he relaxed, a smile on his face.
For once, he’s glad to see someone new move into apartment 402.