Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The front door of a house is both the first one to greet those who enter, and also the last one to watch after those who leave. To Front Dorian specifically, this is a visceral understanding that only he has as the house’s front door. Of course, Wyndolyn could attest to witnessing the same thing as the bare windows beside him, though Front Dorian would attest that she could not have his exact experience. The feeling of a new owner pushing him open with anticipation; the way an old owner will linger just in front of him, their eyes casting one last glance at him before turning away and never returning. Both leave an impression on him, each equally exciting and disheartening to his weather-worn surface.

So, to Front Dorian, only he is aware of the way his eyes tighten at the sight of the distant car. Of the way his hands clench slightly around his biceps. And the way his eyes dip low after losing sight of the car as a silent final goodbye. The sight of that family van no longer a permanent fixture in his life as the world moves on. He loathes the little bit of pain that pangs through him, but never wavers in his duty. Wyndolyn simply touches his arm briefly before moving on to another part of the house.

---

There is a new owner. Though this isn’t the first time Dorian’s seen this human, given they were here not that long ago for the home viewing, this is the first time he has seen this person as the new owner of the house. The homeowner fumbles with the small key in one hand, as the rest of their belongings haphazardly sway, stacked into the other, increasingly trembling arm. The redhead beside him snorts, scanning over the young human with interested eyes. “Single,” her eyes track down to their left hand, “which means no kids. Good. I need a break from all the hand prints the previous family kept leaving.”

“Yet you love watching them,” Dorian muses as he’s pushed open, finally unlocked. The human stumbles in past him, dropping various objects onto the floor and spilling their half-drunk coffee onto faux wood with grumbled curses. Florence flutters past the spill, more worried about the tripped human than the spill that now covers her floor. “Given the first impression, I don’t believe you’re completely out of the woods just yet.” There is a groan from beside him, but no reply, the other having already scattered around the house to spread the news of the new owner.

Yes. Only Front Dorian would be the one to understand his woes. He’ll ball his hands, clench his jaw, and stand firm at the forefront of an emptied home without complaint. All for his duty. Only he is aware of sweat damp hands that twists the ornate doorknob for the first time of many. Of the first gleam in the new owner's eyes, bright with excitement at the sight of the house’s entrance. Of the whispered “I’m home,” of a new owner to their humble abode.

“Welcome home,” Dorian replies, a smile on his lips as he swings close and stands tall to continue with his duties.

Chapter Text

Jean-Loo's head peeks around the corner wall leading to the kitchen, his unmistakable head of blue hair the obvious giveaway if Freddy hadn't already talked to the other earlier. A tired huff escapes the yeti as he redirects his attention to the food in the fridge. Not much, really, but that isn't the point.

“It is not conducive to my crapping time! I have a performance at the Breaker Box soon.” Jean Loo had complained, pacing the width of the kitchen. “The human can eat what they want, but Lil’ Crapper does not need them in the bathroom all day, every day!” His words were emphasized with the swings of his arms and the pointing of the toilet float at Freddy.

The refrigerator couldn’t exactly say much to the matter either, “look, I know the human has been in a crave recently,” he glances down at the newly opened bags of string cheese, mozzarella sticks and ice cream, “but I can’t exactly just control what the Cool Kid eats.”

“This does not matter to me!” Jean-Loo freezes in front of him, head tilted back slightly to meet his eyes. “If Jean-Loo has to see that poser sit with that look on their face for another day, he will clog ze toilet and stink the entire day. Dorian will not be able to hold that smell back completely.”

Truthfully, this threat sounded like a pain to deal with, especially with the bathroom just a few feet away. But he witnessed a clogging before by the hands of toddlers and too much toilet paper; the loud complaints of the toilet had bled through the walls until the adults had unclogged him. In other words, these were empty threats. “I’ll do my best,” he concedes, knowing that the human couldn’t survive on cheese and ice cream for much longer. Not with their intolerance.

Freddy couldn’t just throw away the food, given what a waste it would be. Instead, his solutions had come from an understanding that the human is someone prone to simply picking whatever food is in front and at eye level. All he needed to do was push the dairy products further back at the lowest level. So, here he is now subtly reshuffling the foods to better conceal the cheese sticks and carton of milk behind other things he knew would be appealing but healthy to the cool kid. Takeouts he knew that needed to be eaten, and juices now easier to access without much compromise on the previous layout.

---

Later that day, the human returns home with a deep sigh, dropping certain objects off on Abel beside the door as they saunter into the kitchen. Right about now they would grab something easy to snack on before leaving for their room to redress and lounge for a few hours.

Blue hair peeks around the corner wall in his peripheral, but Freddy chooses to ignore it for now. Across from him, Freddy could see the amusement in both Abel and Mitchell as they watch the human open the fridge with a furrowed brow and a frown, “Where?” It’s obvious what they’re looking for, and Freddy can’t help but frown down at them in guilt.

“It is about time they get some real food anyway,” Michell muses from just over the human’s shoulder, having approached at some point. “How about this one? In great condition and from an amazing Thai restaurant you found a week ago,” he pushes the scent of a half-eaten curry to the human. It’s a success, the human’s attention breaking from their search by a loud grumble from their stomach, and the way their eyes gravitate to one of the containers Freddy had pushed further up.

From the corner of his eye Freddy sees the way Jean-Loo holds an approving thumbs up at them before retreating to the bathroom. The fridge doors are eventually closed and he feels his entire being spur back to life to bring the temperature to a safe level. Mitchell and the human had migrated to Luke while he was looking away, the food critic throwing instructions over to the redheaded ranger on how to best heat the curry. Really, Freddy couldn’t help but huff at the situation, unsure how to feel about it all.

Chapter Text

It’s of no new knowledge to the denizens of the house that the human lacks the average social life one would need to be called ‘functional’. So it’s on one of the occasions when the human leaves home in more than their simple slacks and hoodie that gets the nosier objects to buzz in anticipation. Amir himself hums in satisfaction at the amount of makeup their owner applies; Barry coos and helps the human subconsciously apply each item in the best way. Just outside the bathroom, he can already hear Betty chatting with Ben-Hwa about possible partners being brought home and such topics. That matters not to Amir, though, as he tilts his head and nods at the final product of the human’s application. Handsome. Beautiful.

Perfect.

“Azizam, if only you dressed like this all the time. None would hesitate to be with you.” Amir sighs and leans back as he watches the human turn and leave with a pep in their step. Barry follows, excitement clear in his eyes as one of his lipsticks is dropped into the small bag carried by the human. “Tell me how it goes,” Amir calls after the nearly vibrating makeup artist. The other’s response a mere hand wave that belied the fact that he was not listening at all.

Amir joins in on the conversation in the bedroom a little while later, mostly listening to the light conversation between the denizens of the room. Both Curt and Rod acted as their alarm for when the human returns home, both leaning against each other atop the windowsill as they converse with a lounging Betty and Ben-hwa.

---

It happens just a bit past midnight. The earlier mood had long dispersed with each hour as everyone fell back into their own nightly routines. The curtains are closed, Betty herself has blinked off into sleep, and Ben-hwa had long since left to find amusement elsewhere. It was only really Dorian, Stella and Amir who had witnessed the human’s quick entrance and ascent to the main bathroom. A frazzled Barry trails close behind, babbling to the unhearing person. “It’s okay. It’s okay, we just need a little concealer and a couple of other things- I can help. I can- It’s okay.” The human, of course, couldn’t hear this, hunched over the sink and suspending Amir in worry and anticipation until their head lifts to look him in the eyes.

There's bruising on their face, long darkened between the time of impact and their drive back home. Tears streak the previously applied makeup, lips quivering and eyes glassy with tears. “Why do I bother?” the human hisses to themself, fingers tight against the rim of the sink and inadvertently staring straight into Amir’s eyes. “I’m so stupid,” they grunt, hands rising to aggressively swipe and swipe again over their makeup, smearing it all into a mess of watery colors.

The mirror’s heart shatters with the humans, unable to do anything but reflect back whatever disdain the human must see in themself. Reaching out, Amir tries to cup the sobbing human’s cheeks, though fails without a tangible body. His thumb hovers and brushes the darkening black eye as if to soothe the swollen skin.

“If only they could see you the way I see you, Joonam. I’m sorry,” Amir sighs and wishes he could do more than reflect.

Chapter Text

The boxes practically pour into the house an hour after the new owner arrives. A college friend, Wyndolyn gossips as they watch people come and go with each and every thing the human owned from their previous home. The majority of the original denizens of the first floor are gathered in what will probably become the dining room as the owner and their friend continue to make rounds between the rented moving truck and the growing pile. At the moment, a heavy desk occupies them both as a somewhat baffled Front Dorian converses with a rather built denizen.

Beau is the first to introduce herself while the others crowd around her, her smile wide and excited, “This is my first move. It was a whole adventure across the country! The hot sun, the long hours travelling down the road? It was exhilarating. Our human kept taking breaks…but! Each of the pit stops were so unique and filled with many other travelers too. And this place! It's so different from the apartment they came from.”

The others murmur in interest. One such burlier denizen chimes in, “Do they cook?” Stefan’s eyes the small pile of boxes labeled 'KITCHEN’. “None of those look big enough to hold various cookware.”

“Oh, well, I haven’t seen them cook per se, but I’m sure they can try.” Beau fumbles. After all, cooking would be a…generous word for whatever it is the human had done to create their meal for the day while packing.

“They don’t,” Phoenicia pipes up from across the room, the phone left atop one of the many stacks of boxes as the human leaves the house to heave the last few boxes in with their friend. Celia stands beside her, tall in her usual grace as she waits for the phone to finish her additional commentary. She had been asking for information about the human, from what Beau could hear. “They try, really, but Luke would probably be the best one to trust our sweet human with when making their food.”

Beau scratches her head, readjusting her hat back on before perking. “Oh! The human does have this little guy, though!” Beau digs into a nearby box and unearths a little timer shaped as a chicken, its eyes blinking up in disorientation at the sudden wake up. The sight of it seems to immediately lift the stove’s entire demeanor from where it had momentarily scowled further from Phoenicia’s answer. He reaches out and cradles the timer in his hands; the size of it dwarfs as it stays cradled in his palms.

At that, both humans finally return with the last of the boxes and have started to move in properly, transporting the boxes to their respective rooms. The human hefts a particularly heavy box labeled ‘CLOSET’ slowly up the stairs, brows furrowed in their effort to keep both them and the box stable through each step. Beau perks up at the reminder that there is a whole other floor for her to explore!

“Anyway, it’s nice to meet you! I’m off!” she cuts Stefan off, who had been ready to question more about the sad pile of kitchen supplies. Beau bolts away, her cable whip slung over a shoulder as she passes the human, a wide grin on her face and eyes trained to the top of the stairs. Perhaps there will be treasure hidden or lost by a previous civilization!

Chapter Text

It’s rare for Zoey to manifest during any time besides night, but now and then she finds herself in these situations. Eyes blinking and body forming in the familiar space of the attic as she gains bearing of he tangible world around her once more. The dark tendrils of shadows that almost always encase the room were chased away by a steady beam of afternoon light through the single window. The sight of it would probably fit a word many would use for these kinds of sights, but she couldn’t put a finger on it. She chose not to think about it.

On the floor, in the middle of the beam of light, sits a plastic plant. Its leaves are wide and artificially vibrant with faux life. As if it truly were a plant reaching for the sun, Zoey muses with an amused smile. Her steps are light, almost bouncing as she lets herself float down onto the floor next to the plant. Legs tucked up against her torso, and arms resting atop raised knees.

Zoey thinks the sunlight should feel like something. Perhaps something both physically and emotionally. But she couldn’t truly muster any memory of that, nor did she bother to try lingering on it for more than a few beats. Why miss a memory she cannot remember? Why chase a feeling she had not felt since being alive? That would be sad, too real for her to bear.

Yet, something in her stalls, her smile slipping into something blank. Eyes closing without much thought, and head tilting up to meet the light, just as the fake plant beside her had done. 

Both ghost and fake plant are still on the floor by sunset, waiting for whatever feeling it is that sunlight’s supposed to give.

Chapter Text

There’s a quiet kind of satisfaction to watching paint dry. 

At least, that’s what Wallace believes. Perhaps Florence would agree if given the comparison of a newly polished floor. Dorian, might find the same joy when a human finally remembers to paint the doors. So just maybe all three of them could agree on the slow pleasure of watching gloss fade to matte.

The house previous to the newest human’s move-in, consisted of a family of five. A mother, father, an older brother, and twin sisters. A family of that variety meant one of many things: the walls of each room were all vastly different. From the pastel purple of the twin’s rooms, to the blue and gray of the elder brother, and the neutral beige of the master bedroom. Each member of the family, each generation, had their preferences, and personalized their stake in the house in their own way. Wallace has witnessed many changes to his surfaces by now, and he cherishes each and every one of them. 

Once, the walls were covered in striped wallpaper that had a brief moment of trendiness. Before that, it was dots. Before that, textured plaster. And the eldest son? He'd plastered his room with posters, overlapping and crooked, stuck up with paste and tape. Every choice felt like a new accessory. A fresh part of Wallace’s ever-changing identity. A part of him he’d proudly display for all to see. So when this new human had returned home with two buckets of paint, sleeves rolled up, and a determined face, Wallace had taken immediate interest. He followed the human around the house and watched them paint each inch of the wall with a certain care that comes with the fear of painting too sloppily or dripping paint everywhere.

Celia stops behind him, her poise the same as always, but Wallace couldn’t know for sure with his eyes already trained somewhere else. She hums after having stared for a few beats at the same sight. “This human likes darker colors,” she observes outloud.

“Wall,” Wallace replies, shaking his head and pointing up and then to the side, “Wall, wall.”

Celia hums back, “Sure, I agree the gym and kitchen are lighter colors, but those were also their colors before the human’s move-in. The bedroom and this office though, are dark colors. Both rooms, the human had put the most effort into so far.”

Wallace huffs in response but has no response. “Wall,” he concedes, then returns to watching.

“Do you believe they are the type to hang things up on the wall? I remember you enjoyed it when the eldest son of the previous family would do it.”

“Wall,” he hopes so.

There’s a momentary squint in her gaze as she scrutinizes the paint job for a moment. “Sloppy brushwork.” A huff of disapproval leaves her as she steps back beside him with slightly pinched lips but nothing else to say. 

Wallace doesn’t mind it, his gaze falling on the slight waver in the painted stripes. It made it all the more unique. Celia eventually leaves with a small pat on his back, but Wallace barely notices, his eyes on the drying paint. 

This, too, will become a part of him. And he will love it all just the same.

Chapter Text

Sometimes at night, the human tosses and turns from an unseen threat. Hands clenched, teeth gritted, brows furrowed, their body laden with sweat until sunrise. The human never truly rests on those nights. It’s a shame, to Betty, for her to have to watch the human writhe in an unseen agony that she could not even begin to comprehend. A bed does not dream after all. Let alone have nightmares.

The first couple of times this had happened Betty couldn’t help but panic for the human’s safety. She had just been unboxed from the factory she was bought from, brought together by the human’s hands, Tony’s (unheard) back seat instructions, and an ignored manual left on the floor. By the third nightmare, another figure had begun to join her and the human in bed. The black mane of what could only be a horse head barely visible against the dark surroundings moved without wind, several hundred eyes rolling, squinting, and peering up at her individually. Perhaps she should hate this new denizen, for what it represents, but Betty knows that it cannot control what it is.

“Must they be tortured like this?” Betty fails to tuck a strand of sweaty hair behind the human’s ear, her gaze soft as she mimics what would be cuddling if she could interact with the human.

The many eyes of the being drifts up to her from where they had been staring at the human. “It feels cruel, yes. At times, that could be the only word to explain it. But,” Nightmare huffs out through her large nostrils, “it is necessary for the rest of the time.”

Betty hums at that. She is still new in comparison to the many other who’d been with the human since before they’re purchase of her. Inexperienced when it comes to the ins and outs of the human mind. So the words the dark being had just said somewhat flew over her head. “Necessary how?”

“We process our day through dreams, and nightmares are still dreams just mixed with the irrationality of pent-up stress or fear. A puppy is a cute dream without fear present. But given one bad experience and suddenly that cute little mutt has matted fur, sharp teeth, and narrowed eyes ready to kill. A Nightmare.” The teeth in its sternum clacks against each other, tongue licking nonexistent lips as if savoring a flavor it liked. “The human had just moved, they’re stressed. They don’t have a job as of right now. So anxious as well. A wonderful brew for fear filled dreams. You will learn more of this cycle in the human’s behavior as time passes, just as I have.” Nightmare pets the snake on it’s shoulder, glowing eyes narrowed in what could only be amusement before dissipating from view.

The human startles awake, sitting up with sleep hazed eyes, and words muttered under a yawning breath. They leave their bed soon after, stumbling out of the room to perhaps check their emails for any updates as they’ve been doing for the past few days. Or make some coffee.

Hopefully it’s the latter. Maybe Betty could talk Telly into showing some of his funnier shows today instead of all of those dramas trending recently.