The hours ticked by like the hands on a skeleton clock. Not a sound was uttered from the body beneath a sea of woolen waves that lay dormant, hot, and heavy. Henry was sinking, drowning. There was no sign of rescue nor a single scream left in his throat. And then… it was over. He lies still in a fort of darkness, encompassed by a wall of his thoughts alone. 

"You in here, cupcake? Rise and shine, I brought food." Murphy spoke loudly as he entered the apartment that night. It was always difficult to tell how Henry would react to being approached. Sometimes it was best to warn him before engaging, other times he seemed to find it startling beyond all life and death regardless of what was done. It was a game of roulette. The older man wasn't sure he'd win any time soon.

Murphy set the bag of gas station junk food on the kitchen counter, picking up the half-finished noose and throwing it away with an unpleasant face. The apartment around him was dark and dirty like always, silently pleading for someone to live in it and love it like the rest of the rooms in this building. He ran a finger across the dusty counter, wiping it on his jeans.

The warm-colored glow from Henry's bedroom was the only source of light in the apartment, every other bulb off and unused. Judging by the layer of dust on them as well, he determined they'd been off long before he'd ever met the man. Murphy sighed, flicking through the pages of a magazine left out, as he sipped on an Icee.

It had been a long time in passing, but he remembered that place as if it were only yesterday- how the rain seemed to be shooting at him. It was a ghost town, but at the same time, the loudest place he’d ever been. Every second in Silent Hill, was a second his ear drums screamed and his heart begged for a mercy killing, too weary with pain and betrayal to go on. And then there was Room 302.

It had been such a stupid coincidence, stumbling upon a room with the same number as his cell. It felt as if the damn door had been put there to taunt him, remind him of where he should be. Where they told him he deserved to be. It had seemed empty and calm in comparison to what he left outside the door.. Or so he had thought.

Mere moments after opening the fridge, a man had burst out of the bathroom with a pipe in his hands. He had demanded to know if Murphy was ‘one of them’. Murphy didn’t know who ‘they’ were and was more concerned about the monsters all over town. Neither man believed the other, one leaving for the main road and the other remaining locked within his own private cell.

He’d come back after that, a few times here and a few more times there. There was an unspoken bond between the two that allowed Murphy to bum a nap on the couch and Henry to turn the lights on now and then. Though their struggles remained confidential, victims always recognized each other. There was no need for words.

Henry slowly crept out of his bedroom, walking tightly against the hall as he peered out into the hallway. His heart raced in his chest, unsure of who or what this could possibly be. He had no friends- no real ones, anyway. Although the fog had always helped him, and had seemed to care about him, the thought of something more sinister appearing in the light of his apartment had damaged Henry for good.

He peeked around the corner and sighed. After determining it to just be Murphy, the man skulks over to the chairs in the kitchen. He shuffles his feet a bit, looking over his shoulder, before cautiously sitting down. There was a long moment of silence, as if Henry was trying to rip a voice from his long broken being.  "I...thought you left town."

"What- I can't come back?" The man gives scoff while chuckling to himself, having always enjoyed the awkward pauses and stretches in the way Henry formed his words. Even moreso, the way he seemed almost confused or offended when things refused to stay the same. The man was certain he had been wearing the exact same button up when they first met, right down to his worn out boots.

He continued to still look through the pages of the old magazine. The cover was graced by the presence of a Lamborghini Murciélago, bright yellow and with both of its scissor doors up. It had been awhile since Murphy had last passed through South Ashfield on his way out of town and away from the police. He had intended on starting over somewhere new, but something about this town had always drawn him in since the moment he first broke into Henry's apartment years ago.

The ex-con smiles to himself, pointing at the cover and showing Henry, as he peers at the man from above his reading glasses, having failed to succeed in fighting off the cruel hands of aging eyesight. "Look at that, v12 engine and everything... what a time."

“How did you... how did you know I was sleeping?" Henry slowly sits down, moving his hands against each other. It had taken him a while to register the comment Murphy had made upon entering the room. His noose was missing from its spot on the counter, causing a dire need to suddenly shrink and avoid a heavy hand he felt coming towards him.

Like always, Henry had completely missed the other man’s joke, choosing to ignore it instead of playing guessing games as to what the context of the question was. Of course, he was allowed back. It just didn't make sense that he would ever want to. What was there for anyone in South Ashfield Heights? Henry swallows and avoids Murphy's dark brown eyes, fidgeting and playing with the straw of an Icee meant for him. While he was grateful for the food and drink, accepting gifts was never easy. 

He felt empty and useless, as if he didn't deserve anything at all let alone this gas station dinner. "Thank you, by the way."

Murphy wasn't bothered by Henry's avoidant eyes, he knew the guy had problems and never got too pressed over them. After all, how often was it that he spoke about his own? The dark haired man opened up the plastic bag and set a burger down in front of Henry, opening his own and tossing the packaging into the trash can by the table. "Just did and don’t worry about it. The least I can do is feed you, seeing as how I’m breaking in again and all."

"I should probably try to stay awake more." Henry ate in silence, slowly sipping on the blue colored drink. He liked Murphy. He liked the man so much that it ached to think about at times. He liked Murphy in the way everyone was sure EIleen liked himself, but it was easier to say nothing at all than to risk it coming out wrong. He didn't want to upset anyone. "Are you sleeping here tonight?"

The question was asked as if it weren’t Henry’s house to begin with. 

"Probably, its getting too late to walk back." The older man tossed his paper cup into the trash can and silently closed the magazine he had left open, pushing it to the corner of the table. He loved cars and was genuinely happy to see someone else who had an interest in them, even if Henry didn't speak much. Murphy had come to know him well enough that he didn't need to. "There's a blanket on the couch from the last time, so you don't need to worry about finding an extra."

Henry could feel the panic rise in his throat, not even moments after Murphy began to move as if he was leaving. Seas of nerves began to poll under his feet, stretching for miles in every direction as he began to drown. He wanted to reach out, to speak but couldn't. The words were jumbled and lost in his throat. He eventually pushed through the anxiety, forcing them out as quickly as possible. "Could you sleep in my room? I- There’s a chair… Please?"

"Gee, sweetheart- we just had dinner." Murphy spat the joke out instinctively, something more of a habit than something meaningful. Only after it left his mouth did he stop to consider why Henry might be acting this way. He paused, stopping his efforts to clean up what he could. He looked at Henry quizzically, but chose not to question it. They hadn't slept in the same bed for awhile, but whatever was bothering him seemed to be more of a 'supervise me' thing rather than a 'drink of water and a nap' thing. "Yeah, I don't mind. What's going on?"

Henry fidgeted with his hands again, looking around the room at all his portraits. He hated this apartment and the watchful walls that surrounded him. Their eyes were forever peeled, making sure he did everything they said at every given moment. He wondered just how many times Walter had spied on him, for how long. When it started... The man exhaled deeply. He wouldn't kill himself, not yet. Not when there was a chance he might become a ghost of this room too. "Just...These dreams. They feel so real. I don't really want to be alone with them right now."