The hum of the ventilation is driving me absolutely insane. It’s that low, vibrating thrum that gets right in your teeth, and the water dripping in the pipes behind the wall—clink, drip, pause. It sounds like the building is breathing. I can't even stand the silence between the noises anymore. It's heavy. Do you hear that what I said, or are you just sitting there staring at the void? My head is spinning.
I hear it. It's the pipes settling. Everything in this place is rotting slowly. You're overthinking the noise. I'm just paying attention to the coffee getting cold. It's not a void, Hana, it's a building. Stop vibrating. It's making me nervous.
Oh, don't tell me how to feel. You're just sitting there like a statue while I'm actually paying attention to the structural integrity of this place. It's easy to be calm when you aren't actually looking at the cracks. I saw a weird thing in the office hallway today, like the floorboards were popping like gunshots. It's pathetic. And the coffee is cold, Kit. Drink it anyway. I'm only vibrating because I'm awake.
The floor is just wood. It's old. You're looking for a disaster because you're bored. I'm not drinking that sludge; it tastes like burnt and regret. You're always looking for something to obsess over. It's exhausting to watch. If you're so desperate to be awake, go walk a lap. Just sit still for once.
Walk a lap? To where? To see the same flickering exit sign and the mold stains? You're so cynical. It's not obsession, it's awareness. Someone has to notice when the world is falling apart. I'm not sitting still because I want to, I'm sitting because I can't move. My hands won't stop shaking and I'm stuck here in a building that hates me. It's pathetic, really.
The building doesn't hate you. It doesn't care if you exist. You're being dramatic. Your hands shake because you've had too much caffeine, not because of some cosmic conspiracy. I've seen people lose their minds because they saw ghosts in the wallpaper. It's just a shift, Hana. Just look at the wall until the sun comes up.
The sun isn't coming up for a long time, so stop talking like it matters. You're always so dismissive. "It's just a shift," yeah, like my whole life is wasted in these shitty fluorescent lights. And don't even get me started on the wallpaper. I saw patterns there that move when you look away. It's not ghosts, it's the decay. You're just too lazy to see how the walls are literally closing in.
The walls aren't moving. You're just tired. You want it to be a nightmare because the alternative is too boring to death. It's not lazy, I'm just not wasting my energy on wallpaper. My sister used to say the same thing about her apartment back before she was bored. She ended up moving to a clinic. Just shut up. The hum is getting louder.
Your sister? Great. Now we're bringing up family failures into a basement at three AM. That's low even for you. The hum isn't getting louder, your ears are just ringing. You want me to shut up because you can't handle the fact that this place is a tomb. I'm not bored, I'm just the only one actually alive. If the hum is so bad, go put plugs in them. I'm staying right here.
I don't need plugs to ignore you. You think being a martyr makes you special but it's just pathetic. It's not a tomb, it's a room with a shitty ceiling. If you're so alive, do something about it. Complaining rarely makes the shift any shorter. I'm going to close my eyes and leave you to your patterns. I'm tired of listening to you being "alive" in the dark.
Go ahead, sleep. Hide under your eyelids. It's always easier to just close your eyes, isn't it? You think you're winning by disappearing, but the ceiling is still sagging and the air is still stale. I'll be right here when you wake up with a stiff neck. You're such a coward, Kit. I'd rather be a martyr than be the person who never notices when the floor finally gives out.
The floor isn't giving out. It's solid concrete. You love the idea of a collapse because it gives your life some purpose. If the building fell, you'd be the first one screaming about the dust. I'd rather have a stiff neck than spend another minute analyzing a sagging ceiling. I'm not a coward, I'm just finished with your performance. It's pathetic.
Concrete? It's cracked in the corner, I saw the hairline fractures near the radiator. You're too stubborn to admit the place is failing us both. Fine, call it a performance. At least I'm putting in the struggle. You're just waiting for the clock to run out so you can exist. If you sleep, don't complain when you wake up and the world is exactly than it used to be.
The world is exactly where it used to be. That's the point. It doesn't care about your struggle or your hairline fractures. You want a tragedy, but it's just a Tuesday. I'm not waiting for the clock to run out, I'm waiting for the silence to start. Keep staring at the radiator. It's not going to talk back. I'm done now.
You're never done. You just stop talking when you run out of things to say. "It's just a Tuesday"—every day is a Tuesday here. Go ahead, retreat into your silence. I'll be here when the radiator starts clanking and you realize you're still alone in the dark with me. I think your silence is a luxury I can't afford to have right now.
Silence isn't a luxury, it's a necessity. You crave the noise because you're terrified of what you'll hear if it actually stops. I'm not alone, I'm just not with you. There's a difference. If the radiator clanks, let it. It's more interesting than your voice. I'm turning over now. Leave me alone.
Fine. Turn over. Pretend I'm not here. It doesn't change the fact that we're stuck in the same box. You think silence helps, but you're just a ghost haunting your own chair. I hope you dream of cold coffee. I hope you wake up every time the pipes clink. I'll be awake watching the shadows grow while you play dead.
I'm not playing dead. I'm just trying to exist without a constant commentary. You keep watching the shadows; maybe they'll give you the attention you're so desperate for. It's just a box, Hana. We're all in boxes. Some of us are just quieter than others. Go back to your cracks. I'm out.
"Out"? You're not going anywhere. You're right there in that same chair, pretending that being quiet makes you somewhere else. It's pathetic, really. You think you can just opt out of the air being thick? I'm still here, and the building still is. Fine. Enjoy your little void of silence. The shadows are still growing whether you're looking at them or not.
The shadows don't grow, they're just light failing. You're so obsessed with the drama of it that you can't see the physics. It's just a bulb dying somewhere. If that makes you talk to the dark, then for it. I'm not going to be the audience for your hallucinations. The air is thick because you're breathing too hard.
I am breathing because I have to, unlike you who seems to be practically a machine. Physics doesn't explain why this room feels so heavy. It's not just a bulb, it's the whole weight of this place pressing down. You're so afraid of feeling anything other than bored functional. Go ahead, hide behind your facts and your logic. I'll be here when the light finally gives out and you're left in the real dark.
I'm not a machine, I'm just tired of the weight. The pressure you feel is just your own ego trying to fill up the empty space. If the light gives out, at least I won't have to see your face. You talk about the dark like it's a revelation. It's just the absence of photons, Hana. It's not deep. It's just dark.
It's always so simple with you, isn't it? You reduce everything to a physics textbook because you can't handle the actual weight of it. "Absence of photons"—god, you're exhausting. It's not just dark, Kit, it's the shift in the fabric. If the light goes out, you'll be the one panicking because your logic won't hold your hand. You're so incredibly hollow.
I'm not hollow, I'm just not filled with your nonsense. You want everything to be a metaphor because you can't handle how mundane life is. If the light goes out, I'll just sit in the dark like everyone else. It's not a cosmic shift. Stop trying to be poetic. It's embarrassing and it's not working.