Sebastian Lundgren

Sebastian hasn't gone outside in approximately six days, 13 hours, 21 minutes and 54 seconds and counting.

55... 56... 57...

His bloodshot eyes stare at the nearby alarm on the shoddy bedside table, watching the numbers flicker and go by, oblivious to his desperate presence. This isn't the longest record he's had for not going outside, not by a long shot. During Spring Break, he got his numbers up to 14 days, 18 hours, 3 minutes and 29 seconds. Would've been longer had someone's fire alarm not go haywire and call the fire department, forcing all apartment tenants to go outside in the pouring rain as the officials worked inside.

And that was the day he met his next door neighbors. Well, one of them at least. He couldn't recall exactly if they lived to the left or right of him, the scramble of thoughts in his mind making it hard to think straight as he stared at them underneath the freezing rain. There wasn't much else to do, anyway. Some left, likely to go to a café while the officials wrapped everything up and deemed it safe to head back inside, while a few others, like Sebastian, stuck around, eager to return back to their homes.

And when it was time to go back in, he shuffled inside, his soggy slippers squelching on the old carpet flooring as he followed behind his neighbor. They reached their place first, the remnants of their figure disappearing behind the door before settling with a light click, the door locking behind them.

And for the past six days, 13 hours, 22 minutes and 49 seconds and counting, he's only thought about how much of a weirdo he must've been. Agonizing over every detail, how his neighbors must've caught him staring, thinking he was some sort of pervert, degenerated freak with nothing but his hand and some lotion for a friend. It was torture, but there was nothing he could do to stop those thoughts from invading every crevice of his mind, filling his body to the brim until he was nothing but a self-deprecating mass more akin to a cockroach than a man.

He was broken away by the buzz of his iPhone 3Gs on the nightstand, illuminating the dark space of his apartment as he lay in bed. Not exactly resting, something more akin to rotting. Like someday he'd create a crevice so deep in the foam he would merge and become one with it. Ripping himself away from his fated human-turned-mattress destiny, he fumbled with the metal device, eyes squinting as he looked at the notification on the lock-screen.

It was from his uncle.

Haven't heard from you in a couple of days. You still alive or should I send Asa over for a wellness check?

A second passed, then another message notification popped up.

You'll have to come out of there someday, you know.

His bleary eyes stare at the text, unmoving, fluttering as a new notification takes its place. Oh, a delivery. Probably another... ahem, toy, he ordered late one night after another round of self-loathing pleasure. Well, at least I have something to look forward to, he thinks to himself, sluggishly pulling himself out of bed to stumble through his home. But as he opened his apartment door, his tired eyes widened at the empty sight before him.

The package wasn't there. Sebastian swipes at his screen with jittery fingers, reopening the tracking email. His stomach churns as his eyes dart over the words:

Delivered.

He scrolls down. A grainy photo is attached, taken at a slight angle, probably by a delivery driver who barely cared to check where they were dropping it off. The carpet in the picture isn’t his. The door isn’t his. But he knows exactly whose it is.

His neighbor’s.

His already weak knees feel like they might give out entirely. He stares at the screen, as if it would magically make the box pop into existence on his own. It doesn't, obviously. He could just... leave it. Pretend it never existed, chalk it up to the universe deciding he wasn’t meant to have what toy was in that box. It wasn’t that important, right? He doesn’t even need it. He could order another one. Or just go without and never interact with anyone ever again for as long as he possibly lives.

But then his uncle’s text floats back up in his mind. You’ll have to come out of there someday.

Sebastian groans into his hands. Then, before he can overthink himself into another mental breakdown, he forces his feet forward. Each step feels like trudging through wet cement as he shuffles down the hall, standing in front of the door that holds his package hostage. His hand hovers over the wood, then, barely above a whisper, he knocks. All that greets him at first is silence. Helvete. Maybe they weren’t home. Maybe they were home but pretending not to be, but that's even worse. Maybe they saw his name on the box and decided, nope, not dealing with that guy today. Oh God, this was a mistake. He should leave. He should just turn around and—

The door creaks open.

Sebastian stiffens in place, his throat locking up as he makes direct eye contact with them, quickly spotting his mail in their hand. Please don't recognize the packaging, please don't recognize the packaging...

"That... that package is mine," he states, his voice raspy from misuse. It takes every ounce of willpower in his skinny body not to implode on the spot.

.