Added Assistance in Relocation

"You want me to what? " you spat over the landline.

"Yes, yes, I know it sounds insane. But -"

"There is no but, this is fucking insane."

"Okay. Fine. It is completely insane, but Enzo needs to stay somewhere until we can find him a place to live. And you are the only person I know that has the space to do it right now."

"Oh!" You exclaimed sarcastically, throwing a hand into the air as if Murray could see you do so. "Well, that changes everything! Since I'm the only one that can do it, I'll happily take in a former gulag guard! No big deal if the feds come knocking on my door, right?!"

"As far as any government knows, this man is dead!" You could hear the irritation rising in his voice. "Listen. I wouldn't be here on the phone with you if it were not for this man. I'd be dead after freezing in the Soviet tundra and so would Joyce and Hopper so I am seriously indebted to this man and I-"

"Wait, wait, wait. You were in the USSR? And Hopper's not dead?"

"It's a long story." He sighs, pauses, and continues. "Listen. How about we come over, explain everything, you can meet him, and then you can decide what you want to do. Okay?"

"Fine," you grumbled, "fine. But this explanation better be good."

"Oh, it is. Just you wait."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Be here in an hour."

"Deal."

You hang the phone back on the landline and sigh, leaning your weight against the nearby wall, feeling impossibly heavy.

"Fuck," you mutter to yourself. "I've got to learn how to say 'no'."

-

While you awaited their arrival, you felt your brain fragment, going off in a thousand different directions at once. Part of you wanted to call the whole thing off before it even started, part of you wanted to wait and see, and a deeper, immature, rebellious part of you wanted to do something bad, something exciting. It was an internal tug-of-war, yet fundamentally pointless - you knew you still had the right to say "no."

You also knew you really wanted to see what this was going to be.

It takes about a half hour for a series of sharp knocks, surprisingly loud, to hit your door. It actually makes you jolt with how sudden it seemed, almost like a gunshot compared to the droning of your TV. You walked towards the door, rather slowly, afraid of what awaited you when you opened it. The fear was not in the "bang", but rather in your anticipation of it.

When the door swings open, there they are - Murray, his usual self, seeming rather tense yet still retaining some level of control. To the side of him stood a man you assumed to be Enzo, fairly tall and dark, carrying a duffel bag on his shoulder. It was difficult to know what to make of him right away.

"Hello," announces Murray, almost a little too loudly. "This, as you probably know, is Enzo."

"Hi, Enzo," you say, before narrowing your eyes at Murray, a touch distrustful, not without reason. "We're probably going to have to discuss this inside, no?"

"Yeah, we will. Can we come in?"

"No," you said, opening the door for them to come in anyway. You glance at Enzo, trying to be a good, proper host. "Do you want anything to drink?"

"No," he responds curtly, only giving you a brief glance. "Thank you." The accent is definitely Russian.

"Well, alright." You pull back some chairs, motioning to your table, and immediately climb into your seat. They follow, promptly, Murray leaning against the table slightly, while Enzo was sitting up perfectly straight as if a metal pole was shoved down his spine. Tucking your hands under your chin, you look at them both and sigh. "This should be interesting."