Liar.

Chapter 5

Nebulochaotic
(adj.) a state of feeling hazy or confused.

Nickel sat on a tin roof, staring up at the sea of stars. The night air buzzed with cicadas, and a soft breeze tousled his hair.

He leant forward, trying to get a better view at the stars. He felt himself tipping, leaning further and further. 

He flung his arms out, trying desperately to grasp at something— anything. Everything felt slurred, like he was trying to move in thick sludge. 

The ground grew closer, closer, closer.

Nickel blinked his eyes open, slowly sitting up. 

He rolled over, staring blankly at the alarm clock sat on the bedside table. 

5:47.

He jolted upright, his limbs a spectacular windmill as he scrambled off the bed.
The pattering of rain echoed in the silence, little light coming from a window in the middle of his room. 

Not my room, he recalled. 

He glanced over at the other side of the room, the red haired girl fast asleep. 

Nickel shook his head, rummaging through his dresser for something interesting to wear.
He frowned at his taste in fashion. Band tee, band tee, oversized hoodie, band tee, denim jacket, band tee... did he always dress like a 12 year old boy?

He settled for a grey turtleneck and cargo pants and glanced back to the alarm clock. 

5:50.

Nickel sighed. These people.. 

He turned off the alarm on his clock, walking over to the bathroom and rummaging through the drawers. He glanced up, meeting eyes with himself in the mirror. 

Striped hair? That's... not what I expected. Nickel wondered, staring at his newfound black and silver hair. To the credit of Future-Nickel, he had at least the hair down pat. 

Nickel shook his head, grabbing a brush to untangle his mess of hair. It was easier than long hair ever was, but he couldn't help but envy those with straight hair. 

By the time he'd finished getting ready, it was almost 6:30. His roommate was still fast asleep.
He opened the door, stepping out into the hallway. He could feel the heat hit him as he stepped out, making him shudder. 

He headed down the stairs, avoiding the creaky spots he'd spotted on the way there. 

Downstairs smelt of fresh rain, the only light coming from a few lightbulbs scattered across the ceiling. 

The ginger boy stood in the kitchen— coffee in hand— cooking away. A plate piled with bacon sat to one side of him, another piled with eggs, another with pancakes. 

He sighed. "I know you're there, Nickel." 

Nickel jumped, stumbling backwards. He opened his mouth, but couldn't force anything out.
"Are you just gonna stand there?" He asked, pouring pancake mix into a pan. "Cuz if you're not gonna help, you can go back to bed."

"N-no, I'll help" He blurted, scrambling over.

The ginger boy points to a toaster, then a loaf of bread. "If you could toast that loaf of bread, that'd be great."

"That's- that's all?" Nickel asked, blinking a few times. 

"No. Just do that first." The boy dismissed, flipping a pancake.  

He nodded, loading the toaster with bread. 

"So," Nickel began. "You don't happen to know your name do you?