hithering:

The chat log

“That’s true,” Feliks muttered and continued his walk around the room, hand pressed firmly against the wall. There were no bumps, gaps, or anything of the like. The walls were completely smooth and- from what Feliks could see- there was no other opening anywhere else from the room save for the vent. The Pole felt panic welling up in him again as he continued to look. He would not (could not, more likely) kill the stranger, but if one of them didn’t kill the other they would be trapped until one died. Feliks closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Now is not a good time to freak out. It would totally suck to start freaking out here and not be able to think. Just focus for now… He looked around again, slightly helplessly now, and sighed.  ”…Maybe there’s something on the floor that we can’t see?”

Lovino nodded, somewhat jerkily, in agreement to the words, despite the fact that he was pretty sure his companion wasn’t even looking in his direction - but he wasn’t quite certain he could trust himself to speak in a voice that was as strong as he wanted to sound, or even what he would say. The reality of the situation was hitting him hard and fast now: no obvious exits, and so far none that were not so obvious either…and if they didn’t find the way out quickly, how long could they go without water? Three days? How long had it been already? Christ, why was this happening? Who was doing this? For what purpose? The Italian ran one hand through his hair, then both, then slipped a certain, all-important necklace - given to him by a certain, all-important someone - out of his shirt to clutch at the pendant, trying to calm down from the mild panic he’d worked himself into whilst he was still facing the corner - because damn it, the last thing he needed was someone else, some stranger, seeing him like this. It took several more moments, and gripping the pendant until it dug painfully into his palm and surely left an indent, before he felt steady enough to tuck the chain back into his shirt, breathe in and turn around. When he did, it was with a scowl firmly back in place, fully prepared to refuse any acknowledgement of what had just happened, avoiding looking directly at the man in the room with him and instead shifting his gaze to the floor. It was just as white, just as pristine as the walls and ceiling, and it felt like a fucking hospital - if hospitals contained handguns and cages with iron bars. Maybe a mental hospital…he banished the thought from his mind, focusing solely on the search for any abnormalities in the floor, though he would probably have to drop to his hands and knees to check properly.