In the midst of the recording I'm listening to, I hear a knock on my door and a familiar "Yo, it's me" calls out from the other side. It's been a while since I've heard him and half of me wants to scold him for ditching me for however many weeks it's been.

When I pause the tape and tell him to come in however, that thought falls away because I remind myself that I'm lucky that he ever came back at all. Not everyone would be as generous as he is.

He closes the door and I laugh as I hear him fumble about in the dark, struggling to find his way to me. "Where the hell are you?" he grumbles.

In reply, I say, "Over here."

I allow him to step around cautiously for another minute before I decide to relieve him and walk towards where he is. After being stuck in this room for a few months or so, I've just about memorised the exact layout of it so I can guess where he might be.

Just as I thought, he's on the other side of the room, in danger of colliding with the corner of the desk. I kiss him and then follow it up with a flick to the head. He complains but let's me drag him over to the bed – no not that way you idiot – where I was before.

"I was listening to stuff before, wanna finish it with me?"

He accepts the invitation. It's quite comical how confused he is about what's happening in this story. What a shame that he's actually missed the most interesting part as well – if he'd come perhaps half an hour earlier, he would have been in time to hear the description of the character having to endure hours in the back of a truck with only a single bottle of water and a bizarre roll of cheese.

As all things do eventually, it comes to an end.

There's a tube of pringles by my bedside and I offer those to him. Of course he accepts – he's a greedy pig after all – but not until I take some too. And then he starts talking, giving me the motive for his absence.

"So, hm, I found this apartment and I went to check it out and it looked like a dump at first but then I thought 'but if it's a dump, I'll have more room to work with' because lets be real, I wanna redecorate our place-"

"Our place? Who said I was coming?"

"I said." He's chuckling now. Actually, he's choking on pringles now and making horrible gargling noises as he does so.

After a few thumps on the back, he sorts himself out. I get back to what we were talking about before. "That's nice of you but have you considered how I'm going to get there?"

"Uhhh, well, I'll think of something. Anyway shut up and let me finish!"

I do because as obnoxious as he is at times, I can't afford to be picky about my visitors (well, barring that man) and anyone's voice is preferable to the silence, the dark and my own dangerous thoughts. Of course, it's because he's very dear to me too.

He carries on, describing how he bought the place (he's bummed because he was unsuccessful at intimidating the estate agent into giving it to him for a lower price) and all the things he's done to spice it up.

"I painted your room yellow by the way."

"You do realise it doesn't matter if you painted it yellow or bogey green, I'm not going to be able to see it either way." He snickers and then I sigh, "Don't actually do that though."

As he continues to chatter excitedly, I begin to build up a picture of this place. If he's not exaggerating, he's gone a bit over the top with the size of the apartment but well, if he wants to be expensive, so be it, I'll just benefit with having more room to roam in the place which I am confined to for the majority of my time. Apart from my place, the rest of the flat has a red and black theme (typical) and I at least hope that the furniture is as plush as he says it is.

We're both cross-legged on the bed but by the time he finished with everything he has to say, we're both lying down; my head is rested on his chest and his arm is around my waist. Naturally, we begin to doze off and that's when I relive my old life in my dreams – the time when everything was chaotic but at least somewhat more normal than it is now.