A Fateful Night In The Cold

CHAPTER 1 The First Meeting

It was winter for the Cyberworld, meaning that the already cold air had become even more frigid. Swatch had tied up a trash bag and was getting ready to leave the cozy cafe for his home, deciding to take out the trash first. He was the last one there, having sent all the other Swatchlings home at this point. He took a deep breath, savoring the last of the warm air before he had to make the 20 minute walk home. He grabbed the door, trash in hand, and pushed it open. The cold air burst into the cafe, making Swatch jump a little. Thankfully, it wasn't as cold for him as it was for many others, his warm, fluffy feathers keeping out the bitter cold. He walked out the door, and after locking it behind him, made his way to the dumpsters out back. He sighed, watching as his breath fogged up into the air. Was it really this cold? They approached the dumpster and lifted up one of the lids. The smell was the worst. It stank of rotting food and mold. He pulled his head back for a second, his eyes practically watering. As they placed down the trash bag, he couldn't help but hear what sounded like, someone vomiting? He quickly shot his head up, trying to figure out where the sound had come from.

"HOLY [[Cungadero]]... I FEEL AWFUL!" A glitchy voice echoed around the walls. Swatch felt like he recognized the voice but couldn't put his finger on who it was. Suddenly, a shadow loomed across the wall, towering over Swatch. He couldn't help but panic a little, ruffling up his feathers in the process. He clenched his fists, his veins practically popping out of his hand. "Who's there? Show yourself this instant." He growled in a stern voice. His tail began to swish with both nervousness and iratance. The shadow seemed surprised by this and as they were turning to run away, Swatch saw as they fell over, followed by the sound of some trash bins crashing down. "OW, OW, OW! [@!?$]!" the voice called out. Swatch was now entirely sure he knew them at some point. Maybe an annoying customer? His natural urges overtook him, making his walk over to check on the person who had fallen.

"Are you okay? I heard you fall and I am terribly sorry if I scared you." Swatch said in the softest voice he could muster, holding his breath as he turned the corner to face the surprisingly small man who had fallen. He... recognised them. Their tacky knock-off suit with a white shirt underneath, the multicolor pink-and-yellow glasses. "Spamton?!" he yelped, his feather greatly fluffing up this time, barely contained by his suit. He heard the little man mutter something under his breath as Swatch rushed over to help him up. He knelt down and stayed beside him. Swatch hadn't realized how bad of shape the little man was in until he propped him up against a nearby wall. His clothes were torn and filthy, the stench was horrible. It smelt as if he hadn't showered in weeks, maybe even months. His glasses were messily taped together, the lenses being cracked. His hair was messy and coated in knots, the black dye fading to reveal white roots. Swatch felt horrible. Despite having two shirts on, Swatch could clearly see his ribs practically tearing away at his skin. Spamton groaned, slowly opening his once closed eyes. His breathing was rapid and shallow and somehow their white skin was paler than before. Spamton was shaking violently, barely able to keep still for a second. This wasn't just anxiety, this was... sickness. Swatch rubbed the bridge of his nose for a second, wondering how he hadn't noticed before.

"SWATCH? WH4T ARE YOU DOING [[All Alone On A Late Night?]]" Spamton choked out. He seemed glitchier than Swatch remembered. "Well I was taking out the trash when I heard you throw-up. I couldn't just leave you here. It's freezing outside, why aren't you at home?" Swatch pried, using a stern "motherly" tone when asking about Spamton and being home. In response, Spamton's low chuckle turned into a full on laughing fit. This made Swatch pull back for a second but he still refused to let go of Spamton, mainly so he didn't run off but also to make sure he was breathing okay. "HAEAHAEAHAEAHAEAH!! HOME? I AM HOME!" The salesman laughed harder this time and Swatch could feel his chest straining, as if it was going to explode. Swatch cocked his head to the side, confused about what he meant. "Home? Spamton, Spamton, Spamton. This is a dumpster! You know... trash? Not a hou-" Oh god. It made sense. Spamton was living in the trash. THEIR trash. Without a second thought, Swatch wrapped his arms around Spamton and scooped him up in their arms. He stood up and promptly began to walk home, their long strides becoming faster with each step.

"WOAH THERE [Big Shot]! YOU CAN'T JUST PICK ME UP LIKE THAT! WHERE ARE WE [Destination Arrived] TO ANYWAYS? I HAVE NO MORE [[Kromer]] TO GIVE [[Handsome]]!" Spamton froze for a moment, realizing what his tics had made him say. Swatch couldn't help but chuckle when Spamton's face turned a bright shade of red, matching the same shade of his painted on cheeks. "WAIT, WAIT, WAIT! I DIDN'T- YOU KNOW I- I DON'T-" Swatch laughed again, quickly closing his mouth so as not to embarrass him more. Spamton had now buried his face in his hands, still a little flustered over the fact that he was in Swatch's arms.

"I'm not asking for any money, Spamton. Think of this as an apology for kicking you out all of those times." "F-FINE.." Spamton's response brought a smile to Swatch's face. After all these months, he could finally feel a bit better about what he did to Spamton.

Until now, Spamton hadn't realized how cold he was, Swatch's warm feathers nesling his ice-cold skin. He pushed himself into Swatch, letting the bird's warmth become his own. After all this time, he finally stopped shaking. This newfound warmth and the pure exhaustion that came with being as sick as he was, he felt himself falling asleep. The rhythmic heartbeat followed along with him being rocked with each step, he could barely keep his eyes open. Spamton felt Swatch's hand gently rub his back, easing him into a comfortable sleep. Soon, his eyes were closed and Spamton was fast asleep, cradled in Swatch's arms.

                                                                                                                                                                  1091 Words