Random Short Stories/Written Ideas

Whatever the Price, I Will Pay It

Anti couldn't find Glitch.

And maybe he was overreacting, and the other was just taking a night to themself, or... They could have just been on the opposite end of the city that he was. But there was this feeling that he couldn't explain. Was it dread? That might have been the closest word for it. Or was it apprehension?

Perhaps both.

He'd assumed it had something to do with the early morning he'll have tomorrow. Then he took to the streets, his mask on and covering every inch of his face, and searched for his favorite person.

Hours later, when it had started raining, he couldn't find a damn trace of them, and the sinking feeling hadn't abated. His suit stuck to his body in a manner that made it uncomfortable to move, despite the stylish jacket he wore. His mask was no better. Anti was sure he'd wind up sick, but, surprisingly, he didn't care about that.

He dejectedly made his way back to his apartment building, his shoes squelching as he walked. He couldn't change even if he wanted to, not until he made it back. He'd forgotten to leave himself a backpack with extra clothing in his little hidey-hole.

But that was alright. He had a secret way of getting into his apartment.

He was utilizing that "secret way" when he realized his apartment's window was wide open. He paused, gripping the pipe that he'd been steadily climbing. His eyes narrowed beneath his mask.

Anti hadn't left his window open. It'd been left unlocked, this way he could get inside, but not open. Never open.

That meant someone had gotten in.

But who? He lived on the fifth floor. It wasn't like anyone was crazy enough to scale the drain pipe (aside from him).

He frowned, climbing the rest of the way until he could get his hands on the window ledge. The water soaking his gloves, and making the ledge slick, made it hard to get a steady grip. But he managed to pull himself up, ducked in, and tumbled to the floor in a heap of limbs. He wasn't the most gracious especially since he wasn't exactly the smallest, and the window was not made for a 6'0-something, lanky idiot with a mask.

Weak snickers filtered into his ears, which was reason enough to lift his head and investigate the source. It was too dark in the room to see, but-

There. A relatively person-shaped form was propped up against the door to his bedroom. Or, well, the door that would lead into the rest of his apartment. He couldn't spot any details on the mysterious figure and was quick to untangle himself.

Anti had to either throw them out the window, get answers, or kill them.

"Y'er as graceful as a man on his eighth shot of tequila," a familiar voice drawled. It was followed up by a fit of violent coughing.

"Glitch?" He tried hesitantly.

"Aye. In the flesh." They sounded... Strained. Tired. Hurt.

He crossed the room, flicking the light switch on the wall. He blinked against the sudden brightness that invaded his eyes and fought to take in the scene before him.

Glitch hadn't even flinched. Their pale, pinkish eyes squinted slightly, but that was about it. His suspicions about their sight being little to nothing had been confirmed. They had an arm slung around their waist, and a knee pulled up, but not to their chest. A dark liquid stained both their right shoulder and their left side. It stained the ground, and-

Anti looked down at his gloved hands, dread-- yes, it was certainly dread --pooling in his gut.

Then he looked back at the windowsill.