We Make Each Other Worse (Ticci Toby X Reader)

Two

You got changed with a speed you had never had before, and as you were putting your prison uniform at the bottom of the bag, a voice from downstairs began yelling and swearing about the broken glass. Two more voices joined the fray as the occupants returned home.

There was no time to think as you hid yourself in the stupidest place available (the wardrobe). Clutching the bag of stolen things close to your chest, you pressed a hand over your mouth to silence any noises that might give your hiding spot away.

Footsteps and raised voices downstairs made your fear levels rise in erratic jumps, yet the fear of being caught, in having these people be disappointed that a young adult like you had resorted to thievery, was far more overpowering than the fear of being sent back to prison. The two fears fed each other like a couple at dinner, reducing you to a nervous wreck in the wardrobe.

I'm gonna be fine, you told yourself firmly. I can talk my way out of this. As long as they don't recognise me, everything will be fine. Yeah. Yeah! If I—

A short scream interrupted your train of thought as something fell to the ground. Then something else fell with a similar 'thud', followed by a high-pitched, 'Get away from me!' that sent icicles into your bloodstream as someone began to cry and beg to be spared. Your breath caught in your throat as you realised that someone else was in the house...someone who was assaulting, and possibly murdering, the occupants.

Oh. Shit.

You quickly decided that getting the fuck out was the best option, even if you didn't have half of the things you had originally planned to steal. Getting out with your life was far more important than a few pieces of food—which you could find somewhere else. If the new intruder caught you, you were screwed. It wasn't like being back in prison where you could rely on your reputation and crime to make things go your way.

With the vigilance of someone expecting a bomb to explode, you pushed the wardrobe door open an inch at a time, praying that it didn't creak. You crawled out of your hiding spot, carefully shut the doors behind you, and began the treacherous journey downstairs. It was a journey you'd rather not be taking, but the windows didn't open far enough for you to climb out of them. (And, besides, at least you could try and outsmart the intruder. You were pretty quick on your feet.)

What you didn't expect was for them to be climbing up the stairs as you started to climb down them, leading to a short staring contest that ended when you spotted the axe in their hand.

'Fuck.' You whirled around and sprinted back into the master bedroom, slamming the door behind you as you beelined for the bathroom, which, fortunately for you, had a lock on it.

Because you had holed yourself up in a bathroom, there wasn't that much in there that could be used as a weapon, so you improvised. Tossing your bag against the shower wall, you stepped inside and grabbed the shower-head, tugging it off its hook. With one hand on the valve, you waited until the handle was tugged at as the intruder tried to prise it open.

'Open up!' they barked. 'Come out and I won't smash your head in.' The voice was masculine and stuttered with a speech impediment that dragged a set of memories out from the corner of your mind. A school friend that became homeschooled used to speak in a similar manner.

There's no way it's him. Absolutely no fucking way.

Blinking back into the present, you snapped back, 'Like I'd be that stupid.'

'If you give me some cash and food, I'll leave.'

'Jokes on you, I don't even live here.'

There was a momentary stunned silence. 'Excuse me?'

'You heard me! I don't live here. You're a thief, right? Well, I came here first, so go find somewhere else to rob!' It was childish, but it was all you could throw at them.

'I don't think it works like that. Listen, I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I honestly don't care if you're here to rob this place or not. Help me find where they keep their money, and then I'll leave you alone.'

Ah, a bargaining opportunity. How wonderful. 'Fine—but you owe me something.'

'What?' the intruder asked. 'Are you stupid? Did you hear me say that I'd fucking leave you alone?' They kicked the door hard enough to make the wood tremble on its metal hinges. 'I think that makes a pretty good deal, or do you have a death wish?

'Nope,' you replied, 'no death wish. I just want to ask you a few questions. They aren't difficult! I just...need to check something.'

Maybe it was the hint of desperation in your words, or perhaps the intruder's desire to get what they wanted and leave was clouding their mind. Either way, they said, 'You know what? Fine. But if I get bored, I'm breaking the damn door down and throwing you down the stairs. Alright?'

There was nothing else to say. 'Alright.' Deep breaths, (Y/N). 'Is your name Toby Rogers?'

'No.'

'Liar.'

'Why the fuck would I tell you my name?' the intruder demanded scathingly. 'You could be on the phone with the cops, for all I know!'

'I'm not,' you said. 'I promise. I'll pass my phone through if it makes you feel better.' With the speed of someone who was used to opening doors only to shut them a millisecond later, you tossed your phone through a tiny gap before slamming the bathroom door shut, locking it once more. It wasn't like you needed your phone; all it did was remind you of what had happened.

The intruder sounded mildly impressed. 'I can't tell if you're brave or dumb.'

'Both. Can you answer my question now?' You didn't want to sound impatient, but your control over your voice slipped with every passing second. If he really was standing on the other side of that door, you couldn't let him leave without knowing. It would eat you up alive like a parasite if you didn't.

'Fine. Yes. I'm Toby Rogers. Happy now?'

'Yes,' you said, a smile worming onto your face as your eyes burned. You were crying. 'Yes. I'm very happy.'

'Are you...? Who the hell are you? You kinda sound like Nito.'

The return of your old nickname, one only used as a username on your secret social media accounts, was the final nail in the coffin. The bathroom door was flung open, the shower head was tossed aside, and you launched yourself at your unsuspecting friend, who stumbled when you crashed into him.

'Hang on!' He forcefully pushed you away, gripping your shoulders as Toby looked you over, tilting your head, pulling down your face mask—all so he could look at you again. 'Why didn't you tell me that you were out?'

'It wasn't exactly, uh, planned.' You shrugged with a little laugh. 'But hey, I guess fate wanted us to meet again, huh? We both tried to rob the same house.'

this was really nicely planned out in my head and then i started typing and just went. blergh. chapter.

- k.