Chapter Text
Being a working adult has its fun moments—silly times.
Owning a safe space for yourself, uh… being able to buy whatever the hell you want, I guess.
Oh!
There's things you have access to that you used to dream of as a kid, when you watched the grown-ups in your life be allowed to do all these exciting things—then, then… there's your body trained to snap out of deep sleeps at the insistent tunes of a phone call that rings an awful lot like a morning alarm.
Yeah, there is not many good things about being an adult, but that may be pessimism talking right now.
Or I'm too sleepy to focus on the good things. Or a fun, delightful combination of both!
Anyway. I will be losing my shit if, after being forced out of bed to retrieve my phone, I find it's late at night.
My room is nearly pitch-black as my phone is likely facedown right now, and this dark does not bode well for my suspicions about what time it is.
…I'm also not hearing cars outside. Just the play of the call, which I should probably check. I guess.
The comforter gets whip-lash, I swing my legs off the mattress, and then silence.
Silence. The phone call already timed out? I must've zoned out for a moment in the middle of waking the rest of the way.
I lay back, "Happens, I guess." Curiously testing my voice while I'm at it.
…Maybe I better check the time, anyway. My eyes don't feel as tired, so it could be something as simple as 5am. I don't think I'd particularly mind staying awake if it's early morning.
There's some things I had planned for today, and I would not mind getting it all finished early so I can enjoy the rest of my day off.
Also, I could totally swing by some coffee place for breakfast and a yummy drink!
I put an experimental pep to my step, hopping out of bed to see how awake my body is—very, actually. Hm—and I swipe my phone from the other side of my room where my desk is.
A fun trick I've picked up is leaving your phone miles from your bed so you're forced to wake up and move.
…It's actually pretty depressing, but whatever. Just… Whatever, man.
11:58pm. Huh?
Now, who in blazes dares to call me at TWILIGHT—It rings yet again, the caller returning and sort of slightly startling me, but only because I wasn't expecting them to call again.
…It's Edge.
Edge.
What. Huh? What could Edge possibly want from me this late at night. I don't have the best friendship with this man, and also he's scary… Like, I am not besties enough with this dude to be rung by him at this hour.
Hmgh, how badly do I want to pick this up?
Wait. Could it be an emergency? Well, Edge strictly only calls if he ever needs to get in contact with someone, dodging texts like they're the black death—which he claims himself to be—but, this late?
Something could have happened.
I answer, just as it was on its last rings, and I'm blasted with such full volume that any drowsiness I had remaining long fled, "WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?"
…Mm. On second thoughts, which're far too late, I should've let Edge handle whatever he's got going on. He's big and scary. And tough. He would have been incredibly fine.
"S…Sorry?" Keep it safe, keep it friendly. Just… apologize. It's fine.
"AS YOU SHOULD BE! I NEED YOUR ASSISTANCE, POST-HASTE! THE FIRST RING OF MY INITIAL CALL WOULD HAVE BEEN PREFERRED, BUT ALAS, HUMANS." It sounds like he's pacing at some high speeds, the clicked thumps of his boots against hardwood tile can be heard over his…inside voice.
Also, yay! It's one of his racist moods.
…No, backtrack, what's making him pace? Edge doesn't pace, he stands high and tall and unmoving like a guard; probably because he is one, but whatever. Can't always seperate work from life, I guess.
I lost track of my backtrack—Edge straight up does not have nervous tics. Something MUST have happened, unless I'm overanalyzing?
"WELL?" He snips.
…'Well' what? Did I zone out and miss something else he said? "…Uh?—"
"I SAID I REQUIRE YOU, YET YOU'VE YET TO MOVE!" …How stressed out is he if he's used the same word twice like that? He always mixes up his vocabulary, the variation in his wording going crazy in an obsessive effort to sound put together.
Something's actually happened.
"YES, SOMETHING DID HAPPEN. HOW OBSERVANT OF YOU!" I can already see his eye roll in annoyance, "RED IS OUT DRINKING HIS MISERABLE LIFE AWAY, DISRESPECTING MY IMAGE AND MAKING A FOOL OF ME!"
…Ah.
He continues, "STARS FORBID I BE THE ONE TO RETRIEVE HIM, AS BEING NEAR HIS PATHETIC STATE COULD RUB OFF ON ME, OR EVEN HAVE THE PUBLIC FEEL… HGMH… THEY COULD FEEL SORRY FOR ME, AND I CAN NOT BE ENTERTAINING THAT AS CAPTAIN OF THE ROYAL GUARD!"
Oh, hell.
"HE IS SULKING AT GRILLBY'S, SO I AM TOLD BY THE BARTENDER HIMSELF, WHICH IS ALREADY SHAMEFUL ENOUGH! TO THINK, BEING PHONED BY GRILLBY TO PLAY FETCH WITH MY HORRIBLY MISBEHAVED BROTHER… I NEARLY SHUDDERED IN SECOND-HAND DISGRACE!"
"GO!" He hangs up.
…
Okay, so. So. It… does not sound like I have much of a choice in this one.
Not that I recall this being my problem, but I also don't think I'm very interested in facing Edge's wrath if I don't do as asked. As… told? Edge doesn't really ask.
…This isn't about me or Edge, this is about Red. Right? He's gotten himself into a lot of trouble, so I should go get him. Isn't that what friends do?
I need to put my pride aside and help.
It's a good thing I very recently did my laundry! I get to leave the house in my favorite and comfy clothes, hehe.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨-୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
Grillby's Bar is quite relatively close by, being only a ten or so minute drive. Not bad by any means, and a couple minutes better late at night when there's hardly anybody else on the road with me.
I'd say this commute could be shaved off by a solid four, even five minutes if there weren't so many red lights going against the grain.
Not that I am complaining by any means, as I really do not mind coming out here. Or… Well, I guess I kind of mind.
I'd really rather be in bed, not having to worry about Red's wellbeing, but he needs help and Edge doesn't want to. So, I guess it's up to me?
It's okay. Really, it's fine.
I can take care of this.
Ah, wow, Grillby's looks… busy. That is a number of cars parked in his not-that-big lot, all down the road, some on the side of the street illegally because of a horrible lack of space. Where do I even go, then?
Hm, maybe much further down the street? I wouldn't mind walking, and it could possibly do Red a little good for his alertness if he's as inebriated as Edge made him out to be.
Actually, I don't think Edge elaborated much aside from, 'He's drunk. Go.'
…I guess it's bad if Grillby had to call to get him removed. What could Red possibly be getting up to in there if the owner had to go as far as getting in contact with his family?
Oh, here's a spot! It's a good block away from the bar, and awful tight, but I can maneuver into it just fine with this parallel.
Hgh, double wow, I got way too comfortable in the heat of my car. It's frigid out here, probably no thanks to how late it is. What, thirty minutes past midnight now? It didn't take me long to get dressed and out here, so it can't be terribly later. And hopefully this walk to the bar won't be any lengthy either, 'cause geez I want into someplace warm again.
No need to wait for this crossing light to give me the go-ahead, given there's quite clearly no traffic to endanger me, so my walk to Grillby's is exceptionally fast.
I'm welcomed underneath the neon glow of his sign, and the beautiful heated air escapes the building when a leaving monster holds the door open for me.
With some curtful nods traded, I step in, out of the way to the side so I can stand in place and take it all in.
I… apparently failed to process the volume of the crowd and of the overhead music until now.
Grillby's place is grand, and borderline crammed with customers.
Unlike a standard, local community bar, he went above and beyond. His is lined with artfully arranged RBG lights that cycle between various hues and shade gradients of purple, his plush booths and tables of black marble and treated, dark wood.
The tables close but not too clustered in the open spaces of the room, and booths line the walls and windows.
The floors carpetted to bring a comfortable atmosphere and that mark the preferred walkways, with hardwood tile underneath the tables and whatnot to presumably make cleaning easier.
The music not too loud, but enough to be heard over the crowd, which creates a nice and stimulating atmosphere. Perhaps it's intentional to keep heavy drinkers alert? Or maybe I'm thinking too hard on that, and Grillby just wanted to hear the music.
And there's no host stand to wait for, so you're free to pick where you want to sit.
A masterpiece of work. I'd be ALL here if I were big on drinking, or eating out at sit-downs.
Red is… Mmm, not here. Or at least anywhere in sight, which is the whole of the bar. All one big, unseparated space.
If Grillby called, and assuming it wasn't long between their call and the one to me, then maybe Mr. Fire Guy would still know where Red is at? Or may have a clue on which direction he went, if Red did leave on his own.
I nearly bump into somebody on the way up to the bar counter itself, raising a hand in quiet apology, and there's a distinct crackle I can hear over everything as I pull out a bar stool for an approaching monster to take a seat at.
I turn my head in time to see Grillby approach from behind the counter, pressing his hip against the bar to lean closer to me.
Ah, I forget how charming his smile is.
He winks, his flames wisping a little higher the way a peacock would show off.
…A shame he's the way he is. I can't help but wonder how much he pulls.
The lightshow dissipates relatively quick, probably in response to my lack of receptiveness, "…I forget you're no joy to be in the company of." He quips, sassily waving me off as he tilts his head away in faux annoyance.
"Well, forgive me for not wanting to burn under your gaze, or whatever." I fire back.
He looks back, eyes squinting at me as he registers the play on words, "Egh."
I shrug. "Hey, I'm actually sort of doing something. and I bet you're busy too. As fun as it is to bar-nter with you like Red would, where is the skinny guy? I got called to get him."
He takes a moment to wave at a customer that shouted for him, implying he'll be there soon, before giving me his full attention again, "Ah… I must confess—my love to you, and his whereabouts—I have lost sight of him some dozen or so minutes ago. I would blindly wager outdoors smoking, or violently expelling his night of drinking in the bathroom."
…Well, I suppose that's as helpful of directions as I'll be getting. It's whatever, I don't mind looking around.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨-୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
With the help of a friendly stranger to check the mens' restroom for me, and then questioning a small group of outdoor loiterers nearby where Grillby mentioned Red may've been, it seems he's vanished.
The older one of the group pipes up, blowing his cigarette smoke away from me to clear his voice, "You may've passed him inside. I ain't seen him out here at all, and I like to look around at folk a lot so I wouldn't have missed. Hope you find him."
Another member of the group, "Nah, dude, it's Red. He can 'port and shit, remember? He could be 'nywhere."
Ah, yeah… I guess he really could be anywhere, but… "How likely is he to teleport right if he's very inebriated?" I ask them. Also assuming he's drunk enough to fail, going on what Edge made it sound like.
The four look at each other, expressions blank before the older looks back to me, "…Yeah, nah, he's inside. He can't cut for the life of him when he's drunk as hell."
I nod, calling my thanks out to them as I pick up the pace to head back into the building.
I don't think I could've possibly missed Red, but it is truly crowded in there, all monsters and humans as one big busy-body with their mingling and loud conversations overlapping each other.
But, how likely is it for me to be as poor-sighted as to—there he is, the back of his jacket as recognizable as ever, sat at the bar and angrily gesturing at Grillby.
Oh, for stars' sake… How did he slip by me?
Grillby waves me over with a tilt of his head and intentful shade shift of his flames, his hands busy wiping a glass clean and mouth busy responding to Red.
What a multitasker. Speaking of, I may as well… ah, my phone reads a little past 1am. No matter. Red's here, I'll be in the warmth of my bed soon enough.
I draw within earshot distance of their conversation.
"c'mon, lava boy. i need me some of that water girl, 'cept make that some alcohol, huh? wuh…hm…-water to tequila type work, like jesus or what'ver the fuck."
Grillby squints his eyes before stepping away, assumingly to fix him a drink.
"attabitch." He mumbles, resting his head back on his propped hand as his eyelights fuzz on the edges.
I wouldn't have caught any of that muttering or light shifts if I weren't right beside him, pulling up a seat that was coincidentally free.
And by 'coincidental', I mean nobody in their right mind wants to sit next to Red when he's acting out, and it certainly seems he is.
I gently elbow him, hardly a tap, but it was all I needed to get him to whip his head in angry offense.
His whole face contorted in agitation, mouth opened—probably to yell at me—up until we lock eyes and he freezeframes with a surprised expression.
I watch his eyes lower into a contemplative squint, his mouth slowly closing in afterthought, like he's trying to puzzle why I'm here.
"…Hey, Red."
He blinks once, twice, and… pretends to clear a throat he doesn't have, going as far as covering his mouth with the back of his hand in 'politeness', but he just ends up making some weird noise.
And then he says my name in a really slutty way. Okay, bro…
"ah… i knew there were some good lookin' folk here, with hotties that even rival grillb'z himself, but seeing you is a surprise for such, such sore eyes!" He raves, his smile upturning almost charming, but it more looks like half of his face is paralyzed.
He keeps going, reaching out to hover his hand beside my knee, "hey. hey, so i've been thinkin' a lot about stuff… like, a lot, a lotta. and i think you should get drunk as f-uck with me. and we hang. and eat. i pay."
I don't think my narrowed eyes were enough of a deterrent, because he only leans ever slightly closer, to which I carefully shoo all of him away from my space. I even get my knee's freedom back.
"That's, ah… Hm. I think I'm okay, actually. It's pretty late, and I kind of want to go home." Is… that enough of a hint?
Red nods along, propping his elbow on the counter to lounge against it. Is he… thinking about it?
Oh. No, he's not even listening, is he?
He sticks his tongue out to play with his golden tooth, making some humming noise as he eyes me.
…
And then his sight trails to my collarbone.
Okay, dude…
Grillby slams the previously ordered drink down, clear liquid splashing over, but Red doesn't pay it mind.
Red is busy in creepy laa-laa land or something… Or did he just zone out really hard, and doesn't realize what he's doing? Like, the ADHD stare?
Argh, I don't know.
I glance at Grillby, we share a look, then he pivots and leaves me, waving a farewell as I'm abandoned. He best hide the fire extinguishers, or he's in for some real trouble.
Red suddenly gets all up in my business, waving his hand an inch from my face to get my attention, "heyyy, i know he bright as all hell, but ain't i just as smoldering hot? c'mon, don't leave a guy hanging here!"
I clock him nearly about to fall off his stool with how far he's leaning toward me. He's hanging plenty by himself…
"helloo?" He snaps his fingers right next to my ear.
Okay, this needs to stop immediately.
I gently push his hand away from my ear, but he resists, pushing back and pouting, "no, c'mon! you've got cute ears. let me touch 'em."
"…No?" I put more strength into getting his hand away from my face, "Your fingers are sharp and you're uncoordinated, I'm not looking for a piercing!"
"you'd let me pierce you?" He pips up, seeming excited.
No!! "Not what I said! Paws off, Red."
He accidentally slips out of his seat, but he caught himself pretty well, except what he broke his fall on was me.
His hands grip my shoulders with a good half of his weight, using me to steady himself and stand, though he doesn't let go once he's reoriented.
If he leaned in closer, we'd probably be hugging.
He seems so content, looking me in the eyes with such fuzzy, crinkled lights.
…Maybe I should hang out with him for a while. He looks really happy, and he doesn't seem to be hurting anything.
I don't get why Grillby called to have him removed.
"…hey." He drawls out.
I raise both of my hands to pat at his forearms, "Hey, big guy. You're still gripping my shoulders like a lifeline, and I don't really want to be bruised. Could you let go of me?"
He blinks, eyes refocusing to look at what he's doing, and then lets go. His arms move to casually hang by his sides, but he doesn't take the steps to back away from my personal space.
This is… surprisingly easy. I don't see what the problem is, he's really manageable when drunk.
I gently swing a leg past him, kicking at his seat, "Sit back down before you drop, you're wobbly."
"i am?"
"Well, a little? You just fell out of your seat, so I don't think you should be standing right this very second."
He turns to look at his bar stool, seemingly blanking out for a second before he grabs the counter to hop back onto the seat—up until his hand slips on something, and he looks back to see the slightly spilled drink, and the shot glass of clear liquid itself.
He hums in… delighted surprise? Guess he forgot he ordered something. Sits his merry self down, snatches the glass, and downs it without making a face.
… He's either got some hell of a tolerance, or that was water.
He gets comfy on the cushioned stool, and looks back at me, sliding the empty glass away across the counter. I'm more shocked it didn't fall off. I guess he is somewhat coordinated?
He opens his mouth, probably intending to say something, but he pauses for a moment and… looks very deeply at me…?
I'm sure I'm not wording that right.
It looks like he's gazing through me. Like he's seeing something that's not there, but is there regardless.
Is he Checking me?
I don't get why he would. I don't think anything I could've said prompted it. Or I'm thinking too hard again, and this is just a last-second drunk decision.
I watch his eyes sharpen, "why's yer max health ticked down?"
…Huh?
"eyes are 'bout as sunken as mine, too. thought it was a new dumbass makeup trend or sumthin', but hell nah. what the hell'd ya get into? mega pot?"
"'M-Mega' what?"
"ya know what i mean!" He raises a hand and starts counting off, "kush, green, uhhh… i dunno, there's too many fuggin' names."
I don't want to know what type of face I'm making. If I were to wildly guess, it'd be disapproval of this degenerative conversation. It'd be funnier if it were satire.
Though, actually… Yeah, this is a little funny.
I shift to rest an elbow against the bartop, leaning the side of my head into my open hand, "…Probably because of a lack of sleep."
He's looking at me like I'm stupid.
Girl, what?
"the hell you not sleeping for?" He sounds kind of grumpy, his face scrunching, too. What's he getting so upset for? His eyelights are constricting some fractions, too.
"Well, I got woken up—"
He suddenly waves me off, "i know what'll knock ya ass down! trust." And then he shouts for Grillby, who was at the very other end of the bar.
…This interaction has been jumping through so many hoops. It's a little silly, how he can't seem to focus on one thing. Maybe they wanted him gone because he's excitable? But excitable in a good way. He's silly. I suppose it could be viewed as annoying to other people?
Maybe it's just not good for business to have him here and so loud, but he's still a paying customer, so I would assume it shouldn't be this big of a deal.
Grillby makes his way over after finishing up with the customer he was with, slamming a hand onto the bar and glaring at Red with a raised brow.
Red points at the glass he slid away a moment ago, "ai, get us more of whatever the hell that was."
Grillby tilts his head to catch my eye, and I shrug in response. I guess I'll take a drink…?
He huffs out a small cloud of smoke, nods, and walks off. Gathering the abandoned cup while he's on the way.
There's a small tug on my top, and I look to see Red is trying to get my attention.
"Yes?"
"nuthin', just wanted yer eyes on me and not him."
I playfully swat his hand off, and I cross a leg over, "I'd rather my eyes be closed whilst I'm under the covers of my bed."
He seems to perk up at that, "babe, i'd take you to my bed an'day. jus' say the word."
Hah, real funny. "Quiet yourself. What've you been up to, besides being dumb?"
"besides being handsome? ah, y'know… doing handsome things, like—…" He pauses? His stare turns blank for a moment, like he caught himself about to say something he shouldn't.
He waves himself off, casual dismissal, "secrets, secrets. handsome secrets, i assure you."
I hum in playful indifference.
Grillby returns with our drinks. Tall shot glasses? I'd have moreso thought he wanted us gone, not Red even wasted…-er. More wasted.
Speaking of Red losing more of himself, he swipes the drink and downs it in one go, dramatically slamming it back down with a loud 'clink!'.
"good shit, all the usual!" He praises.
Grillby just nods, looking to me in expectance. What's gotten him so excited? Does he not think I can take a shot?
Okay, sure. I don't mind playing his game, it won't be hurting me any, and maybe me having something in front of them will loosen Red up more. I do still have to take him back home, and I wouldn't want him thinking I'm some type of joy-killer. I'm killing the joy enough, being here for that reason.
I take the glass with a little less enthusiasm than Red, hold it to my mouth for a moment as a 'brace myself' move, and then I down it at a speed equal to him.
…It's water, yeah. That's funny.
I look up at Grillby and smile, raising the glass in a cheers.
Red whistles in approval, heavier praise to me than to the bartender himself, though all Grillby did was pour a shot so I don't quite know where Red's excitement to that came from, "damn, you took that!" He leans out of his seat, some inches closer to me, "ya never told me yer a big drinker, doll!" His smile so wide and happy. And proud.
The pride for me radiating from him would be much more obliged if this were real. He's drunk, he needs to go home, and what we just had was water.
I'd even bet he's been having water the last few drinks.
Props to Grillby for doing that for him. Because, as thought of before, this interaction and night itself has been nothing but degenerative. If this is him when he's ever so lightly sobering and beginning to gain alertness, I may not want to be around for prime-drunk Red.
…
Would now be a good time to tell Red he needs to be taken home, and that I'm here to give him the ride? That Edge is worried for him?
…Assuming that Edge is worried for him, and that the aggression over protecting his public image was emotional constipation, so he wouldn't have to admit deeper feelings aloud.
It's, what, so much closer to 2am now? May as well be 2am, I'm sure.
With Grillby still present, I lazily wave for his attention with my index and pointer, and then I turn to make sure I also had Red's attention, "Hey, how 'bout you pay your tab and we get going to your place? Edge is concerned some, it's really late—"
His lights go out, startling me into shutting up on the spot, and he drags himself back up into his chair.
He's silent for a long moment, staring with empty eyes.
"…what."
… Uh? "Y-Yeah, Edge… asked me to take you home. He said he was worried?"
His posture straightens, "so, you ain't here for me."
Red's tone is so flat, and he actually is starting to look scary, the way this switch was simultaneously so sudden and so subtle. What is happening right now? Is he mad he has to go home?
I mean, I get why he'd be upset for his night out being cut short, but… What does he mean I'm not here for him?
"I… am here for you, though. To get you." Did he misunderstand?
Red huffs out a breath of air, which is a strange reflex on its own because he doesn't need oxygen. Is he trying to make himself seem bigger by putting social cues into his display?
Or am I looking too deep into this, after one somewhat aggressive comment?
"yeah?" He drawls, "funny way of showin' it, bitch."
…Okay. I think I'm looking pretty surface level, actually. "That's, uh, really unfair?"
He leans forward. Not by any great distance, but enough for it to feel like he's looming over me. Making himself look bigger again.
His voice hasn't raised yet, but his tone cuts through the music I just realized was still playing.
"so he calls you. you. an' you come runnin' at his word, huh? bet you didn't think to say no."
I'm starting to become hyperaware of my surroundings. Of Grillby sizing up Red's aggression toward me, of a drinker two seats ahead poking their head forward to watch, of the overstimulating music. It wasn't this overstimulating before. Am I actually frightened? Nerves shot?
And as true as Red's assumption is, it's not. Or at least in that way, "I didn't think to—" I start, but he keeps going.
"—'cause he's worried, right?" He baits with dragged out syllables, "yeah, worried 'bout his dumbass image. wanting me on a leash, while he's at it!" He shouts his latter sentence, harshly grabbing at and tugging on the bulky collar around his neck.
…What did I miss? What changed? Why is he suddenly raging?
Is this as simple—yet not really so simple—as him being drunk?
The stranger listening in nudges to his friend, pointing at me and Red. We're causing a scene. Why is Grillby just standing here, watching?
How do I deescalate this? Is it even my responsibility to deescalate this? Is this why there were calls to have him removed?
Someone needs to tell me what to do.
Red slams a fist against the counter, so hard it knocks over a drink those two strangers had with them.
I've hesitated too long. He jerks in his seat, the motion he takes to cut through a teleport, but his magic must've been unfocused because he doesn't go anywhere.
He's trying to leave.
I look back at Grillby, hoping whatever face I have looks enough like a plea for help, but all he does is he winks at me. Uncaring, kind of like an 'I told you so'?
Literally what is happening, what inside-joke am I not part of?! Does he think this is funny? Was that wink some type of 'you got this' cue? Or is he trying to say he doesn't care?
What fresh, confusing hell is this? Why am I jumping through so many hoops—performing backflips just to try getting the slightest hint?
No, I must be misunderstanding Grillby. He's always been so cool with me, so sweet. Despite only knowing each other a few months, he's great.
Red gets up out of his stool, and shifts to shoulder-check me on the way past, but I twist and snatch the sleeve of his arm instead. It stops him enough for me to get words out.
"Red, what? You-I am not following what's happening right now! Why are you mad?"
"shut the fuck up. don't talk to me," He rips his arm from my grip, "and don't TOUCH me."
He goes to continue marching out, getting some paces away before jerking again, but he doesn't shortcut. All he does is stumble over his untied shoes, bumping into a vacant chair which apparently angered him enough to turn back with a finger pointed at me.
"ya wanna know why i'm so mad, huh?! i'm trynna have a NICE night out, away from my bitch-ass, overhead speaker volume-ass brother, and you come in his stead because he couldn't be bothered!" He takes one step closer, fixing the posture he lost at some point. Making himself look big again.
I've almost had enough with him trying to intimidate me with his body language.
"Red—"
His next jerk is more curt, precise, and he ports directly in my face, lowering his voice for only me to hear, "i's bad enough edge tried using you, but you came. you're not his bitch, but i bet you sure wish you were, huh…?"
…Does he even know what he's mad about? He literally is not making any sense.
"what is it, his sharp exterior?" He leans closer, our temples nearly grazing, "his booming, commanding voice? yeahh, bet you liked it when he rang you—"
"—I came because I care about you."
That's what made him pause, at a standstill loomed over me.
"…no you don't."
"Then—" He pushes off, nearly knocking me sideways out of my stool.
I watch the way he pivots to shortcut, the way the movement was precise, was practiced.
I lunge from out of my seat, losing my footing in the process and falling, but it was enough for me to grab onto the fluff of his hood to take me with him through his cut.
It's black. Cold, but not really? What an odd feeling I'll never be used to. I hate how itchy the void makes me.
And then as quickly as it all happened, I finish my fall, my front hitting the hard pavement. And apparently taking Red to the ground with me, as there's a pained grunt of his that somewhat echoes in my head as I fight to regain the rest of my senses from the impromptu shortcut.
We're directly outside the front of the bar. I know Red can go miles farther than this, so he must still be too inebriated to focus the whole of his magic. And apparently too drunk to think about more original places to teleport if he wanted to run from me, because right outside Grillby's is pretty cliche.
Thankfully that group of four aren't here—as well as anyone else—because I'd sure hate for any more of this to become a show.
A hand is placed on my waist. A… what?
I'm laying nearly flat atop Red, my chest to his and my head in the space above his shoulder.
I literally don't know how this could've happened, though my first guess was we got a little twisted in the void when I forced myself along.
I'd be flustered any other day, but I am about past my bullcrap tolerance limit right now.
"care," He decides to repeat. "yeah, funny how that looks exactly like babysittin'."
He sits up, taking me with him, except I finally make my own move and get all the way off him.
I stand while he remains seated for another moment, glaring up at me, "i didn't ask for this; fer ya to fuckin' bother me. i was fine."
I flick a hand in his general direction, "How are you perceiving this as 'fine' right now?"
He makes some aggravated noise, jumping up from the ground to jab a boney finger into my chest, "don't FUCKIN' sass me."
I make no effort to swat his hand off me, but I'm sure my expression does not look particularly pleased right now, "I'm as tired as you, dude. I'm literally just here to get you home."
"and whose idea was that?" He presses his finger into me harder, enough to leave a faint bruise later, "yers—or his?"
"…I'm about to make it your problem if you don't—"
He's fast, using the same jabbing-finger hand to grab a fistful of the collar of my top, pulling hard enough to audibly rip several stitches, and to momently knock me off balance.
Our foreheads are touching. "if i don't WHAT?" The light in his left socket flares to life, a pinprick that's struggling to stay lit.
I don't react.
…
He stares, maintaining angry eye contact with me.
And then his gaze draws down to my collar that he has bunched in his clenching grip.
…
His teeth grit, making a creaking noise that I'm sure chipped something, and then he shoves off to teleport away, tripping over his shoelace in the process.
There's a crash some paces to my left—his sloppy teleport running him into the bumper of a parked truck, his hands hooked onto the closed tailgate to steady himself.
I watch as he kicks off the truck, tumbles backwards a step, and then marches away from me down the sidewalk.
He didn't even so much as glance back at me. This guy is actually going to be the cause of my death…
I should have never picked up Edge's phone call.
He probably doesn't even know where he's at, and that he only cut some feet away from where we just were.
He wasn't going any fast, and I catch up in no time, placing a hand on his shoulder to get his attention—
He flinches hard enough to jostle me off his shoulder, and all I see is red; not him, but the color. The same shade as his magic. A sharp-ended bone whizzes past at a speed that whistles, missing my head by only a few inches.
"…"
"…"
"Get in my FUCKING CAR!"