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“Die, bitch.”
Minute would scoff at the lifeless voice with which Leo tells him to go off himself, would raise an eyebrow at him if he weren’t clutching the damn controller like his life depends on it. He knows Leo is sitting with his feet kicked up on the coffee table, his own controller held carelessly in his hands, and yet he’s abusing the buttons and joysticks with a kind of focus he’s not even seen Flame have when he’s working out.
“Are you gonna take that, bro?” Mapicc says from where he sits on the floor, bowl of chips on his lap and phone in one hand. He’s not even looking at the game and he’s shittalking Minute like it’s his one goal in life.
Min shakes his head. No matter how harshly he presses these buttons, Leo’s better than him. All his skill just seems to fly out the window as soon as he’s up against him.
Before he knows it, the words ‘K.O.’ flash over the screen. He rolls his eyes, ready to throw the controller Mapicc’s way. “This game is so dumb. Can I play against dumber players? You suck, Leo.”
Leo huffs out a laugh. He reaches over past Minute to yoink a handful of chips from the bowl. “Mapicc’s right there, y’know? You could just ask him.” He doesn’t wait for any kind of reply—which comes in the shape of some angry shouts—and pushes himself off the couch to head towards the kitchen. “Anyone want a drink?”
Mapicc grabs the other controller where it was left on the couch and starts up another game. Maybe Min can win this one, surely. “Yeah, just grab me a coke. Minute wants a sprite!”
God, he hates these idiots. “I don’t want a sprite! Grab me a coke as well, that’s fine.” With the shake of his head, he sits back to watch the countdown for another round. Leo wasn’t entirely wrong, Mapicc might not be bad but he’s definitely not as good at the game as Leo or Min himself. He doesn’t say it out loud though, not if he can wipe the floor with him first and laugh at him later.
“Here’s your delicious sprite.”
Leo sets down a couple cans. The phrase is distracting enough for a glance to be sent at the cans, which are just coca cola cans, but it’s enough for Mapicc to get a good hit in. “You suck.”
“Love you too, bro. Mapicc, beat his ass.” He kicks his legs up again, this time not on the coffee table but over Minute’s legs, obscuring Mape’s vision. And if both of them weren’t so occupied, they’d shove him off and make him regret it.
They keep playing like that. Time goes on, the clock ticking over to eleven, the only sounds filling the air being the game’s coming from the shitty tv speakers, the crunching of chips and the occasional sip from a can. Minute relaxes; the evening is everything he needed, just a chill hangout with some of his best friends so he can forget about his damn uni assignments for just a couple hours.
“Chief’s calling you, by the way.”
Minute almost falls into the trap of either looking at his phone on the coffee table or sending Mapicc a frown. “Why are you looking at my phone when you should be trying harder to beat me?”
A missed attack. “It’s distracting! That’s not my fault!” He shakes his head. “It’s not fair, now I can’t beat you, man.” When he sits up, he nearly spills the chips over the carpet, and no, it does not help his performance in the slightest. If anything, his distraction is used against him and gets him stun-locked for a few lethal seconds. With each hit, he grows more offended, Minute can see his jaw drop from the corner of his eye.
“Why is bro calling you at eleven, bro? Does he have no life?” Leo says, not moving from his spot. Min can hear him take a long sip from his drink.
He makes some uncommitted ‘I don’t know’ sound, mashing a couple extra buttons. “I’ll call him back later. “We’re playing video games in our twenties bro, I don’t think we have much of a life either.”
“Speak for yourself—fuck! How’d you win again?” Shoving the chips bowl onto the table, Mapicc finally gets up to sit on the couch properly. “But speak for yourself, I have a job interview tomorrow. I have a life.” He somehow doesn’t complain when Leo settles his legs over him too.
“Lying doesn’t look good on you, Mape.”
“Shut up, asshole.”
Minute just laughs at the banter of the two. He messes with the joystick of his controller for a bit, then leans forward to reach for his phone. The call ends just before he can reach it and his Batman lock screen takes over again. Oh. Oops. After a moment of hesitation, he grabs his can instead. Setting the controller down to balance on Leo’s lap, he pulls at the cap to open his can, any tension draining from his shoulders at the hiss that escapes the thing. With just a single sip, he hums in appreciation.
His eyes linger on the phone though. Why did Chief call him? He hardly ever calls, much preferring to text because of his anxiety—and really, Minute can’t blame him. So why did he now?
“Do you guys want to keep playing? I also have Rocket League, if you’d rather play that. Wait—I also bought like, an old Resident Evil game, do you guys wanna try that out? Get scared?” Mapicc says, and he stops scrolling on his phone to look up at them to gauge a reaction.
Minute lets himself be distracted. “That sounds like an awful idea.” Playing scary games at eleven? Absolutely horrific idea. Yet he still grins. “Let’s do it.”
From his bag, he watches Mapicc pull a case out. He can’t tell from this distance which of the million games it is, but he doesn’t really care. Resident Evil isn’t his game, he’s just here to watch the others try and fail. Hopefully they won’t wake up his neighbors, that’d be awkward.
While the game is being set up, he yawns. His can is still mostly full. Maybe he shouldn’t make it too late. But then again, what the hell? It’s Saturday tomorrow, he can live a little.
“Didn’t Chief try to plan a thing today? Is that why he called?”
Leo’s guess has him pausing. He frowns at his phone, can held in the air where he just took a sip. The coke prickles on his tongue as he waits just a little too long to swallow. “Did he?” Mentally, he tries to summon his agenda to the forefront of his mind. Did he?
Vaguely, very vaguely, he does remember some kind of invitation. Oh god.
“Wait, I thought that got cancelled?” Mapicc emphasises his words with the click of the game’s case. “Isn’t that why we’re here? I originally had a thing which got delayed until next week, but you guys invited me over so I thought Chief’s thing wasn’t happening.” He taps the case against his leg as he walks back over to the couch.
Oh no.
“You didn’t, like, text him about it?” Minute grabs his phone. There’s no voicemail left by Chief. Biting his lip, he unlocks his phone to look at the missed call.
“No …” Min watches him fidget in place. He doesn’t even bother starting up the game, the controller sitting uselessly in his hands. “Call him back. We can just, I don’t know, say we ran late or forgot, right? I’m sure it’s fine. Just call him.”
That’s all the encouragement he needs to press the missed call. Instantly, the dial-up noise starts. Leo glances between them two and the phone, mouth shut for once. God, he hopes Chief isn’t too mad at them. They never forget stuff like this, it was just an accident. And they’ll make up for it, of course. Drag him off to do something stupid in town, if he’s still up for it. Or they could see a movie tomorrow. Whatever Chief wants to do.
“So he’s just not picking up,” Mapicc puts down the controller. In seconds, he’s gone from relaxed to nervously moving about. He gets up, starts to pace, arms crossed. “I think he’s pissed, honestly. I don’t blame him.”
Minute sighs. As soon as the call stops, he tries again. He doesn’t like it. Chief is not the type of guy to let bad blood sit between them. Him not picking up … No, he just doesn’t like it.
“We can always drive over, see if there’s still a party going on? Us joining late is better than not joining at all.”
Leo has a point. With a nod, he ends the call and shoves his phone into his pocket. “Let’s do that. Maybe he’s too busy to pick up.” Without bothering to clean up, he walks over to the hall to grab his jacket. “Should I drive?” he asks, despite already fishing his keys from his pocket.
They’re a lot less quick to catch up. Maybe they’re less worried about Chief being absolutely pissed off, maybe they’re right in not being so worried, but Minute doesn’t like the idea of him of all people being upset with him. The thought doesn’t sit right with him. So, he’d rather fix it now instead of later.
They make it outside eventually. Mapicc is still struggling into his jacket and complaining about the cold while doing it, and Leo takes a sip from the can he took with him while he claims the passenger seat—which thankfully means Min doesn’t have to worry about the music or the nav because Leo plugs his phone into the aux like he’s perfectly at home in his friend’s car. Before Mapicc can even fasten his seatbelt, the car is moving from its parking spot and driving onto the road.
The music doesn’t do much for him. He tries not to let the repetitiveness of the streetlights on the hood of his car lull his mind further into his exhaustion. Leo’s music taste doesn’t suck, but it feels almost claustrophobic in his car because of it, the sound just a little too loud even if the volume is at a completely normal level.
He hardly notices the conversation the other two are having when he cuts clean through them. “Leo, can you try calling him again?”
Eyes bore into the back of his skull. Leo clears his throat. “Min, he’s just busy, or he’s mad, okay? You’re being paranoid. It’s only a ten minute drive, we’ll be there in a second. Any apology is better in person than over the phone.”
His hands tighten around the wheel. “I know. I know! I just— Please just try, okay?” His eyes stay on the road.
It’s fine, everything’s fine. In a minute, all his worries will have been for nothing. Then they can laugh about his paranoia. Now all he wants is to press his foot down onto the gas and make it to Chief’s place.
A few seconds later than he’d have preferred, the music stops. Leo calls Chief, and the dial tone goes once … twice … thrice … With each one, Minute grits his teeth harder. He’s busy, isn’t he? He’s probably too busy. Still, he goes a few miles over the speed limit. They pass a traffic light that switches from orange to red just as they pass, and a moment later the call ends.
“Minute! holy shit, slow down! We just almost ran a fucking red light, you idiot!” Mapicc leans forward, hand on Minute’s seat pulling it back an inch. “We’ll be there in a second, chill out, bro!”
“I don’t like this! He should be answering his phone!” He doesn’t mean to let his desperation slip. Don’t they get it? Don’t they know about Chief’s depression? God, he doesn’t want to let this get to his head. He doesn’t want Chief to think he’s worthless just because Minute was an idiot and forgot. “Fuck!” Digging his nails into the wheel, he shakes his head. Two more traffic lights before they need to take a turn.
“Minute, breathe. We’re not getting there if you pass out because you’re not breathing and crash into a fucking pole, bro!” Leo puts a hand on his arm, the warmth bleeding through his too-thin jacket. “Breathe, okay?”
He sucks in a breath, forcing it in through gritted teeth. If he weren’t clutching the wheel so tight, his hands would be shaking. “I’m breathing!” he says.
The next light turns red a little too soon for his liking. He has to slam the brakes, another few curses slip from his lips, and Mapicc shouts like he’s actually going to die. Maybe that was his fault entirely, who gives a shit? Minute still doesn’t look at either of them. Instead, he glares a hole into the traffic light until it finally turns green.
Luckily, the music doesn’t turn back on. A tense moment or two later, the sound of another call comes out the car speakers. Min can’t get himself to thank him for it. First, he needs Chief to be okay. He needs to see him smile again in relief that they didn’t entirely forget.
No one picks up.
He’s trying his damn hardest not to speed up beyond the speed limit. It’ll be okay. It’s fine. He’s being paranoid. The nav says they’re three minutes out. Chief can live without them for three more minutes.
He won’t admit he’s counting down those few minutes, but he might be. He parks his car in front of Chief’s place, a pretty sizable house he got from his parents, just a little too far into the green grass before he stops, and he’s the first out of the car by a long shot. Where Leo and Mapicc walk over to the door, he runs.
Music is playing on the inside. Thank god they didn’t miss the party. He doesn’t bother trying to knock on the door. Instead, he rings the doorbell, only waiting two seconds before ringing it a second time.
“Bro, stop. Give him a second. I told you it would be fine, he’s probably just pissed,” Mapicc says as he walks over to one of the windows, getting up close to the glass to look through.
Leo waits by his side. Min doesn’t look up at him, but he damn well knows the look he’s getting. He’s so going to hear about this afterwards.
“Hey uh … I don’t see anyone inside.”
Minute’s head snaps over to him so fast it almost hurts. “What do you mean?” His stomach sinks, a cold pit in the bottom of his guts that’s growing larger with each passing heartbeat. His steps are hardly audible with the bass that comes from the music inside. When he pushes Mapicc aside to look inside, even that turns into static in his ears.
“Maybe they’re hiding? To get us back?” Leo tries, but he doesn’t sound convinced himself. He tries the doorbell again before Minute can waltz back.
He doesn’t waste another second. Kicking over one of the flower pots with a withering plant inside, he bends down to grab the key hidden underneath. Somehow, he doesn’t fumble it as he shoves it into the keyhole, turns it once, and shoves open the door. It’s the type of focus produced by layers upon layers of anxiety that used to have his opponents terrified during dodgeball in middle school, a focus that gives him laser-accuracy instead of making him shake.
Some song by Black Eyed Peas is playing, the music turned up enough to force him to shout as he calls out for Chief. He marches into the living room, and yeah, there’s no one there. He pauses, taking in the scene; the couch shoved against the wall instead of standing in the middle of the room, the table pushed further too with a bunch of snacks on top, a pile of packaged cans, probably for when the fridge runs empty, but in the end, it is devoid of people entirely.
“The snacks are entirely untouched, guys.” Leo grabs a bowl, and looks between the two of them. “Did anyone show up?”
Minute might throw up. “Check this floor, I’m looking upstairs. And turn the damn music down!”
He makes it to the staircase by the time the music is finally turned down. Now the bass hammering like never-ending drums on the inside of his skull is his own heartbeat. He can feel every breath he takes.
Chief might be in his bedroom. He’s found him there before, paralysed or suffering from a panic attack. The sight isn’t one he’s looking forward to. Still, he walks up the stairs and leaves for the bedroom at the end of the hallway, finally allowing himself to pause when he’s in front of it.
“Chief?” he asks, his volume forcibly a notch down. He taps his knuckles against the wood of the door a couple times. “Chief, are you in here?”
This time, he doesn’t wait to hear any sniffles. He curls his hand around the doorknob and twists it open, pushing against it to get inside immediately. There’s no one there. A shake breath escapes him. He walks in further, checking by each bedside, but he’s alone.
Where else could he be? Did he go outside, maybe? He checks the window, but it’s locked. Past the curtains, all he sees is a neighborhood full of houses. Shaking his head, he goes back to the hallway. From there, he hears Leo call out Chief’s name, and Minute does the same when he opens more doors—to the closet, to the other bedroom, to the room-turned-wardrobe, to the … bathroom.
The bathroom. The door is open, just a little bit. No artificial light shines from inside there, just a faint and pale bit of moonlight.
He pushes the door open with a quiet “Chief?” and peeks inside.
The blue curtains of the bathtub are drawn, not letting much of the moonlight in. It casts a strange silhouette on the floor. They’re half translucent, see-through but not entirely, and he can easily make out the shape of a hand laying on the edge of the tub, palm open and turned to the wall.
There’s streaks on the curtain too. Something dark, too dark to be water.
He knows. He knows that’s Chief in there. Chief, who’s unmoving and unresponsive to any of their calls.
His heartbeat becomes null to his own ears. He’s not sure what he hears, later he’ll realise it was Mapicc’s words of “did you find anything yet? Why is he suddenly so quiet?” at the bottom of the stairs, the first question much louder than the first.
But he can’t reply. He can’t even move a foot, not further inside, not to back up and fetch Leo and Mapicc.
That’s Chief. Fuck it all, that’s Chief. Minute let him down. Why didn’t he pick up the fucking phone? Nails digging into his palms, he tries to breathe, but all he feels is that pit in his stomach finally bursting into a horror that grabs his body whole, forces a tremor into his legs, pushes tears into his eyes. Why didn’t he pick up the phone?
“Minute? Where are— oh, there you are, what’s going on?” Mapicc’s voice comes closer. Part of him wants to stop him, but he doesn’t find it in himself to move at all.
“Min? What are you—” and there he cuts himself off. The silence is terrifying. Mapicc pushes past him. He can’t breathe in before his hand grabs the curtain and it’s shoved open, shining on light on Chief.
He sees the red that coats his hands, wrists, arms, he sees the blood before it registers in his mind that Mapicc’s screaming. All he can do is stand there and stare. Stare as Mapicc grabs Chief’s wrist, sees the crude cut made through all, then reaches to cup the face that hasn’t responded to a single thing they’ve done. He’s still screaming. Tears run down Mape’s face, waterfalls that glisten in the moonlight as Minute watches, unmoving, unresponsive like he’s dead himself.
Fuck. He’s dead. Chief is dead.
He feels his shoulders shake before he can realise he’s crying too. His hands shoot up to cover his mouth before any noise can slip out, but he can feel his body shock with sobs that will do anything to get past his lips. The soft noises sound like thunder to his own ears as they echo through the bathroom—maybe it’s because Mapicc’s wail has died down to uncontrollable gasps of grief.
Hands grab at his arm. When he looks up, through tears, he sees Leo, just barely. He’s asking something Minute doesn’t manage to figure out, and when he notices, he just grabs his phone. Min can’t bother to watch him much longer. Seeing his phone … fuck. Fuck! Why didn’t he pick up? Why didn’t he pick up the fucking phone?
This is his fault. Because of him, Chief is gone. All because he was lazy and selfish and forgetful, and what does he even have to say for himself?
Leo’s talking to someone. Faintly, he does know it’s 911 he has on the phone, but all his energy is going to stopping himself from expressing his own sorrows. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve Leo using one hand to gently guide him to the floor when he nearly falls over, the world a blur to his mind. He doesn’t deserve the squeeze of his shoulder afterwards, because Leo’s voice is shaky and breaking and on the verge of giving out as he talks to the phone.
He does find himself by the tub’s side eventually. Without knowing if Leo urged him or if he’s crawled over himself, he simply gives himself up to whatever’s telling him to. His hand shakes in the air. He finds Mapicc’s arm, maybe he’s trying to comfort him or maybe he’s trying to apologise, but in the end he tries to give the same Leo gave him.
The second Mapicc’s eyes meet his own, something angry flashes past them, a hardness breaking through the blur and cloudiness. He can feel how he’s not even trying to compose himself. Then, with a half-sob half-growl, Mapicc shoves his hand off.
“I want him back!”
Minute rears back like he’s stung. The words hit harder than the shove. There is no muscle in his body that lets him turn back to face him. He can hardly breathe, he can’t control his own movements as his hand comes up to shield his face from the others.
He fucked up. He fucked up worse than anyone’s ever fucked up. Why Chief of all people? Why him? He deserves better. Deserved. He deserved better than to go out like this, forgotten by his own friends. What kind of person does this to someone? What the hell is his problem?
Mapicc probably has the right idea, begging Chief to come back. He peeks past the edge of those stupid blue curtains, sees those eyes growing duller, and he wants to reach out, wants to hold his face and beg him, plead him, keep asking him to come back, to forgive him for being stupid. That’s the least he can do, isn’t it?
Someone pulls him to his feet before he can so much as move. He looks up to see Leo’s tearstreaked face, he is the one dragging him back. His own pleas to let him get to Chief register a bit late to his ears, but Leo shakes his head no, tells him why, but it falls on deaf ears, so he has to drag him away even when he begs and struggles.
All his strength seems to have evaporated. He’s pulled into the hallway where Leo wraps him into a hug he can’t escape from. And finally, finally, he allows himself to bury his face and dig his fingers in the other’s shirt. The ragged breath he sucks in sounds pathetic to his own ears, but it breaks the dam. Tears soak Leo’s shirt. Apologies get muffled by the fabric. He might rip it apart with how he’s clinging on. In it all, there’s no anger, no distance. Long seconds later, he realises the other is crying too, shaking where he holds onto Minute as much as he’s holding onto Leo.
The doorbell rings at some point. They have to pry themselves loose to go open the door, and Minute is left alone, arms wrapped around himself. The world becomes a blur. When the police—or whoever the hell is here, he supposes—comes rushing into the house and the bathroom, he’s unable to blink past that blur, his eyes unable to meet whoever’s asking him questions. He’s not even sure he’s answering them.
All he hears is Mapicc’s scream and he flinches in place. That … agony is going to keep haunting him—god he can’t even hear the questions he’s being asked anymore.
He ends up in a car. Did Leo take his keys?
He ends up at home. How long did that ride take?
He ends up in bed, Leo putting up the inflatable mattress next to him. Did— when— how?
He ends up staring at his ceiling. The light is turned off, but he instantly finds familiar shapes of too-dead eyes in the ceiling, the darkness not quite black with his curtains that aren’t blue as much as the moonlight makes them look blue, the pounding of his own heartbeat sounding an awful lot like the bass of music. One sharp intake of breath later and Leo bans all of it by turning the light on.
“We don’t have to turn it off if you don’t want me to, bro. I doubt we’ll get much sleep anyways.”
He can’t give him more than an acknowledging hum. Why isn’t Mapicc here? Shouldn’t they be going with the police? What time even is it?
“Minute?”
He hums.
“It’s not your fault okay?” He sounds so broken. Maybe he’s still crying. “It’s not.”
“Okay.” Minute knows it’s a lie anyway. He should’ve picked up the phone.
Perhaps this is all just a bad dream after all. Surely he’d never forget something like this. He’d always pick up if Chief needed him. Not picking something simple as a phone call while doing nothing important doesn’t sound like something he’d do.
But he knows better. Mapicc’s shove hurt too much, the shock and the ice-cold aftermath were too real. He knows damn well Chief is gone. Closing his eyes won’t make it any less real. His friend is gone because he disappointed him.
And isn’t that the most frustrating fucking thing? His mouth itches to open to let out a scream he doesn’t deserve to scream, but he keeps it shut tight. He fights with every muscle in his body not to raise his hands and tear at his hair, instead digging his nails into his palms until it becomes unbearable. Anything to stop his mind from conjuring up the image of his friend covered in his own blood.
What else is he supposed to do? He didn’t pick up the phone and there’s nothing he can do to undo it.
The night passes unbearably slowly, and yet he doesn’t want it to go faster. A hell of a time is coming. He’s not ready. God, he’s not ready at all.