4 AM Spaghettios | shigadabi

4 am Spaghettios

I awoke to the sound of my blaring alarm, the beeping striking a visceral cord of resentment in me.

The fuck??

I swiped the obnoxious device from the table to my right, making sure to leave one finger off. Instinct overpowering the intense irritation that honestly? I had also become accustomed to.

Through the glaring brightness of the screen, I was able to make out few blurry numbers --the time established as 4:00 AM.

Why in the hell did I have an alarm set so early??

It then hit me.

Sometime yesterday, no recollection of when, I had taken a trip to the store on my own. Successfully avoiding the constant headaches I call part of my league in order to catch a break.

I had intentionally gone out while Dabi was out on his own mission. I mean seriously.. you can't ever think straight with him around. He's always causing problems.

I digress.

I wanted to escape this place for awhile, and possibly even treat myself I guess.

I returned before Dabi had, carrying a light grocery bag with a contents of only a couple cans.

Generic Spaghettios.

I kept the bag in my own room, knowing full well some asshole would end up stealing them if I didn't.

No one around here has any sense of basic respect for anyone. Not that it matters, I don't give a damn about any of them either.

I wanted to have them as a snack while I wouldn't be bothered by anyone. It really did feel like I never got any sort of privacy. Plus, who buys generic Spaghettios and actually enjoys them? No one needed to know.

After quickly dismissing the annoying alarm, I pushed myself off the tattered sheets. Throwing the phone behind me in the general direction of the bed. I would just bring my food back here.

When I picked up the lone paper bag, something felt off. The weight seeming lighter than I had remembered.

Choosing to ignore the strange discrepancy, I opened the unlocked door to my room.

Wait.. unlocked?

Again, with quick disregard to these suspicions, I made my way through the headquarter's hallways. Noting that none of the lights were on.

Everyone was asleep, I'm sure. What idiot would be awake at such ungodly hours?

When I reached the old kitchen, I flicked on the dimmest light of the room. My vision still shot from the migraine that was my alarm. Really, why didn't I at least change the theme's settings? Fucking dumbass.

Peering into the bag, I then realized why it felt so much lighter.

Only a single can lay at the bottom, along with the crumpled up receipt.

How..

With a new fit of frustration I took the can out. Throwing the weightless bag to the floor. A new horror occuring to me.

My door was not locked.

Who the hell broke into my room?!

In deep sorrow, I started to mutter. Incoherent curses escaping my mouth as I poured the contents of the can into a gray plastic bowl.

"Geez, I didn't know you of all people could get emotional over a can." came a condescending, and irritatingly familiar voice.

As I slammed the empty can on the counter, I turned my head sharply. The silhouette of the aforementioned headache standing in the hallway.