Aris Jones X Reader One Shots

No Longer Alone (Part 2)

Despite my attempts, I found myself waking up again, light shining in through the small window on my door. My fingers were still hung around the vent cover, clinging on for dear life.

Slowly, I removed them as I sat up. Looking at my hands, I saw the dents made in my skin from clinging to the metal for hours on end.

Using the wall for balance, I cautiously stood up, making my way over to the sink. Turning the water on, I collected it in my hands before splashing some on my face. Looking down, I saw the blood flow with the water as I cleaned myself off as best I could.

Shutting the sink off, I stared at the blank, white wall, wondering if I had imagined it. Maybe my loneliness had finally gotten the best of me.

Turning around, I went to sit back on the floor when something caught my eye in the dim light. Right by my door was a folded piece of paper.

Walking over to it, I quickly kneeled down, picking it up in my hands to see that it was actually a napkin. Walking back over by my vent, I leaned against the wall as I opened it to see black writing, most likely with a marker.

My friends are coming back to get me out, and I’ll make sure you get out too. Forever this time

-Aris

It wasn't a dream then. He’s real. He’s actually real and is going to get me out. Or that's what he says.

“Aris?”I called into the vent.

“Y/N? You okay?”

“Make sure to be careful, okay?”

“I will be,”He confirmed.

“Okay. Good.”

“Are you hungry?”

“I get fed twice a day.”

“That's not what I asked.”

“I don't know. Everything hurts too bad to tell,”I admitted.

He made a small sound of acknowledgement at my answer. Choosing not to question it, I just decided to ask if he knew his full name.

“Aris Jones.”

“That's-that’s a nice name.”

“Thank you.”

“Are other people like you?”

“Prisoners?”

“Kind.”

“I think so. People are complicated, but they can be kind too.”

“Are your friends kind?”

“I wouldn't call them my friends if they weren't.”

His answer seemed hesitant, as though he wasn't quite sure he himself believed that. Still, if he wanted to tell me he would.

“What's your favorite animal?”

“My favorite animal?”He repeated.

“Yes. What's your favorite that you know of?”

“Foxes.”

“Why foxes?”

“I don't know. They're just pretty. They're known to be smart too. They can be underestimated, but they can do more than people give credit for.”

His answer, like most others he had given, seemed genuine. Maybe simple but not everything has to be complex.

“I like the way you talk about things. You make them sound nice.”

“Thank you.”

I didn't point out that his voice seems to grow quieter at compliments or ask why. I just sat by the vent, still processing the fact that even if I have no idea what he looks like, I have a friend.