Stick around (RINNEY)

11

Robin groaned to himself as the overwhelming feeling of frustration took over him. He had been tossing and turning his body, flipping his silk pillows over, counting sheep. He tried almost everything just to get an ounce of sleep, but he just couldn't. He was way too consumed with thoughts. He had so many he was practically drowning with 'what ifs,' and 'remember this.'

He grabbed his pillow, removing it from under his head and raising it up to his mouth, allowing his screams to become muffled. He needed to do something. He needed to escape the heavy weight of an empty house. It was so quiet. Too quiet. In that moment, Robin became increasingly aware of how alone he actually felt. How alone he actually was. He needed to talk to someone before he actually started to go insane.

A good solution to his problem suddenly pops into his mind. He knew what he could do. He violently threw the pillow, causing it to fly across the room. He quickly jumped up from his bed and slipped out of his room.

He slumped across the long hallway, his feet dragging a long against the cold hardwood floor. He reached for the phone, placing in the number of the only person he could fully trust and the only other person who would be stupid enough to be awake at this time.

His knee bounced up and down in anticipation as he listened to the phone line drag out in loud repetitive rings. "Come on." He whispered to himself, hoping the boy would pick up. Finally, the ringing stops, and he can hear the static from the other line.

It's quiet for a moment before someone finally speaks. "Hello?" The familiar voice speaks out, his voice strained and groggy, but it still gives a sense of comfort towards Robin. It felt good to hear his voice.

"Hey. Can you come over?" Robin asked, his free hand sliding onto the back of his neck. "It's urgent." He adds on. He hears a sigh and a few moments of silence.

"Alright. I'll be over soon." Robin smiled.

"Thank you." He said before hearing the line cut off and go dead. Robin was always super appreciative when people would just drop what they were doing to help him. It made him feel wanted. Loved. Something he didn't experience a lot.

He goes over to the sofa, kneeling down on the seat, staring apprehensively out the window. He searches for any sort of sign of life out in the deceased outside.

Soon enough, a beat-up blue car appears, the engines roaring loudly. Vance steps out and heads towards the house.

Robin could remember all the way back to when the blonde had started driving that car. He had first spotted it lying around in the junkyard with the rest of the piles of broken rubbish that had just been dumped and forgotten about. It was completely undrivable. It had over twenty different parts missing from it and had got to been the shittiest thing he had ever seen but as soon as Vance set his eyes on it, he pointed to it and said to Robin, "That's my car." Robin looked at him like he was crazy. Why would someone want that piece of trash? How would he even drive it? But once Robin saw the look on Vance's face, he decided not to comment on it.

He had spent multiple long weeks doing continuous hard labour in the car garage. It was something for him to do and probably was an escape from his hectic life at home. Against all odds, he made it work. Sure, it failed to start up sometimes and would often stall, but for a teenager to fix up a car like that. It was incredible. No wonder Robin always looked up to him so much.

Vance walked into the house, not even bothering to knock. He knew their friendship had far surpassed the need to knock before entering.

He turned the corner and joined Robin in the living room. Robin looked up and down at what Vance was wearing. He had red plaided pyjama bottoms and a stained, oversized band shirt on. Robin raised an eyebrow in judgment.