What started with a random number (BXB) (GAY)

Officer

By the time Emory arrived back at his apartment, his head was pounding, and his side was throbbing. Obviously, such a long walk wasn't exactly beneficial for his current state.

Walking inside, he flipped on the light switch and collapsed onto the couch, face down, as he exhaled slowly. He was breathless and still caught up on how Red had been tracking him. 

He pulled out his phone as he sat up, wincing from the pain in his side. He looked at the screen, a new text message from another random number. He rolled his eyes as he opened it.

Two.

The message was simple: a single-word text. But Emory had no idea what it meant. He ignored the message and threw his phone to the opposing side of the couch, turning the TV on. 

He changed it to the news channel, wanting to see if there was any news about the supposed mafia boss in town. There wasn't anything on that, but there was a story overview of a park being set on fire. The one that he was previously at. 

The news stated that they were unaware of who the culprit was, but they had suspicions. 

Emory shifted on the couch, groaning as the pain in his side increased. He was sick of it, so he got up and walked to his bathroom, opening one of the drawers and pulling out a bottle of Tylenol. 

Without reading over the label, he just popped four in his mouth and swallowed them dry. He walked back to the couch, limping slightly. 

As he made his way back over, he noticed his phone was ringing. He expected it to be another 'No caller ID,' but it was Red Kipper. 

He rolled his eyes as he stared at the phone for a few seconds before pressing decline. He then pulled up someone else's contact and called them instead. 

The phone rang a few times before the person he called picked up. 

"Hey, Stephen, wanna come over right now?" Emory asked, leaning back on the sofa. 

"Now?"

"Yes, now. We gotta talk," 

"Shit, whatever. Gimme like 20," 

With that, Emory hung up and placed his phone on the table in front of him. He wondered how pissed off Red was. I mean, Emory did hit him, walk out on him, yell at him, and ignore his call. 

After around 20 minutes, his doorbell rang. He got up and walked to the door, opening it and stepping aside to let Stephen in. Stephen immediately went to his pantry and got a bag of chips. 

"Fucking fatass," Emory grumbled, going back to the couch and sitting on one end, allowing Stephen to sit on the other. 

"So," Stephen started in between stuffing his face with food. "What'd you need to talk about?" 

Emory paused for a second, nodding slightly before explaining some stuff to Stephen. 

"Let me get this straight. The guy that gets you out of trouble and hangs around you put a tracker in the 12,000 dollar watch that he bought you?" Stephen repeated back to Emory after the explanation, a puzzled look on his face. 

Emory nodded for clarification before responding, "Well, yeah. And then I hit him before I left, so I'm pretty sure he's gonna like kick my ass or something." Emory shrugged. 

Stephen scoffed as he looked at Emory. "Why the fuck would he track you? Is he into you or something?" 

Rolling his eyes, Emory turned to Stephen as well. "Definitely not. I mean, I would hope not." He answered, even though that wasn't 100% true.