QOTD: Least favorite character?
AOTD: Kate Argent
You shuffled out of bed at six in the morning, dragging your feet across the floor as you made your way to the coffee machine. It was a Saturday, and you were lucky enough to have gotten the morning shift.
You reached a corpse-like arm up to grab a mug, and caught a glimpse of what was inside of it.
You screamed and dropped the mug to the floor. It shattered, and you jumped up on the table.
Terrified of what was in the cup- and was now on the kitchen floor- you called Scott. No answer. Lydia. No answer. Stiles, Malia, Liam, Hayden, Mason. No answer. You had exhausted all of the contacts in your favorites folder, the only people you knew well enough to trust in handling this.
"No," you groaned when you saw who the last contact was. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no."
Out of options, you dialed the number. And like any self-respecting psychopath, he answered in the first ring.
"Hello?" He asked groggily.
"Theo," you said. "There's an emergency. I need your help. Please."
"What is it?"
"Come to my house now," you said, hanging up.
You curled up on the table, watching the thing on the floor, making sure it stayed put.
"[Y/N]?" Theo burst through the front door.
"In here!" You yelled.
He ran into the room, and surveyed the broken mug on the floor. "What happened?"
"There's a roach."
"A... A roach? You said this was an emergency."
"Kill it or I'll kill you."
He raised his foot, ready to stomp.
"No! I don't want it all over my floor!"
"Well then what do you expect me to do with it?"
"Take it outside and kill it," you said.
He bent down and inspected it. "I think it's already dead."
"What?!?"
"Did you not notice that it was just laying here and not moving when you were catatonically staring straight at it?"
"Throw it out!"
He picked it up with his bare hand and opened the trash can.
"Not in there!" You told him. "Throw it out the window."
He sighed and hurled it out the window. You expected to hear it hit the ground, but it was tiny. Only ants could hear it.
"You good now?" He asked.
"Yeah," you slid off the table.
He turned to leave, and you grabbed him by the wrist.
"I should at least thank you," you told him.
"Nothing you could do would say thank you more than letting me forget the fact that I sprinted over here at six in the morning to throw a dead cockroach out the window."
You grabbed his head with both hands, pulling him down to you, and planted a kiss on his lips.
"Okay," he said. "That was a pretty good thank you."
