Ticcing Timebomb | Ticci Toby X Reader

Fine (prologue)

  "You fucking freak! Go crawl back to the pit that makes shits like you."

  You shut your eyes tight and shook your head. 

  I don't hear it. I don't hear it. I don't hear it.

  It wasn't for dramatic desperate reasons you repeated that in your head, but an embarrassing selfish fact.

  I just got off work I wanna go home!

  Yellow lights stretched from the tungsten bulbs inside the supper market, through the automatic glass doors, and spilled onto the concrete where you had paused in your exit. The firm ground jabbed into the sore spots of your feet. Tipping your head to the side to stretch your neck, your (h/c) hair shifted with you. Timed city crickets and the warm night air beckoned you to keep walking into the dim parking lot.

  "Ew! Look at him twitching." The heavy voice boomed.

  "So freaky." Softly agreed a second voice. 

  Just keep walking, and you could hop into your car, be home in fifteen minutes, peel off your uniform, and shower away the seven-hours-worth of stink on you. But, your inconsistent and untimely sense of justice urged your gaze to find the source of the voices. Your eyes traced the highlights on car hoods, turned your head to search the sidewalk to your left, and then landed on a scene about three yards away.

  Blinding yellow rays shot from a street lamp, lighting up the bitter faces of two high school boys. The farthest one tucked his hands into a deep blue, football varsity jacket that complimented his tall dirty blonde hair. He cut an impish smirk into his cute glowing features, leaning over slightly and narrowing his eyes. Beside him and profile to you, crouched the other boy. A more frustrated expression captivated his clean face. He let out a sigh and messed up his jet-black hair. A maroon sweatshirt with a prominent logo on it, as well as black jeans, and virtually untouched sneakers, made for a casual yet obviously expensive outfit. 

  Both buzzards stalked their joint prey, watching to see if it had died yet, until it would twitch suddenly and the perched one would scowl. The crumpled pathetic figure, who appeared to be a boy around the same age, was propped up against a cement frame circling a tree. His long legs folded awkwardly beneath him while his arms drooped at his sides. A plain grey t-shirt and pair of dark jeans barely fit his boney structure. 

  As random jerks possessed different parts of his body, his messy mudd-colored locks tossed in front of his face, hiding it from you. His silent yet restless disposition inside the shadow of the tree disturbed you, and yet, a weight of guilt tugged on your stomach. Being the only other person around, you felt responsible to help him, but how? Could you really afford to get involved?

  "Hey!" The blonde one finally snapped. "You think you're proving something by just sitting there?"

  His foot swung and struck the helpless boy in the gut, who didn't so much as grunt in the impact, but just let his body fall into it and slump to one side.

  "Freaking masochist." He stomped his foot down and spat under his breath.

  The crouched bully grumbled, "People like you make me sick. You infect our school, wander around not talking to anyone or doing anything like some wannabe ghost, everyone has to avoid you cause you're so creepy and unnecessary, and then instead of bettering yourself after getting a little attention, you run away."

  "You think hiding under your bed at home's gonna help you?" Chimed in the other one.

  "You made my girlfriend cry last semester, you know. Said mopy Ticci Toby knocked her trey out of her hands and spilled her lunch all over her clothes without even apologizing. She's sensitive to that stuff you know."

  Lettermen jacket boy rolled his eyes and swayed, unamused with his friend's speech. 

  "Well, you're way past sorrys now. You probably like all this attention. Don't you?!"

  The sudden edge in his tone pushed you a step closer to them. You pursed your lips and felt your heart race with uncertainty while clenching your hands into anxious fists. 

  Snatching the limp doll by the collar of his shirt, the ravened haired bully twisted it and leaned forward. "I'm sick of seeing your crippled ass everywhere." He yanked him forward and slammed him back against the curb. "We'd all be better off if you were dea-!"

  "Hey!"

  The jerk's heads snapped to look at you.

  "It's almost twelve for, crying out loud, leave him alone and go home." You wet your lips and glanced up at a security camera planted on the roof of the store. "Before you do something you wouldn't want our cameras to catch."

  An uncomfortable silence followed, in which their intimidating stares chipped away at the brave stance you made. 

  Shoot! What was that? Panicked thoughts flooded your head. Did that even make sense with the camera thing? What would a random fight from some high schoolers in the corner of a camera mean to a security guard anyway? Is that what those are even for? Would a threat like that scare off guys like these? Great, now they're gonna come after m-

  "This isn't any of your business! Get lost or I'll-"

  "Brett!" The other boy released his victim and stood. "It's not worth it. Let's just go."

  Brett, as he was apparently called, scoffed and took one last hateful glance at the gloomy boy before catching up to his friend. He whispered loud enough for you to hear but quiet enough to imply it wasn't meant for you.

  "Ashton, we won't get another chance like this. Let's just-"

  "You don't know that for sure. It's not worth it to get other people involved and make a scene." Interrupted Ashton.

  And so they continued to argue quietly as they came closer to you, loosely aiming for where ever their car was parked. Standing up, you found that Ashton was actually an inch or two taller than Brett, although Brett had a more muscular build fit for the sport. You felt the tension rise in your stomach as they came closer and trailed your eyes somewhere else when you found Brett's were targeted on you. They tucked their conversation away when they were at arms length from you. Brett's shoulder bashed against yours as he passed by, knocking you off balance. 

  Ashton sprinkled in, "Have a nice night!"

  You caught yourself and rushed to the boy as if finally given permission to. When you reached him, you crouched down to his level and finally looked at his face. You trembled.

  "Hey, are you," You swallowed suddenly at the feeling of your throat tightening up and tried again. "Hey, are you okay?"

  His complexion was a chalky white and coated in deep faded scratches and gashes concentrated on the right side. You concluded they couldn't have been from recent fights as they were far to embedded and seemed to relate to the scar splitting his right eyebrow. A narrow scruffy chin finished off his slender face. Above his small bleeding mouth sat a long rounded nose. His oak brown hair stuck out in every which way and below his eyes clung dark sleepless circles.

  But, despite all these intimidating details, once you found his nervous eyes drawing circles around you, you couldn't look away. They beckoned you, perplexed you, running farther and further away but continuing to call your name.

  "I- I- I'mm-" He squinched up. "I- I'm f-f-f-f-fi-fi-i-"

  His neck snapped crudely, and when it did, his unremarkable murky brown eyes locked onto yours. Your heart rushed through a beat. They were so plain and deep, dark and warm, broken and thriving.

  "Fine."