𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 | 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐭

TW: disturbing descriptions of invasions of privacy, stalking, being watched.

4 years ago

It is midnight by the time Yates arrives. He comes without fanfare, no private jet in sight. He arrives in Southport on the rattling hiss of a car about to fall apart and caffeine shooting through his veins. Sometimes, he thinks he can see her slink in the shadows of his peripheral vision, but by the time he looks, she's gone. Others lurk in the backseat, with their faces torn off and their mouths dribbling universes. The moon hasn't talked to him yet, and he misses her voice, the way she is blinding, filling him with divine determination. Her light still shines inside him as he continues his long drive; a small flame of hope Yates is desperately fanning. [name] is the only thing he thinks of, her face pasted on Emina's face, tattooed onto the back of his eyelids. She is a fever that has overtaken him, made him sweat, carved an aching hole of his body and rendered him immobile. It's high time he itched this scratch.

Yates clenches the steering wheel with an iron grip, maneuvering the hunk of metal in the middle of the empty street. The streetlights aren't of much help, casting a sickly orange light that is too reminiscent of throw-up to be useful. Occasionally, the GPS chirps out directions, turning him left and right. Small animals streak across the roads, blurs so fast that sometimes he thinks he imagined them. Loneliness chips away at Yates too, similar to the pang of hunger, gnawing at him with dulled teeth. He misses his bandmates, the way Dafne always gives him enough of a buzz to get through a day, Emina's constant banter, and Rayyan's soothing presence, the way he feels at home when he's with them. And yet, he's torn, wanting to be everywhere at once.

Yates knows he can't have everything- but hell, who is he if he doesn't try?

With a yawn, the brunette turns onto another dark road, hearing his tires squeal at the sharp turn. A quaint diner sits, surrounded by solemn trees and an almost eerie whisper, like a beacon of light amidst the insatiable darkness of the night. Warm, yellow light bleeds out of the windows and onto the asphalt, creating puddles of illumination and strange shadows to dance. It is silent too, save for the soft buzz of a generator and the sound of the car settling down, the engine going quiet. Yates gets out, walking into the diner. There's a single waitress manning the counter, a woman who doesn't look quite human, her smile too wide for one AM, the whites of her eyes a tad too bright. She takes his order and disappears into the kitchen as Yates scours the place for his acquaintance.

Gerald is a timid, mousey man, as his name suggests, always wearing a gray suit and scuffed shoes. Today is no exception, as he sits with his back to a tacky red booth, taking tentative sips of water as he waits for his client. He holds a singular flyer in his liver-spotted hands, his breaths shallow.

"Are you Gerald?"

The balding man stands up, surprised to be face to face with a celebrity. His eyes widen. "Yes sir! I assume you are Mr. Yates?" He shakes hands with Yates. "My daughter is a big, big fan. Wow."

Yates gives him a forced smile, shaking Gerald's hand off. He wipes it on his pants, sliding into the seat in front of him. "I can transfer the money right now, if that's what you need. I just want quick confirmation and then you're free to go," he mutters, voice low. Gerald nods, sweating beading up at his hairline- or what was left of it, his bald spots hidden by a flimy comb-over.

"You mean the cameras, sir?"

Yates nods. "Well?" he asks, fingers drumming on the table. Gerald nods again, licking his lips.

"Uh, well, they're all installed. Can I ask why-" he is cut off by Yates's blinding glare, going silent. The older man pulls out his phone, maneuvering to an app. "They're all controlled by this. Some, like the ones in the hallway, you can move to look around. Um," he clears his throat, "the others. Like the one in the showerhead, you can't really adjust. Only one angle. He slides his phone over to Yates who snatches it up, his eyes bright.