♡ Whittle It Down ♡ // Whitty x reader

Chapter 2

Swerving into darkness, the motorcycle slowed to a stop. Drips of water softly collided with the concrete, simple yet melodic. Concerned if anyone had followed them, Whitty swung off the seat, lifting y/n off the vehicle with ease thereafter. With blush dusting their face, y/n's feet reached the ground once more.

"Where... where are we-"

"We need to get inside."

Whitty motioned y/n over to a door, hidden in the darkness. The door, littered with dust, was pushed open, light filtering out. Inside was a whole different story. Everything seemed to be stolen or made from scratch. Mini-fridge. Shower. Even lights. It was like he had created an entire home for himself.

"Whitty..." Stepping in, y/n glanced around the room, eyes wide.

"You'll be safer here in the meantime," he said, closing the door behind him. Y/n walked over to a table, grazing their hand over an assortment of empty chip packets.

"How long have you been living here?"

"A while," he said, laying down on a green couch, his legs hanging over the side. "Haven't been here much lately."

The door behind them was unlocked and tempting. Glancing over their shoulder, y/n considered the choice of leaving. Curious, they took a step back to see if he would notice.  "I wouldn't try that if I were you."

Walking over, crunching rubbish with every step, y/n sat down on a wooden chair. The place was definitely interesting - it had a warm feeling to it, despite Whitty being a literal bomb. Disturbed by the silence, Whitty threw an empty soda can at a radio, it somehow turning on.

"I don't mean to come off as insensitive, but what exactly are you?" y/n said, gazing around the room. Eyes furrowing, Whitty sat up, his forehead held in his hand.

"Did you have to ask that?"

"I was curious."

"It doesn't matter; don't ask me again," Whitty said, a small flame flickering on his fuse rope. Standing up, he stepped over to a wooden closet. "You're gonna need to change out of that shirt." His hand, reaching into it, pulled out a black shirt, tossing it to y/n in the process.

"Why?" The flames on Whitty's rope grew larger.

"Because I want my hoodie back, now shut up- 

"Do I have to change in front of you?" y/n interrupted, a small haze of red spreading across their face. Pissed, Whitty's flame burst into one much larger, hissing and crackling while the rope burned shorter.

"I'll turn around, now fucking get changed or I'll tear your vocal chords to shreds." Not wanting to get even more mad to the point of no return, he turned around, walking off through another door.

Face frozen and blank, y/n unzipped Whitty's hoodie, taking of their shirt as well. Shivering, the other shirt was slid on soon thereafter. Y/n sat down, hoodie in hand, unsure of what to do. The jacket, soft, large, and dusted with teal, was thrown onto the couch. Picking up a pen from the floor, they wrote a small note on the back of the scrap of paper in their pocket, leaving it on the hoodie.

With nothing to do, y/n's mind started to wander. Thoughts of their current situation raced around. They were taken to a strange place by a strange being, and now they have a higher chance of dying. The weight of the situation dawned on them, a sigh escaping their mouth. Rising from the chair, y/n began to look around.

In the corner of their eye, they spotted a bookshelf. 

"Reading wouldn't hurt."

Strangely, it was hidden behind a part of the wall jutting out. The bookshelf, stuffed with dusty old books, looked like it hadn't been touched in a while. Irresistibly, they traced their fingers over the spines, lifting the dust in lines and shapes. One book stuck out amongst the group. Thin. Orange. Pulling it out with ease, y/n turned through the pages. Some pages scribbled and ripped, others held illustrations. Most of the book was filled with a single sentence over and over: 'Chaos is a code that cannot be removed'.

"Whitty..."

Emerging from the other room, Whitty looked around. With a sharp sigh, he ducked around the corner, going over to the couch. Unsurprised, the hoodie was there waiting for him. Pulling it on over his long toned arms, Whitty started walking back until a soft rustle of paper hit the ground. Confused, he turned around, picking it up, squinting at the ink.

'I'm sorry that I annoyed you.'

"Fuck." Whitty's face grew tense. The floor below him swayed heavily, the air suddenly growing cold. With his breath heavier than it already was, he headed straight through the door he came from, slamming it behind him.

Whitty's eyes flickered in the dark, slowly dimming. He backed up against the wall, sliding down; the concrete felt warmer than he was. Blending in with his metallic skin, murky gunk streamed down from his eyes, the room smelling like hydrogen sulfide. "This is getting harder and harder to hide..."

Ears slightly twitching to the echo, y/n turned around, their inner parts of their eyebrows turning upwards.

"Is he...?"

"Why do I nearly blow my fuse around innocent people," Whitty said, his voice growing coarse. "My purpose didn't deserve to be this in the first place..." Continuously flowing, wiping his eyes of the black substance did not help. "That stupid fuckhead... if that dense water vapour didn't exist I'd-" The door creaked open.

Not having the energy to withhold himself from crying, Whitty turned his head slightly towards the door. Walking over to him, y/n kneeled down, eyes drooped low.

While moving closer to him, y/n couldn't feel any heat radiating off of him. Flinching due to the closeness of proximity, Whitty sat up straight. "Don't fucking touch me."

"Don't."

Not wanting to make him angry by not listening to him, y/n had to think of something. "I... I want to ask... wh-where should I sleep-"

"Take the couch. I'll be here."

Worried, y/n knew they had to leave him alone. Turning around, they headed towards the main room, softly closing the door behind them. "I'll be here..."