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Not-So-Little Red

"GRANDY? WHERE ARE YOU?"

Curse him for getting lost here.

Red was not a brave guy. His best friend, on the other hand, ran off without care, causing Red to go into a fit of worry until he returned. Today, he had followed his friend into the deep part of town, the part where no one wanted to go unless they had a death wish.

Red pulled his thick cloak tighter around him to escape the icy air licking at his sides. The hood covered his face, and the back billowed out as he walked against the wind. It was a gift from his grandmother, and he had loved it since she gave it to him. It was blood red on the outside, and ink black on the inside, with hidden pockets stitched into the fabric.

It was dark out, and he couldn't tell if he could hear someone close by, or if it was just the wind. He was scared—no, terrified, but he wouldn't admit it to himself. But he needed to find Grandy before he got himself into trouble.

"My, my. Aren't you pretty."

Red whipped around, and saw a man leaning against the wall behind him. His breath caught at the sight of him.

He was hot. Really, really hot.

With broad shoulders, and clear muscles rippling through his top, he was much bigger than Red was, and could easily overtake him. His dark hair was messy, and was pulled into a loose bun at the bottom of his neck. When he smiled, Red could see his teeth, sharper than they should've been. His nails looked long, too. The thought of him over Red, hands around his neck, made him feel things, things he didn't want to think about--didn't know why he was thinking about it.

"W-Who are you?" He stepped away, holding his hands up to try to create a barrier. Even if the man was practically a walking god, he could still be a threat. "Leave me alone!"

"I haven't even introduced myself, little one. You want me to leave already?"

Red's back pressed into the side of a building, and the man slowly walked towards him.

"I won't hurt you. Not without a reason to."

Of course, Red caused a reason.

His hand moved of its on accorded, slapping the man across the face when he got to close. His head snapped to the side, and Red's eyes widened.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

The man grabbed his wrists, letting out a growl.

"Run, little one." He said, teeth showing when he smiled wickedly. He released the smaller man, and Red scrambled away. "Don't let me catch you."

So Red ran.

The streets were unfamiliar, and dark on top of that. His cloak billowed out behind him as he dashed through alleys and pathways. He heard creaks and howls as he passed buildings. The shadows loomed out at him, changing shapes in the streetlights as he ran past.

He was scared. He was so, so scared, but—the thrill of being chased, the thought of being caught and manhandled—Red didn't understand why he loved it so much.

But that didn't mean he wanted to die. The man chasing him would probably hurt him badly, and he needed to find Grandy before it was too late.

And then he tripped.

He hit the ground hard, knocking his head against the stone. He groaned, trying to pick himself up, but he felt dizzy and sick.

Everything was out of focus, and he laid his head back on the cold stone, eyes closing. The last thing he heard was a voice—"You've made it difficult now, little one"—then nothing.