Mumble

②⓪①⑤ - C H A P T E R : [1 6]

This is for shit, Ozzie thought with a sigh, fingers curling around the latch as he tried plying the stained-glass window open. It stuck halfway. "Dammit." What am I even doing? He almost felt like he was having an out of body experience, like everything had been dusted over with a loose brush, blurring out the edges. He pushed again, holding one of the panes at the base, closer to where the glass met the hinges. "Open," he grunted. With a rusty screech it jerked, the pane finally coming unstuck and he pushed it the rest of the way out. I'm way too strung out for this. Too tired. Too unstable. Too guilty. He sniffed— Then did the same thing with the other pane. I need a fucking cigarette. It gave a truly pathetic squeal—the world's saddest violin—before opening. Back bent, he crawled outside.

It was probably not as hard for Ozzie to decide to sneak out his attic-bedroom window as it should have been. Not that it was sneaking. It was all pretty shit though. He had no idea where he was going or even why he was so inclined to leave in the first place. He just knew that he had to. Go, that is. There was this constant pull at his heartstrings, almost like a physical thing, telling him to leave. To go, go, go. Of course, that didn't really explain why he was using the window to do it but whatever. Don't use the door Ozzie! There's a perfectly good window you can use to practice your nonexistent parkour skills with!

Tired Oz was nothing if not impulsive, he supposed. Should've brought that damned feeling journal. He had a mountain of feelings to go off of right now.

If James was here, (and thank God he wasn't) he would be so disappointed. And probably get Ozzie to use the door, which would be the prudent thing to do. He'd give Ozzie that kicked puppy look, his pouty bottom lip jutting out almost petulantly while his brow creased. He'd shake his head with a sigh and go 'Dammit, Oz' before offering him a hug even though he was incredibly done with him. Fiercely protective and exasperated all at once.

Ozzie should probably stop thinking about James though, before the whole climbing out a slippery window onto an even more slippery roof started really sounding like a bad idea.

Shutting his window behind him, mystery rock in the breast pocket of his flannel and Raphael's brittle disapproving frown boring holes in the back of his neck, he carefully began to make his way down from the roof. There were three parts to it. The first and most dangerous was the one that he was currently on. It was shaped like a pyramid, one face truncated inward and flattened vertically. There was a rickety service ladder that connected it to the middle portion. That was the longest. It had a bit of a walkway, another flattened portion—horizontal this time—that ran the length of it. From there it was a quick hop, skip and jump down to the lowest roof and onto the sidewalk below.

Easy.

What was the worst that could happen?

You die, his mind supplied oh so helpfully, you slip, it continued, slam into about three different types of tile before faceplanting permanently onto the concrete. He peeked over the edge. At least you won't be the worst thing down there, said his mind, they haven't emptied out the trash yet.

Haha.

Let him just make sure he still had his honorary anime ninja hero license on him then.

Ozzie shivered. Already the back of his sweats was becoming damp, soaking the last dredges of rain that clung to the roof. It was bitingly cold, at least by L.A standards, hovering just above sixty degrees. Ozzie pulled his flannel tighter around himself, wiping his hands dry against the cotton fabric and pushing his hair out of his face.

"Okay," he mumbled, absently thumbing his bottom lip. "Stop. Stalling. Don't be a bitch." He eyed the ladder a few feet away. It really wouldn't be that far of a slide (because there was no way he was going to try this standing on his own two feet). He'd have to scoot himself, at most, five times before he'd reach it but— Well. The reality was often outweighed by perception.