The Hotel

Perhaps it was the echoing that seemed to crash between the walls of his skull.

Or perhaps it was the blood running past his chin.

Probably the latter.

"You're so stupid," were the only words he seemed to register as he was slowly dragged by his upper body. Pain radiated from his head, painful enough to the point where he couldn't even hold a thought well or speak--sentences came out slurred and incomprehensible. The individual above his line of vision attempted to hush him again, all while slowly dragging Simon's heavier weight to a secluded area in the alley.

Looking behind them, they found an old broken ac unit before a dumpster that was on the brink of overflowing with trash. It was where Simon was finally let go and laid up against the wall next to it.

The echoing continued to ring out within the injured half-demon's mind. Almost like the chaos in the waves of a raging ocean against a cliff. But it gradually decreased in volume as more blood poured from the side of his head. As did his strength.

"My gosh, are you heavy-" the white-haired doll huffed as they brought themselves down to the floor beside the half-demon.

Simon could only weakly turn his head to the side to look directly at his friend. The doll did the same, only his exhausted expression twisted into one of fear. His pale hands flew to Simon's shoulders, shaking him desperately. "Simon, Simon--oh my god-" his voice shook.

The bleeding demon let out a light laugh, his gray eyes drifting upwards in an almost delirious way. "Stop laughing, you're bleeding out-"

The sudden sound of fabric being ripped made Simon look down. And with the sight of the doll desperately attempting to use their sleeves to soak up the blood, he began to cry.

He couldn't understand; moments before they were attacked, Simon wouldn't stop being subjected to the other's complaining. About how it was his fault that they had to be running from place to place. The sports bar they worked at was one of the least ideal places to find themselves in when pictures of their faces probably sat on several criminals' desks. Only Jiki knew how many criminals visited the bar before they were recognized. They practically set themselves up for it. And it was all--according to Eleanor--Simon's fault.

Suppose they were right...Simon only really thought of the good amount of tips they would both make working there. It paid well compared to the other jobs they took up before coming to Movosklivn.

So it would make sense if he was just left to die, but here was the doll: tearing fabric from their clothes and helping Simon not bleed to death.

He couldn't understand it, yet it made something rise up in his chest.

"Eleanor..." he uttered as tears made their way down his face.

"Don't cry, stop crying. Please stop crying," Eleanor said between clenched teeth as he tightened, wrapping the torn sleeve around the head of the demon.

But Simon couldn't help the overflowing of tears running past his cheeks and down his chin. If he wasn't so weak, he could have sobbed as hard as he possibly could. It had been a while since he had last let himself cry--though...only a weak chuckle was heard once more from him before the doll in front of him jumped up to their feet.

His tired gray eyes looked up to the pale face he had grown familiar with in all these years.

Ever since the fire...there were nights when they would yell and cry at each other over how it should have been different. One of them would never forgive the other's actions and the other would thank Jiki for it even happening at all. They had fled and resorted to a life of jumping from job to job, city to city--they only stuck together for the sake of survival.

Yet...

It seemed as if nothing from before even mattered at the moment. It reminded him of the time before the fire, before the bandages, before [he] separated them.

It was all very complicated and confusing for Simon.

Apart from the fact that he was already dealing with the existing pain, it made his head spin.

Why?

"I thought you hated me..."

The doll pretended not to hear or perhaps it was that he didn't find it important to answer. His head turned to the other end of the alley then to Simon and back again.

"I'll get you help. You'll be fine, just hang on a little longer. Don't you dare die on me...I'll be back!" Eleanor's unsteady voice quickly faded as he sprinted away, Simon was sure that he wasn't going to come back anytime soon.

With the sight of a lost Eleanor among the city streets, it was sure to get him thrown into the back of a van as soon as he got recognized. He could have fought against the idea of letting his best friend run out like that, but as much as he wanted to...he was losing more and more of his strength.

Hopefully, being a half-demon does something.

However, that idea soon became meaningless as he felt himself slipping. His short breaths became shallow and his vision blurrier than before.

"You're...the stupid one," he muttered weakly to no one, wishing Eleanor was still there to hear it instead.

----

Simon jolted up to a sitting position, immediately regretting the decision as his entire body ached with unbelievable pain. Not to mention that the sudden movement made his head feel like it had the contents of a lukewarm punch bowl…that was probably over a day old.

Oh...food-

The black-and-white-haired one's stomach grumbled. One might have chuckled at the thought of hunger being the thing that saved him from sleeping...for a not-so-good amount of time. Though, in reality, hunger was the least of his worries at the moment. Sure, the pain began to claw elsewhere that wasn't his head or his already aching body, the earlier events came rushing to him, he was obviously going to pay attention to the more dire situation at hand.

His best friend was out there in a city that neither were familiar in.

The torn fabric tied around his head was completely red and soaked. He ran a hand through the entirety of his profile and though it seemed like the blood on his face had dried up, the stickiness he felt when he reached his mess of hair said another story.

He let out a sigh, suppose it wasn’t bad--it wasn’t like he was still actively bleeding out. Whether him not bleeding to death was thanks to his demon genes or not-

It’s one less thing to worry about.

Groaning, he took a moment to blink and take in his surroundings as best as he could. Eleanor was nowhere to be found and it was already dark.

The broken-down ac unit had remained in the same position as did the dumpster. Perhaps today wasn’t the day that the garbage people were to take its contents out. He did, however, notice that some of the trash was scattered about at its base.

That meant someone had reached the end of the alley to either search the dumpster or an employee from one of the surrounding restaurants had added to it.

Either way, it meant no one bothered to investigate the poor half-demon passed out on the floor. Probably assuming he was dead and didn’t want to deal with it.

Bastards.

But perhaps it was better that way since he could have risked being tossed over to the wrong people and as much as he could use help with his injuries, it would keep him away from Eleanor. And he wasn't going anywhere without Eleanor, especially now since it seemed that they were on better terms than he had initially suspected. At least...he hoped so. Calling the white-haired doll his best friend finally sounded less awkward.

Looking back up at the night sky, his grey eyes locked onto the position of the moon.

How long had he been out?

With no way to currently tell the time, he made an attempt to heave himself up from the littered concrete floor.

He had to find Eleanor.

He had to find out how long it had been at least.

There wasn't a single idea that entertained Simon's mind, in a city that they hadn't been in before, he only really knew the bar they had worked at for a month and its surrounding establishments.

Eleanor surely wouldn't think of going back there.

Would he?