Nothing
Chrom stared at the door for a long time, the quiet steady ticking of the clock on the other side of the room resonated above the mumbles and mutters and sobs. He squeezed Cordelia's hand a little extra tight before gulping. She clung harder. Her nails ripping the fabric of his shirt a little. Then he exhaled shakily. His free hands jerked spasmodically, like rigid joints in the winter.
Cordelia looked up at him with wide eyes when he moved. He was trying to stand up.
"Chrom...?"
He touched her hand lightly and started to ease her off. His eyes fixed on the white white door.
"Chrom...!"
She pulled him back a little. She wanted him to stay there. On the floor. It was safer that way.
Chrom didn't want to turn around and see the fear in her eyes.
"I gotta find my sister."
A white lie. And he inched slowly towards the white white door.
Cordelia was now standing up, but her feet were glued to the floor. Her entire frail form shook so hard some would have believed she was about to break into tiny pieces.
Some of his classmates were starting to protest too. They were confused.
Mindless mutters.
What's he doing? Fucking crazy... Dude, his sister... Her name's Lissa... I know her... Me too...Where?... Dunno... Second floor... Fucking nuts...
His hand landed on the knob. There was a muted sound of weight falling. Of gripping.
"Chrom!" Cordelia hissed. A chorus of gasps at her back.
He took a deep breath. He was shaking too. There was a ringing in his ears. A soaring growing higher in pitch. Hyper-sonic free-fall.
Until it snapped.
And Chrom twisted.
A click. More gasps.
"I'll be back." He lied. "I just gotta find her."
"Chrom!"
A hushed roar of disbelief followed him outside. Into the hall. He shut it off with another click of the door.
He stood there. Out in the hallway. Clinging to the door knob. Like he was in the middle of a storm and couldn't let go of his rope. He refrained from looking back through the murky window. He was scared enough.
His hand slid off. It dwindled limply at his side and he rubbed his greasy palms against his pants. But the sweat just kept on oozing. He gulped again and began taking short little steps away from the classroom.
He was very careful. The floors were spotless. Squeaky clean. At least in this hall. He didn't want to think about other halls. There was a hype on the walls about Homecoming. There was a poster from the Gamers Club. Another from the Debate Club. And something unimportant about the cafeteria buried under much more colorful crap.
He had made it to a corner. After a moment that stretched too long yet managed to be too small. His shoulders hugged his neck. His back bent as if a force was pulling his head down. And he saw his own sweat hit the floor like a crashing wave.
No looking back.
He still screwed his eyes shut as he made the painfully slow turn. He dared to peek a little when no sound besides his own strangled voice met his ears.
No one.
The next hall was clear too. And his fingers began to curve shakily, inward, to form a white-knuckled fist. He started again. With a little more purpose. The further he went the more squeaks the floor made. Made a little in protest. Maybe like a warning. Every step was a battle with himself. There was a voice in him; something that didn't want to die.
'Not another step! Turn back now you fool! There is still time!'
It was loud. So he had to walk louder to drown it out.
His stride was steady now. Each hall was white white. The floors all neat and nice save for the occasional smudge of mud. But even those seemed nice. Like little brushes of paint on a white white canvas.
Yeah. He could do this. Nothing to fear. Steady pace. Dead-on eyes. White white halls...
He started trotting and turning corners faster. He slowed down occasionally to peer into classrooms and lounges. Sometimes they noticed him. And sometimes they didn't. However nobody else dared go outside.
They were probably shitting their pants.
He left them alone. To shake together behind white white doors.
At one point he slowed to a quieter pace again. He started looking around. He had been here... before? He made a wrong turn. Or... no. Just his imagination. This hall looked just exactly like the other one. That was all. It was just odd to see the normally busy halls so devoid of sound. The white white swallowed everything.
Argh. He was lost. Okay. No panic. No turning back. He would find him sooner or later. It was just a matter of time.
He stomped on the white white.
The stride was measured, and not as fast. But it was constant.
No turning back.
He let his hand linger on the railing of the stairs to the second floor as he started his way up, but a yelp made him stutter in place. He stood frozen, listening to the white white.
Then steps. Louder by the second. And he tensed. He pressed himself flat against the wall and made sure to peek with only one eye. With each stomp approaching, there also came harsh breathing. The lump in his throat doubled in size. And his eyes bulged a little and he made a very horrible gagging sound when a figure shot into the hall.
Just a girl.
Very frightened and sobbing and bawling her eyes out. Her pretty face was covered in tears, but she kept running. She didn't mind her limp.
Chrom waited in place until she disappeared into the far away white white. And he crawled back down.
He was more cautious this time. As he neared a set of double doors with the word EXIT flashing red on top, he made sure to crouch.
He didn't want to look outside.
He already knew.
This was bad.
Black, ugly, in-deep-shit, bad.
No. He wasn't looking outside. He kept is eyes steady on the white white.
He became paranoid. There was too much white white. And none of the red red.
He'd heard the boom.
Were was the red red?
Not from the sign from before but...
And then he saw it. Almost like somebody had listened.
You wanna see the red red?
He caught himself turning on more white white when a shock of scarlet came to greet him. And it was everywhere. It covered every inch of white white of the hall.
GIANT SPLAT.
And Chrom couldn't recognize his Economics teacher with that whole in his face. Nor could he make out if that really was his nice assistant. With a cavity in his chest.
He scrambled for a fresh lungful of air. But ended up heaving in the metallic stillness of death.
Bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad...
The word shone darkly in his mind's eye.
But there was no turning back.
He'd find him.
He'd find him.
No panic.
It would be alright.
He pushed past the nausea and the very glaring bodies on the red red covered white white.
He almost slipped once. But he clawed at the wall. And he was alright.
Everywhere he stepped now he left red red footprints though. And now the halls weren't so white white...
He started looking down again. His head almost too heavy. And that's why he crashed into another body. Someone taller and more out-of-his-mind.
He stilled in the hands of the taller man. And they stared at each other on the surface with wide, shaky eyes. And Chrom saw the fear slapped all over the sweaty man's face. It all lasted a fraction of frail reality though.
Nothing lasts in this world.
He watched the teacher go. And when he was gone he looked back at the flapping door whence he'd come.
He felt his heart's dissonant twinge. The illogical irrational sensation of knowing without knowing that something meant something else.
The knowing hurt.
He knew, before he took one last steadying breath. And before he took that one decisive step. And before he pushed the library's door to go inside. That he'd see Robin slumped against the white white wall, leaking red red onto the carpeted floor. As he grunted out gasps. And clutched the pistol tighter when he heard him walk inside.
There was a pair of scissors stuck deep in his chest. Something awfully scarily close to his beating erratic whimpering thing of a heart.
And he laughed.
More like he coughed a laugh.
And red red spurted from his mouth.
"Chrom...?"
Chrom knew. And the knowing hurt.
"What did you do?"
"Didn't expect you old pal..."
"What did you do?!"
It hurt so fucking bad he knew he could have been the one who stabbed his miserable heart.
He almost wished it'd been him.
Robin slid down the wall a little more. Red red trailing down the white white.
"I messed up."
Something prickled at Chrom's eyes. The bump in his throat refused to be swallowed down.
"I mean... I fucked up real bad this time."
More red red from his mouth.
"I don't think detention will be enough this time... Even juvie seems a bit too mild."
Chrom shuffled away as Robin staggered forward. Cursing up the world.
The pistol complained in Robin's tight grip.
"You called me last night." Chrom said. More like sobbed.
Robin wheezed in.
"You were gonna tell me not to come."
"Shoulda picked up... instead of fucking with your girlfriend's... best friend you whore..."
He coughed out some more.
"I'm not... gon' apologize... fuck that..."
Chrom caught him mid-fall. He weighed like the dead.
"Fucker... right in the chest..."
"Shut up Robin."
"I'm gonna put a bullet right through his-"
"Shut up! Shut up for once in your life!"
His eyes were so much darker than before. Chrom never knew such a thing could be possible.
But Robin just had to prove him wrong.
He put him down.
Then snatched the pistol away.
"This isn't so bad..." Robin murmured. "I wanted to go out with a bang. But this..."
He looked up into Chrom's eyes.
"This isn't so bad."
"I feel like I could kill you right now." Chrom seethed.
"Hey man... you got the gun..."
Chrom felt himself collapse in on himself at Robin's side.
"No more favors Robin."
"Hah... al-right... right..."
Chrom choked on his sob. Hid his face in his palms. And trembled and trembled into the painful knowing. This was the last time.
"What am I supposed to do now?"
Robin closed his eyes. And raggedly breathed out.
"Bet you weren't thinking about me when you were up in your room huh? Curled up in your misery bubble you selfish idiot!"
"Waddaya want me t' say?"
Chrom's hand suddenly shot for Robin's.
He squeezed.
"I'm sorry. Robin. I'm sorry. I knew."
And the knowing had hurt.
So he'd ignored it.
"Don't..." Robin still managed. "You're gonna make me start..."
"I should have-"
"I wouldn't have listened..."
"Still!"
He squeezed harder.
"What am I gonna do?"
"..."
"Huh?! What am I gonna do?! You're leaving me all alone-!"
When he looked back. Robin squeezed. One last time. Red red on his lips and on his clothes. And one last friendly smile.
And he was the Robin he'd known once.
For just a fraction of this frail reality.
Because nothing in this world could ever last.
Nothing.
A/N: No. Don't ask me people. I'm an angsty person alright? I'm writing a zombie apocalypse thing and this also came to mind. I'm not neglecting the other story, though. Nope. I just finished writing the next chapter, for those who are interested, and it shouldn't take too long to edit until I'm happier with it. In the mean time, though, this popped out out of my head. And it's horrible in many ways but I love it. I just love to write whatever crap comes to mind. Also, this is my first shot at suspense, so be kind enough to tell me how I did? Please?