Obsession
A Hetalia story.
Chapter Three: The Phone Number
"He could… see you?" The cop mumbles, to quietly for his likings. He doesn't want to appear weak, and speaking softly gives that appearance.
"Yes," Toris's voice is border line grating, so sore from all the screaming he had done previously.
"Do you know who it was?"
It takes him a moment to shake his head no, "Not at the time. I had no clue. I thought…" He couldn't finish. He didn't want to.
The veteran eyes him, almost sympathetically, "I see... I'm sorry..."
"Don't pity me. I don't know you."
"Is it the don't trust a stranger's face again?" Toris nods his head numbly.
"I can't bring myself to trust you… but I can tell you my story."
Rubbing his palms along the fabric of his pants, before swiping his hands over his ears, the cop tries to come up with something to say. He doesn't have anything to say.
"I hope… everything gets better."
The strange man doesn't respond to this. Clearing his throat, he glances everywhere else but those lifeless eyes, "Please… continue."
He sighs softly, as if proceeding deeper into the story makes his burden heavier, but nevertheless he continues, "I went to bed…"
But Toris Laurinaitis could not sleep. How could you, when your stomach is inflamed with the idea that someone is watching you? He couldn't even close his eyes. He keeps his head planted in the pillows, sometimes daring not to breath, as his eyes flicker over the shadows that move in his room. Could at any moment, the shadows transfix themselves into a man leering over his bed? Could he be hiding in the house right now?
Toris couldn't understand why he is so disturbed by the message. It has to be a fluke.
I'm probably on edge after what the team talked about, he reasons, because that was on your mind last. He nods his head a little to affirm this. Yes, the message was nothing.
It is just a silly joke Toris fell for. For all he knew, it could be the team playing a prank on him. He smiles softly, and closes his eyes. But it isn't until five minutes later that his alarm clock begins to ring. He nearly misses it, had it not been for the sharp rap on the door.
"Tori!" It is his youngest sibling, Raivis, the only one that calls him such a name on a regular basis, "Tori wake up! Time to get ready for work!"
Startled, Toris sits up, glancing at the clock with a groan. He tosses the covers aside and picks up his phone. No new messages. It is a hoax after all. He sighs in relief. He had lost a good night's sleep over nothing.
"Thank you Raivis!" He calls, making his bed when he hears the crackle of pancakes on the stove. Eduard must be cooking this morning.
They have a system, in which each day someone else makes breakfast. The only thing Raivis could make is Poptarts, because his older brothers didn't want him near the stove.
It isn't like he is incapable of cooking. It is just that their stove has a faulty burner, one that if you turn it on, it sparks a fire. The family had figured out pretty quickly not to use it, and if it hadn't been for Eduard's ingenuous use of baking soda, their house would have burnt down. Their youngest brother tends to be on the clumsy side. They don't want to risk anything.
Toris takes a nice, cold shower, one to wake him up, and to save some hot water for his siblings. It does wake up his mind, but does little to help the dark bags sagging beneath his eyes when he glances at the mirror as he gets ready.
That doesn't look good, he winces, as he fumbles to button his shirt up correctly, I hope I don't crash. I need to get my work done…
Reaching into the medicine cabinet on top of the vanity, he pulls out a small tube of cream and unscrews the cap. He lets a blob fall onto his finger, and runs it underneath his eyes, disguising the black circles with the skin color. When he finishes, he puts it back and washes his hands, inspecting himself in the mirror. He smiles.
Much better.
He ties his tie on his way to the kitchen, pulling the knot all the way to his throat before fixing the collar. Raivis is already munching away at the counter, where Toris had purchased chairs so they could sit at.
Eduard hands him a plate of pancakes, and he sits down with his brothers.
"Were you sleepy this morning Tori?" Raivis grins at him, his mouth full of pancakes and syrup.
"You're usually quick to get up," Eduard notes, fiddling but not actually eating his food. Eduard has been like this since the day Toris was fired from his last job. He tends to speak in an accusatory manner now. The Lithuanian swallows a bite of food.
"I didn't sleep well," He explains, cutting out another square, "That's all."
Raivis stares at him, "Bad dreams again?"
Toris cringes. He knows what that means. After their mother died, the manager went through a phase where every night he suffered a nightmare, usually about their father coming to beat on them again. He didn't explain this to his brothers though; he just chalked it up to another bad dream. It was one of the reasons why Toris was unable to keep his first few jobs.
"Sort of."
The youngest frowns and stares at his plate, unable to find the appetite to continue eating. Unbeknownst to Toris, his younger brothers are affected by his pain too. They like how he is happy now. They don't want a repeat of before.
Silently, Eduard collects their plates and washes them. Toris goes and brushes his hair and teeth before relinquishing the bathroom to Raivis. He is in the process of tying his shoes in the living room when Eduard comes around.
"Tell me the truth," He says.
"What truth?"
He scoffs, "I don't buy the maybe nightmare thing. What's the real reason."
Toris shakes his head, "It's nothing Eduard. You should be getting ready for school."
His middle brother marches over, and before the Lithuanian can slap his hand away, he swipes his thumb beneath his eye and looks at his thumb, noticing the concealer.
"Ya. Nothing," He stares at Toris, like he wants answers, and when he doesn't get them, Eduard stomps away. Lowering his eyes to continue tying his shoes, his heart nearly bursts with sadness.
Him and Eduard used to be really close. Now barriers are forming in between them, ones that Toris couldn't climb over. Eduard only wants to help his brother, but the manager didn't want to burden him. Keeping things from him, however, only hurts Eduard more.
With a lingering glance at Eduard's bedroom door, Toris begins his walk to work. It is a little windy outside but it banishes the humidity normally present. Toris couldn't help but think as he retraces the path he has taken many, many times before.
I wonder who's phone number that was… He pauses at a street, waiting for the crosswalk sign to light up on the other side. I can look it up at work when I get down time.
He steps off the sidewalk and onto the street when indicated to, hurrying to get across before the countdown could appear. It is a little game him and his brothers play, the few times they go somewhere together. Toris feels a pang in his stomach. They haven't done that in a long time, actually.
Tonight, I'll take them out somewhere, He resolves, that could be fun. He smiles, his mind whirling with all sorts of ideas they should do as he reaches the sidewalk, and the building where he works.
He says hello to the man that ran the front desk, a person by the name of Arthur, before walking to his office. He is eager to get the drafting done and hand it to his boss. At lunch, he'd have to go grab a coffee to keep from crashing before the end of the day.
He easies into his chair and gets to work, pulling up the Excel document.
Work goes surprisingly well for Toris. He arrived at seven o'clock, and finishes the final list of the draft at ten o'clock. Arthur brings him the prints and he staples them together before heading to his boss's room. He puts his fist to the door, ready to knock. Something stops him.
"I want a restraining order!" His boss bellows, more than likely into a phone, "I don't want Braginsky to so much as texting me the time of day, got it?!"
Toris's breath gets caught in his throat. Braginsky. Tenderly, and almost shakingly, he knocks on the door. He can hear the end of the call.
"Come in," The manager twists the knob to the door and enters, but his boss didn't look angry like he previously sounded. In fact, he smiles at Toris, "Ah, there's my favorite manager!"
The Lithuanian's face grows warm at the comment, "What do you got for me?"
"The draft lists, sir," Toris sits them down on his desk, proud when the man looks at him in astonishment.
"This isn't due for another two days," He remarks.
"I got it done early."
His boss laughs at the comment, "Wonderful! Thank you! Keep up the good work and you could be looking at a permanent position in our family," Just what Toris wanted to hear.
"Thank you."
"Oh, and I hope you don't mind," Toris stops when he gets half way out the door, "But I gave your number to some team members."
"No that's okay. Thank for telling me," He retreats back to his office, a cloud of relief buzzing in his head.
So it had been a prank by one of his teammates! That makes him feel so much better. Grinning, he pulls up the team files and searches the number. When he finds out who it is he is so going to get them! He scans through a list of the numbers only accessible to him because of his manager position. He finds the phone number at the end of the list, tagged to a jersey number. It isn't Gilbert or Mathias, the ones he assumed were the culprits. It is the man with the number 83. Ivan Braginsky. Toris's heart crashes into his stomach, memories of that night replaying in his mind.
"You know, Ivan Braginsky?"
"He was getting creepy."
"Just something about him is just… weird."
"He's someone else's problem now."
I can see you Toris Laurinaitis.
The manager collects a sharp breath, unable to release it. Ivan Braginsky has his phone number. It would have been in the system when he hacked it. He is the one sending the creepy messages in the dead of night. The Lithuanian nearly jumps out of his skin, staring at his phone bug-eyed as it vibrates on his desk.
He clenches his fists, trembling so hard that the chair rattles too. It is Ivan Braginsky isn't it? It takes him a long time before he gathers the courage to lift up his phone.
Hey this is Mathias! The team is going to stop by after practice so get ready!
The manager releases a breathless laugh. It's okay. He's just getting paranoid. Maybe Ivan didn't even have the same number. He could have gotten a new one, or got cut off completely since he is no longer making such a large pay anymore. Rubbing his eyes, he shrinks in his chair. He would really like some coffee now. He opens up a drawer in his desk, reaching his hand inside. He always kept a pouch of dollars bills so he could pay Arthur to get him some coffee at Starbucks. Fishing it out, he pulls out a couple dollars but in the process a slip of paper falls out, waded around a hundred dollar bill. His eyes widen.
I thought I lost that! He mentally says, reaching down to pick it up. He had blamed his brothers before his own carelessness. He feels guilty for that now. He unravels the paper from the money and shoves it in his pocket, and moves to throw the paper away. He glances at it and freezes, his hand poised above the trash can. It has a phone number. His phone number. Ivan Braginsky.
Toris is all bent out of shape by the time the team comes into his office. He isn't exactly in the mood to talk.
"Hey Tor-" Mathias stops, mid-greeting, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Did you get any sleep last night?" Alfred asks, worryingly looking him over.
"Of course."
"You're a liar," Vash shakes his head, as if it is so obvious. That's when Toris realizes he had wiped his eyes, and therefore removed the concealer. They could see his black circles.
"I'm fine," He quickly correct, "I just had such a great time last night that I… couldn't stop thinking about it."
"Well…" Gilbert looks at his brother for help. Ludwig takes over, "We were wondering if you'd like to come with us again. We are having a sleep over at Mathias's."
If he is with these strong people, ones that care for him, then he would be safe if Ivan happens to resume his strange antics. Sadly, Toris has obligations to his family.
Reluctantly, he shakes his head no, "I'm sorry, I can't. I have brothers-"
Mathias cuts him off, "Dude you can bring them. Alfred's bringing Matthew. I got a huge basement so it'll be fine."
Toris slinks into the chair in relief. He's never been so happy to hear that, "Thank you. I'd love to go."
"Dude this is going to be so great!" Gilbert cheers.
"I'll pick you up at seven alright," Alfred asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet, "Sound good?"
"Sounds perfect."
"This will actually be pretty fun. We invite people from all over," Ludwig explains, "Because most of us are foreigners in America. We like to make everyone feel at home in a land they weren't born in."
America points a thumb at himself, "Except me because I'm totally awesome!"
"Hey!" Gilbert smacks his arm, "Awesome is my word!"
Mathias waves a finger at them, "No you got it wrong. Awesome is my word."
Vash face palms when they get into a lively argument about who is allowed to use awesome in a sentence; it is more playful then menacing.
"So who all is coming?" The manager speaks up.
"Mathias invited a Norwegian player," Berwald pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "And of course Alfred will be bringing Matthew… the rest of the team… and I believe a few other people that aren't coming to mind.
"A Dutch player named Lars and someone named Feliks," Vash speaks.
"Feliks?" Toris raises an eyebrow. He recognizes Lars, from the possible drafting list he recently finished. But Feliks… that is a new name to him.
"He doesn't play," Ludwig inserts, "Any sport really."
Gilbert snorts, "He does cheerleading, but that's not a sport."
"Why is he coming, if you don't mind me asking?"
Alfred shrugs. "He's actually pretty cool," He grins, "Says the guy that has never stepped on the rink his entire life."
"Hey!"
"Bros we need to change that!" Mathias grabs him by one arm, and Gilbert hangs onto the other, "Let's get him to the rink!"
Berwald lifts the manager up, and for a minute he thinks he's saved, but instead he begins totting him down to the locker rooms, the team chanting Toris's name all the way there.
Toris will be okay. Even if it's not a prank, he'll be perfectly fine staying the night with his 'family'. He would have fun, and wouldn't have to worry about the mysterious ex-hockey player sending strange messages to him. Happily, Toris texts Eduard the news.
Everything is fine, you'll see. Now enjoy your life! He can't help but smile at the fact.
I actually have a life now.
I hope you liked it.
-Soul Spirit-