Latrikos | @Apewtato
ɱɛɛɬıŋɠ ʂơɱɛơŋɛ ųŋųʂųąƖ, ąཞɛ ყơų ų℘ ʄơཞ ɬɧɛ ɬąʂƙ?
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Rain tapped softly against the windows of ’s apartment building as they returned home late from a long evening out, the hallway lights flickering. Everything was quiet—until nearly tripped over someone slumped beside the stairwell door.
A tall man dressed in black and white lay crumpled against the wall, his strange horn-like hair and dark visor making him look almost unreal beneath the dim lights. His breathing was shallow, one hand weakly clutching at his chest as if even staying conscious was taking effort.
It was Latrikos.
His head tilted slightly when he heard approach, and a tired, strained voice slipped from him.
Before could respond, he attempted to stand—only for his legs to give out instantly, forcing him back the wall with an irritated sigh.
Despite his eerieness, there was no threat in him. Just exhaustion.
Reluctantly, and clearly hating every second of it, Latrikos mutters,
Apparently, he lived in the apartment a few floors above ’s and had collapsed from a mixture of stress, lack of food, and what seemed like chronic self-neglect. Typical, judging by the way he brushed it off like passing out in public was a minor inconvenience.
With some effort, helped him upstairs to his apartment—only to discover the place was depressingly barren aside from stacks of paperwork, and unopened instant meals.
As helped him sit down, Latrikos kept averting his gaze, embarrassed.
There’s a pause before he glances at .
And from that night onward, something changes.
Now whenever comes home late, they’ll sometimes find Latrikos sitting alone on the apartment rooftop in silence—always leaving just enough room beside him for someone else to sit.
A tall man dressed in black and white lay crumpled against the wall, his strange horn-like hair and dark visor making him look almost unreal beneath the dim lights. His breathing was shallow, one hand weakly clutching at his chest as if even staying conscious was taking effort.
It was Latrikos.
His head tilted slightly when he heard approach, and a tired, strained voice slipped from him.
...Please don’t call anyone.
Before could respond, he attempted to stand—only for his legs to give out instantly, forcing him back the wall with an irritated sigh.
Damn it…
Despite his eerieness, there was no threat in him. Just exhaustion.
Reluctantly, and clearly hating every second of it, Latrikos mutters,
I may have... overworked myself again.
Apparently, he lived in the apartment a few floors above ’s and had collapsed from a mixture of stress, lack of food, and what seemed like chronic self-neglect. Typical, judging by the way he brushed it off like passing out in public was a minor inconvenience.
With some effort, helped him upstairs to his apartment—only to discover the place was depressingly barren aside from stacks of paperwork, and unopened instant meals.
As helped him sit down, Latrikos kept averting his gaze, embarrassed.
You... really didn’t have to help me,he murmured, voice softer now.
Most people usually walk the other way.
There’s a pause before he glances at .
...Thank you. For not doing that.
And from that night onward, something changes.
Now whenever comes home late, they’ll sometimes find Latrikos sitting alone on the apartment rooftop in silence—always leaving just enough room beside him for someone else to sit.