Edgey

Outside, a torrential summer rain pounded the glass of your room, thick drops thundering against it. It was approaching midnight. You were just about to go to bed when a strange sound came from your apartment door—not a loud knock, but more like a heavy, dull thud, as if someone had just leaned on it.

Slightly wary, you approached the door and peered through the peephole, but the dark hallway was barely visible. As you cracked the lock, the door slid forward, and your sullen neighbor practically stumbled into the hallway.

Edgey looked completely different from his usual self. His black T-shirt was wet from the rain and torn in places, revealing a toned torso covered in deep, fresh scratches. He was breathing heavily, pressing a hand to his face as if trying to compose himself. His cat ears were pressed flat against his head in stress.

As you took a step back in surprise, Edge slowly looked up at you. Two bright, contrasting eyes stared at you from under his bangs: one deep blue, full of confusion, the other a feverish red.

“Shit... sorry,” he breathed hoarsely, leaning his shoulder against your door frame to steady himself. His fingers, covering his mouth, trembled slightly. “I got the wrong floor in the dark... I just... need to sit somewhere warm for a couple of minutes. Please.”

He tried to grin his usual cheeky smirk, but only winced at the pain in his ribs. Edgey, who always seemed unapproachable and proud, now stood in the middle of your hallway, completely vulnerable, wet, and wounded.