Chapter Text
As the boy ran through the woods, his breath came in sharp, uneven bursts. Branches clawed at his sleeves, roots threatened to send him sprawling, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Not now.
Tears blurred his vision, but he barely noticed. The words he’d written just hours before looped endlessly in his mind, louder than the pounding of his heart:
*Tag, you’re it. Love, Taz.*
He hadn’t written to his mother. Or his sister.
He didn’t know why. Maybe there hadn’t been time.
Maybe he wouldn’t have known what to say.
The trees began to thin, the dense wall of forest giving way to a stretch of open land. Taz stumbled into a clearing just a few feet from the road and finally slowed, his legs trembling beneath him. He bent slightly, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.
Then he looked up.
Perched high on a hill stood a hotel.
It looked untouched by time—clean white walls, fresh paint, no cracks or wear. Almost too perfect. Like it didn’t belong to the same world he’d just run through.
*Stormy Hill Hotel.*
The name hit him harder than the run had.
Stormy.
His chest tightened, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe at all. He forced himself to look away, swallowing down whatever threatened to rise up. This wasn’t the time. He couldn’t afford to fall apart here.
Not yet.
—
The walk up the hill felt longer than it should have. By the time he reached the entrance, his legs ached and his eyes still burned. He hesitated for only a second before pushing the door open and stepping inside.
The lobby was warm, quiet, and far too clean.
A woman stood behind the front desk, her attention fixed on the computer screen in front of her. She barely glanced up as he approached.
“Name?” she asked.
“Tazmain Brandy,” he said, his voice quieter than he intended.
She hummed softly in acknowledgment, fingers tapping against the keyboard. Taz shifted his weight, suddenly aware of everything—his red, puffy eyes, the dirt on his clothes, the way his hair clung messily to his face. He braced himself for her to look up, to stare, to judge.
She didn’t.
“Room 204,” she said simply, sliding a key across the counter.
That was it.
No questions. No lingering looks. Nothing.
Taz blinked, caught off guard, then quickly took the key. “Thanks,” he muttered, already turning away.
—
The hallway seemed endless, but eventually he found the door. *204.*
His hand shook slightly as he unlocked it.
The room inside was… nice.
Nicer than anything he was used to. Clean sheets. Soft lighting. A space that felt untouched, like no one had ever brought their problems into it before. For a moment, he just stood there, taking it all in.
Then the exhaustion hit.
He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
Slowly, he moved further into the room and dropped his bag onto the bed. His hands lingered there for a second before he carefully unzipped it.
“Alright,” he murmured under his breath.
From inside, he gently lifted out a small, squirming shape.
A ferret.
Blonde fur, soft and bright even in the dim light. It blinked up at him, curious and calm in a way Taz wished he could be.
“Hey, Alfred,” he said quietly, a faint, tired smile finally breaking through. “We made it.”
The ferret wriggled slightly in his hands, and Taz held him a little closer, grounding himself in the small, steady warmth.
For the first time since he’d started running, the tightness in his chest eased—just a little.
He was safe.
At least for now.
Taz set Alfred gently on the bed and rubbed his face with both hands, trying to wipe away the exhaustion that clung to him.
“I’m gonna grab a Coke,” he said, more to himself than anything else. “Then we’re sleeping. For a long time.”
Alfred made a soft, almost approving sound.
Taz huffed a quiet laugh, the sound unfamiliar but not unwelcome. He gave the ferret one last glance before heading for the door.
The world outside might still be waiting for him.
But for tonight—
Room 204 was enough.