\\GOOD GRIEF\\

"Well...I already have what I want." The stranger grinned. "This body, though he's fighting back still, is easy to control. Fits like a glove. Like it was mine to begin with."

The stranger stood.

“ You’re for sure not takin’ mine, man, I’m not stupid. Does th’ vessel gotta be alive, or what? Can you control a dead body, or no? ”

"Well...I already have what I want." The stranger grinned. "This body, though he's fighting back still, is easy to control. Fits like a glove. Like it was mine to begin with."

The stranger stood.

It was then Pico realized the humming had stopped. He couldn't even hear BF's usual footsteps shuffling around.

It was unsettlingly quiet. He knew BF was here somewhere, but he couldn't figure out which room he was in.

Recoiling away from the sudden touch from behind, Pico looked over his shoulder and startled white eyes stared up at BF, as if trying to figure out in that moment how he’d approached so silently. After a moment of that shocked staring, the redhead swallowed hard, pocketing his phone.

“ …Hey. Hell are you doin’, sneaking around? ”

“ …Somethin’s wrong. Somethin’s wrong with this, and you, and— and I-I don’t know what yet, but I’m gonna figure it out! Somethin’s wrong and you know it! ”

Even as his heart raced, Pico’s anger flared to overpower that horrid pounding, the redhead rising from the sofa to step back and gain some distance between himself and this imposter taking place of his partner. Faintly trembling hand began to feel about behind him, feeling for any of the multitude of handheld weapons that littered the apartment.

The stranger chuckled.

It was then Pico realized the humming had stopped. He couldn't even hear BF's usual footsteps shuffling around.

It was unsettlingly quiet. He knew BF was here somewhere, but he couldn't figure out which room he was in.

Recoiling away from the sudden touch from behind, Pico looked over his shoulder and startled white eyes stared up at BF, as if trying to figure out in that moment how he’d approached so silently. After a moment of that shocked staring, the redhead swallowed hard, pocketing his phone.

“ …Hey. Hell are you doin’, sneaking around? ”

“ …Somethin’s wrong. Somethin’s wrong with this, and you, and— and I-I don’t know what yet, but I’m gonna figure it out! Somethin’s wrong and you know it! ”

It was then Pico realized the humming had stopped. He couldn't even hear BF's usual footsteps shuffling around.

It was unsettlingly quiet. He knew BF was here somewhere, but he couldn't figure out which room he was in.

Recoiling away from the sudden touch from behind, Pico looked over his shoulder and startled white eyes stared up at BF, as if trying to figure out in that moment how he’d approached so silently. After a moment of that shocked staring, the redhead swallowed hard, pocketing his phone.

“ …Hey. Hell are you doin’, sneaking around? ”

Something was...off about Boyfriend. Pico wasn't stupid. His movements were stiff yet...his demeanor was calm. His eyes felt like they held some sort of knowledge he wasn't sharing. His lax style of talking, now gone and replaced by the vocabulary and tone of a smartass.

"Eat. You haven't had anything all day."

There was a plate of fried pork cutlets and a small salad on the side before him. Oddly well made despite BF usually burning his food. It looked and smelled delicious, but...there was no way BF could fry anything without setting the kitchen on fire.

Did Pico miss something? He could swear BF was acting as usual last night. What changed?

The more time Pico spent observing his boyfriend, the more confused, and cautious, the redhead became. He wasn’t oblivious or stupid, no matter what others might say. The bluenette certainly wasn’t acting like himself. Not in tone, not in personality, not even in body language. It was uncanny, as if somebody else’s soul had been thrown into his body, and they’d adjusted without missing a beat. Did something happen, was his partner messed with in some way?

Drawn from his zoning-out by the setting of a plate piled with delicious food before him, Pico leant back slightly in surprise, before he briefly looked between the plate and his partner. ( Or, whoever this was. ) As cautious as ever, he gradually began to eat, though he felt himself expecting some kind of tampering in the food with every bite. After a few forkfuls, he cast a look the other’s way, all of that suspicion clear to read in his gaze. Maybe he was being paranoid, but all of this felt off.

"I'm feeling great."

A short. Plain answer.

Maybe it would be fine if it weren't for all the chills Pico was feeling.

“ Cool, uh…thanks for the food. Tastes great. You stay there, I’ll tidy up. Made all this for me, you shouldn’t have t’ clean up too. ”

At least Pico didn't have to see BF's gaze, eyes fixated on the dishes he washed.

With a dish towel in hand, Boyfriend began to dry off the dishes and put them away. Something he, again, wouldn't usually do.

He was usually quite lazy about chores. Piles of dirty laundry, stacks of cups and plates in the sink, and trash piled up in the bin were typical for him. Yet here he was. Helping out.

"I'm glad you enjoyed my cooking."

For a moment, Boyfriend showed a glimpse of what felt like genuine emotion. A smile with blush on his cheeks. Shy. Quiet.

Another thing that didn't sit right with Pico.

“ …Yeah, tasted good. Thanks. ”

Unnerved further, Pico kept his countless questions to himself despite that suspicious look on his face, figuring he wouldn’t get honest answers even if they were asked. Working through the dishes and the tidying up, Pico looked over his shoulder, back to the other. After a moment of staring, his hand found his phone and turned it on, quickly texting a chat between himself, Darnell and Nene.

have yall seen bf

or heard from him at all

no? why is he missing or smth?

BF hummed as he continued cleaning the kitchen, wiping down the countertops and wiping away any oil splatters on the stove.

Darnell quickly responded after Nene's message.

Something was...off about Boyfriend. Pico wasn't stupid. His movements were stiff yet...his demeanor was calm. His eyes felt like they held some sort of knowledge he wasn't sharing. His lax style of talking, now gone and replaced by the vocabulary and tone of a smartass.

"Eat. You haven't had anything all day."

There was a plate of fried pork cutlets and a small salad on the side before him. Oddly well made despite BF usually burning his food. It looked and smelled delicious, but...there was no way BF could fry anything without setting the kitchen on fire.

Did Pico miss something? He could swear BF was acting as usual last night. What changed?

The more time Pico spent observing his boyfriend, the more confused, and cautious, the redhead became. He wasn’t oblivious or stupid, no matter what others might say. The bluenette certainly wasn’t acting like himself. Not in tone, not in personality, not even in body language. It was uncanny, as if somebody else’s soul had been thrown into his body, and they’d adjusted without missing a beat. Did something happen, was his partner messed with in some way?

Drawn from his zoning-out by the setting of a plate piled with delicious food before him, Pico leant back slightly in surprise, before he briefly looked between the plate and his partner. ( Or, whoever this was. ) As cautious as ever, he gradually began to eat, though he felt himself expecting some kind of tampering in the food with every bite. After a few forkfuls, he cast a look the other’s way, all of that suspicion clear to read in his gaze. Maybe he was being paranoid, but all of this felt off.

"I'm feeling great."

A short. Plain answer.

Maybe it would be fine if it weren't for all the chills Pico was feeling.

“ Cool, uh…thanks for the food. Tastes great. You stay there, I’ll tidy up. Made all this for me, you shouldn’t have t’ clean up too. ”

At least Pico didn't have to see BF's gaze, eyes fixated on the dishes he washed.

With a dish towel in hand, Boyfriend began to dry off the dishes and put them away. Something he, again, wouldn't usually do.

He was usually quite lazy about chores. Piles of dirty laundry, stacks of cups and plates in the sink, and trash piled up in the bin were typical for him. Yet here he was. Helping out.

"I'm glad you enjoyed my cooking."

For a moment, Boyfriend showed a glimpse of what felt like genuine emotion. A smile with blush on his cheeks. Shy. Quiet.

Another thing that didn't sit right with Pico.

Something was...off about Boyfriend. Pico wasn't stupid. His movements were stiff yet...his demeanor was calm. His eyes felt like they held some sort of knowledge he wasn't sharing. His lax style of talking, now gone and replaced by the vocabulary and tone of a smartass.

"Eat. You haven't had anything all day."

There was a plate of fried pork cutlets and a small salad on the side before him. Oddly well made despite BF usually burning his food. It looked and smelled delicious, but...there was no way BF could fry anything without setting the kitchen on fire.

Did Pico miss something? He could swear BF was acting as usual last night. What changed?

The more time Pico spent observing his boyfriend, the more confused, and cautious, the redhead became. He wasn’t oblivious or stupid, no matter what others might say. The bluenette certainly wasn’t acting like himself. Not in tone, not in personality, not even in body language. It was uncanny, as if somebody else’s soul had been thrown into his body, and they’d adjusted without missing a beat. Did something happen, was his partner messed with in some way?

Drawn from his zoning-out by the setting of a plate piled with delicious food before him, Pico leant back slightly in surprise, before he briefly looked between the plate and his partner. ( Or, whoever this was. ) As cautious as ever, he gradually began to eat, though he felt himself expecting some kind of tampering in the food with every bite. After a few forkfuls, he cast a look the other’s way, all of that suspicion clear to read in his gaze. Maybe he was being paranoid, but all of this felt off.

"I'm feeling great."

A short. Plain answer.

Maybe it would be fine if it weren't for all the chills Pico was feeling.

“ … ”

The thoughts grew louder. This had all been a mistake. He was only delaying the inevitable, and once they finally found him and dragged him back home, all of that building anger would be unleashed onto him. He was only making it worse. He never should have left. He could have stayed, kept them happy, kept Grace happy, kept himself from harm. But no, here he was, chasing a dream that hurt everybody around him. He was an idiot to even try.

Ben curled in on himself, hiding away. Stinging tears were blinked back, not given the right to fall. He couldn’t be so pathetic.

A young man around Ben's age approached him. He had long dark brown hair and wore a black band shirt a size or two too big along with baggy ripped jeans with several embroidered patches sewn on and black sneakers. With a guitar bag slung over his shoulder, Ben could guess that he was part of a band of his own.

“ …It doesn’t matter. You don’t know me, you shouldn’t have to worry about me. ”

“ … ”

The thoughts grew louder. This had all been a mistake. He was only delaying the inevitable, and once they finally found him and dragged him back home, all of that building anger would be unleashed onto him. He was only making it worse. He never should have left. He could have stayed, kept them happy, kept Grace happy, kept himself from harm. But no, here he was, chasing a dream that hurt everybody around him. He was an idiot to even try.

Ben curled in on himself, hiding away. Stinging tears were blinked back, not given the right to fall. He couldn’t be so pathetic.

A young man around Ben's age approached him. He had long dark brown hair and wore a black band shirt a size or two too big along with baggy ripped jeans with several embroidered patches sewn on and black sneakers. With a guitar bag slung over his shoulder, Ben could guess that he was part of a band of his own.

Brows were raised in a content, almost peaceful sort of expression as brush made thoughtful strokes along paper, the focused eyes of the artist not leaving the work-in-progress for even a moment as he concentrated on every last addition to the piece. Had he blinked even once in the past few minutes? Probably not, and he certainly hadn’t stopped to drink or eat for a while, either.

Small little plants decorated the window sill, there because Pico had always worried about how stuffy the room got when Ben worked for hours without stopping.

The smell of paint was thick. It probably would've been a good idea to open the window, but Ben was too focused to realize.

At least, not until he heard a knock at his door.

"Hey babe. I made you somethin' and got you a glass of water. Mind if I come in?"

Blinking as he was finally drawn from his intense focus by a knock at the door, Ben turned his gaze in the direction of the sound, gaze softening as he heard his boyfriend’s voice. A smile crossed the artist’s features, careful hands setting aside his work-in-progress in order to get up from the desk and open the bedroom door for his partner.

“ Of course you can come in, silly. Thank you. ”

It was after Ben spoke that he realised the incredibly stuffy nature of the room, the thick smell of paint in the air. Expression twisting slightly in realisation ( and stifling a cough at the intense scent ), he muttered a ‘one sec’ and promptly left the door to find the window and ease it open, mindful of the little plants on the windowsill of course, breeze blowing in and immediately bringing a sort of freshness to the previously stale room. Humming in satisfaction, the bluenette turned to his partner once more.

“ Had no clue it’d gotten so stuffy…You can stay if you want, I should probably take a break right about now, anyway. ”

"Got really in the zone, huh?" He said, setting down the plate and cup of water down at an uncluttered part of Ben's desk, not too far from his easel and canvas.

Brows were raised in a content, almost peaceful sort of expression as brush made thoughtful strokes along paper, the focused eyes of the artist not leaving the work-in-progress for even a moment as he concentrated on every last addition to the piece. Had he blinked even once in the past few minutes? Probably not, and he certainly hadn’t stopped to drink or eat for a while, either.

Small little plants decorated the window sill, there because Pico had always worried about how stuffy the room got when Ben worked for hours without stopping.

The smell of paint was thick. It probably would've been a good idea to open the window, but Ben was too focused to realize.

At least, not until he heard a knock at his door.

"Hey babe. I made you somethin' and got you a glass of water. Mind if I come in?"

Something... wasn't right.

Pico felt cold. He was twitching. Shaking. Turned away from Ben as if to hide something.

meme.

“ …Pico-? ”

Ben’s voice seemed to echo all around him, as did the artist’s footsteps as he stepped closer to his turned-away beloved. The surroundings were strange, familiar, and yet vague enough to not be placed. Dreamlike. Not that he’d have noticed, worried eyes didn’t leave Pico’s twitching form for even a moment.

“ …You’re shaking, what’s wrong-? You can tell me… ”

Wide eyes stared in disbelief, in horror, and screams tore from Ben’s throat to join the constant buzzing of the flies. The artist’s hands found the cold, terribly pale skin of his boyfriend’s arms, as if digging his nails in would return colour and life to them. Every sharp, heavy breath inward reeked of decay, and yet those breaths kept at that rapid, panicked pace. All the while, he couldn’t tear his horrified eyes away. Tears spilled forth, and his screams continued on.

“ WHAT— WHAT HAPPENED, WHO— OH MY GOD! ”

Laid in Pico’s arms, Ben’s slumbering body grew restless. Murmurs left his lips, indecipherable and yet audibly upset all the same. The way his expression twisted and his hands held tighter onto Pico spoke volumes. Something was wrong.

"Ben." He spoke softly, rubbing his back as he hugged him. "It's ok. I'm here." --- Pico groaned softly, leaning into Ben as his arms loosely wrapped around him. The buzzing oddly seemed to ease a little, and though he was supposed to feel cold, it got...warmer.

The mutterings from him were barely words at all, but Ben could tell that they were trying to comfort him.

Ben felt his heart ache with all varieties of strong emotions as he felt those cold arms loosely wrap around his middle, heard those gurgled attempts of comfort. What had been horrified screams fell away into aching sobs, the artist hiding his teary face in the other’s shoulder, a shoulder that felt to slowly be regaining some warmth. There were breathless pleas among Ben’s cries, apologies, as if instinctually believing that whatever had turned his lover to such a graphic state had been his fault somehow. It was how his worse nightmares always tended to be. His thoughts of self-blame, self-hatred, painted in vivid, feverish visuals that stuck with him for days.

“ I— I’m sorry—…I love you, I’m—… ”

The artist’s broken, weak voice sobbed as he hid away in the other’s loose hold, though the silence that followed served to show him the absence of buzzing, the lack of that deathly stench in the stale air around them. Were things getting better? They hardly ever did in dreams like these, would this time be different?

“ …Wh-? ”

"...I...hurt...struggled..."

Pico gently squeezed Ben a little tighter, his arms regaining their strength despite the decayed form he appeared to have.

"....you...saved me...blue..."

Something... wasn't right.

Pico felt cold. He was twitching. Shaking. Turned away from Ben as if to hide something.

meme.

“ …Pico-? ”

Ben’s voice seemed to echo all around him, as did the artist’s footsteps as he stepped closer to his turned-away beloved. The surroundings were strange, familiar, and yet vague enough to not be placed. Dreamlike. Not that he’d have noticed, worried eyes didn’t leave Pico’s twitching form for even a moment.

“ …You’re shaking, what’s wrong-? You can tell me… ”

Wide eyes stared in disbelief, in horror, and screams tore from Ben’s throat to join the constant buzzing of the flies. The artist’s hands found the cold, terribly pale skin of his boyfriend’s arms, as if digging his nails in would return colour and life to them. Every sharp, heavy breath inward reeked of decay, and yet those breaths kept at that rapid, panicked pace. All the while, he couldn’t tear his horrified eyes away. Tears spilled forth, and his screams continued on.

“ WHAT— WHAT HAPPENED, WHO— OH MY GOD! ”

Laid in Pico’s arms, Ben’s slumbering body grew restless. Murmurs left his lips, indecipherable and yet audibly upset all the same. The way his expression twisted and his hands held tighter onto Pico spoke volumes. Something was wrong.

"Ben." He spoke softly, rubbing his back as he hugged him. "It's ok. I'm here." --- Pico groaned softly, leaning into Ben as his arms loosely wrapped around him. The buzzing oddly seemed to ease a little, and though he was supposed to feel cold, it got...warmer.

The mutterings from him were barely words at all, but Ben could tell that they were trying to comfort him.