Requests Open

You’ve been missing for two months.

Just long enough for your face to stop cycling on local news and for people to start forgetting why they knew your name.

It’s still not long enough for you to settle, though.

Your brain has been stuck, constantly trying to define and label what exactly you were forced into. It’s a good way to pass the time, once you got over memorizing all the different types of peeling wallpaper across the old house they kept you in, which paintings felt like they’d look back at night, who’s rooms to avoid entirely. But your favorite activity of all was staring at the popcorn ceiling, sifting through each minute detail, hoping something would finally come up. Something that would let you think ‘yes. that’s it. this is what this is.’ and finally lay your conflictions to rest.

You got over the work easily— easier than others they’d pulled from their lives. From the sounds of it, from the many names they’ve mentioned by now, it seemed like most don’t make it through the work. You can’t blame them, you supposed. It’s hard to stop seeing people as, well… people. At the end of the day it truly was what Brian had said on your first official job. Methodic.

You had no choice in the matter, after all. You’d get a manila envelope, some details about some sorry soul that got a bit too ballsy, head out, and kill them. No more and no less, the same every time. It was simple. It had reason. It had parts you could pick apart to understand.

And yet still, you couldn’t find your own reason for being here.

No matter how long you sat, back against the wooden floor boards, eyes searching your small room, nothing ever came. You weren’t more or less cut out for this life than anyone else. Sure, you had moments in your life that shunted you from “average” but it wasn’t as if there was no one else like you. It wasn’t like you were especially remarkable enough that warranted you above all others.

You simply settled that your… boss worked in mysterious ways. That eldritch beings that lurked in the forest didn’t have to make sense. That they had no human senses or sensibilities they needed to appeal to. Rather, they just existed and did as they pleased. It wasn’t as if there was anything to stop them, after all.

It was enough, some nights. To accept that there was no sense in the decision to employ you. That it was beyond your comprehension— a level of reasoning and understanding you’d never be able to reach, no matter how long you tried to.

But for tonight, it wasn’t.

You hadn’t earned the reputation of being a social butterfly. Partially because the people your boss employed were scattered about the forest in such a way it was difficult to ever meet anyone —let alone everyone— but it was conjoined to the fact you hardly ever spent a significant amount of time in the large rotting house they called their home base.

Sure, you had a room, just as everyone else did, but you didn’t live there. You shadowed, trained, assisted, and lived with Tim and Brian. And if you weren’t the most social, then they were reclusive. You guessed you couldn’t blame them, though. In the odd few times where you had to stay the night —one or two nights per month, if even— they never passed peacefully. A man crawling through your phone, a clown appearing in your closet, being chased and threatened down every hallway, what have you.

It was usually easy enough to get away with just sitting in your room. No one had a reason to bother you, not now the job was finished. You were entirely free to spend the night reliving the last two months. Treading over the same ground you’ve been going over since they occurred. And there was plenty to go over.

That you were “performing to the expectation” set by your boss. That you were “more useful than the last” that he “found great amusement in watching you make sense” of this new life.

You tried not to dig into it. You did. You knew, in the pit of your chest, that nothing good would ever come of what you found. Despite yourself, the words ran on loop: over and over and over again until you could finally separate the substance.

The boss had expectations, ones that varied proxy to proxy. Ones based entirely on your own potential. It proved, or at least suggested, that you were being watched before your abduction. That someone or something had kept tabs on you, enough to know that you’d last longer than whoever was before you. That You’d be better in different areas than the last. As if they were trying to tinker the personalities of their recruits to get the best possible… candidate.

It was shown in other ways too.

You weren’t allowed to pick a weapon. It was picked for you. Not that you would’ve chosen differently, just that the decision was preemptively made according to your previous inclinations.

Your room was stocked with books and trinkets that would only make sense to buy if someone knew you. They were so personal that they weren’t even items you’d get as gifts, only the small purchases you’d make when you had enough room in your budget.

It was even down to who plucked you from your normal life.

You didn’t hear the discussion well. Not with the heavy oak door in the way and static in your head, but the muffled back and forth was enough to confirm your suspicions. As sane as you were able to stay, they knew that there was a limit. That if they wanted to make the most use out of you, then you couldn’t be lumped in with the rest.

You didn’t know anyone and no one knew you.

And they knew that it would be the case no matter where you were.

You flinch as the warm light of the hall spills into the room, the band let in running across your face from where you lay on the floor.

Almost no one knew you.

“Kn-new I could find y-ou here” Toby was the exception.

Maybe it was intentional, maybe it was chance, but the two of you got on like a house on fire.

Where you’d easily spend your day far too into the details, he could never stay on one thing for too long. It only seemed that the more familiar with each other you got, the more comfortable he’d become to pull you from your spirals.

He shuffled into your room, still undecorated, and sat behind your head. His face is upside down to your perspective, hunched over with his elbows on his knees as he looks down at you.

“Isn’t like I ever do much else when we’re here,” You concede, breaking his intense eye contact as you tilt your head back over toward the door left ajar “not like there’s much to do”

He jolts, face suddenly pressed far closer to your own with only an inch of clearance between you.

“Easy there, you still owe me a dinner” You laugh as he groans, the both of you sitting up.

“You ser-seriously need t-to let that d-die” He pinches his brow, desperately trying to push out the memory of the night you’d met.

“How can I, when it keeps getting a reaction out of you?” You lean forward, tilting your head in the intent to mock him, “Afterall, first impressions are important” As usual for the gag, his face flushes the same pretty red as it did the first time.

“You-you’re impos-sible.” He scoffs, leaning back on his palms to gain back some distance

“You love me.”

“I’m l-leaving you for-for dead the next-t mission”

You roll your eyes, knowing that it meant nothing. No matter how mean the taunting or how intimate the flirting, it meant nothing. The type of nothingness that kept you up even longer than your place in this new works. The type of dull acceptance that your mind couldn’t even grapple with when you could accept that you’re working for a faceless being in the woods.

“S-soooooo,” As always, you’re dragged out of your spiral. That stupid crooked grin cutting your thoughts short. His chewed hand rifles through the pocket of his beaten jacket until he got a grip of what he was searching for, lifting it for you to see.

Brian’s keys.

It was a horrible decision. To take them, for one. He wasn’t the type of person to give grace where it’s not deserved, especially not to thieves. But to actually follow through with it and, you know, steal his car.

“C-cmon, we b-both know you’re naw-not lasting the night” He swings them around on his finger, watching them shake on the ring and settle with the force.

You know he’s not wrong. He’s never really wrong when it comes to you. The job only finished a few hours ago and you’re already on high alert, no peace to be found.

The only thing that could fix you right now was getting out of this damn house, basking in the last of the summer while it’s still here.

“It’s not like we can stay in a hotel” You argue, weak. You’ve slept in the truck before. It’s not comfortable, but it’s not as if you’re above it when necessary.

“Tha-that’s the th-thing,” He begins, whirling the keys around once more “We’ll c-come back” The joy in his voice is palpable, like his ingenious plan was impenetrable— “B-besides, wha-t’s he gonna d-do? Call th-e police?”

—Like Brian would never even think to check for his keys.

“Where would we even go? He just filled up the gas it’s not like he won’t notice it’s gone”

He pauses at that, causing the keys to fling off his fingers and skitter across the uneven floor boards.

“W-we just… st-stop at the same gas station on the wuh-way back” He settles, stretching awkwardly across the floor to grab for the precious stolen gateway to your freedom.

It’s fair, too.

Assuming Brian just doesn’t check for his keys, it’s relatively full proof. It’s late enough no one would need the truck, and if you stopped at the same place on the way back the tank would be the exact same as you found it.

You pause if a while before sighing, long and heavy, “We could get some snacks too”

It’s like a bolt of electricity goes through him, seeing that you agree.

“We cou-could have a m-movie night?” He suggests, following close behind as you slip on your socks and shoes again.

“With what? I’m not sitting in that living room.” For good reason too, the was always sticky with something or other. It was perpetually cluttered with crumbs and trash.

“M-my laptop?” He sassed, with more than what was necessary to convey it should’ve been obvious.

“…You don’t have a laptop”

“I d-do now” He’s proud of himself, you can tell.

“Klepto.”

“Ass-Asshole.”

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

Just to be clear: Toby knew this was a bad idea. A horrible one, in fact.

He knew that you’d probably dismiss the whole thing, call him stupid like you’d usually do, and opt to spend the night doing anything else. Anything safe.

He didn’t mind it, at all. Really, there was something he rather enjoyed in letting you lead him out of his own poor choices. He just chose to ignore exactly how much he liked it when you insulted him— that it was obvious he was doing something wrong.

What he wasn’t expecting was for you to go along with it.

Precisely why he’d sat: half stiff, and half unable to stop moving, once he’d realised he had forgotten his wallet.

It really wasn’t often he felt shame. He had no reason to nowadays, not when half the people he knew were more deranged than himself. But there was a special kind of mental torment that you always seemed to put him through. Seriously, though, who invites their best friend on a totally-not-a-date via grand theft auto and neglects to pay.

Him, apparently.

Even the thought made him squirm in his seat. He may not have socialised much, but he knew at the very least that you deserved better. After all the things he done the least he could do would be to pay for your snacks. Even if it was stolen money.

“Dude are you ok?” He can’t help himself but to perk up. It’s instinct at this point. The sound of your voice could raise him from the dead.

“Yea-yeah I’m tot-totally f-fine I have no cl-clue what you m-mean.” Great. Yes. Totally normal, you won’t suspect a thing.

“Ok, yeah, just keep staring at me like you have been for the last 10 minutes” You’re grinning, that snide grin that tugs on his heart like you have him on a leash. You do, but that’s aside the point. It’s like you have him all figured out, cut and splayed open under your careful eye— just waiting to see what he does next.

As perverse as it is, he likes the idea.

The idea that he humors you. That even though you’re worlds smarter than him, and would ordinarily look right through him, that you keep him around. To toy with him. To test and see what makes him tick, what makes him squirm most in his seat. To simply let him amuse you, even if you don’t realize what you’re doing to him.

He rips his eyes back to the roads, hoping that it’ll stop that train of thought. Thank God your eyes were on the road, otherwise you might discover why he’s suddenly so interested in literally anything else.

Logically, he knows you see more to him than that. That you do care in a way he doesn’t really understand. That maybe, just maybe, you needed him just as much as he needed you.

The road signs and sparse cars pass him by, and the silence that returns to him feeds his soul. There’s hardly ever time to just exist anymore. There’s always wood to be cut or tools to be maintained or someone to slaughter. Such was the life he agreed to. It seemed, though, that ever since you’d shown up, time suddenly began to free itself up. Days that would’ve ordinarily slipped by, phased past him like the world does now, suddenly began to stick around. He found a reason to be present.

Light breaks through the dense trees, dim and green. The gas station is the only light thing around for miles, attracting the few people out like moths. There’s 3 other cars parked at the pumps, the straggling people huddled about. It’s not what someone would consider a reassuring sight considering it’s the middle of the night.

“You p-pump the gas, I'll get-t you some-something” He slides out of the passenger side. He was banned for driving on the account that the last time he did, he crashed the truck. He hadn’t even left the house yet.

“You sure? I know it’s not ideal given the, uh” You trail off, not quite sure how to bring it up.

“For tha-that, my d-dear,” He stretches awkwardly through the open window of the truck, popping the glove compartment and pulling out a generic dental mask. “there a-are solutions-s.” He gets to feel smug for once, savouring the impressed look on your face.

“I stand corrected”

“S-see I t-told you I w-“

“Aaand there it goes again” You turn your back to him, immediately occupying yourself with the gas pump. He feels like a dog, constantly begging for your attention, your approval, giddy to get it even if it’s at his expense. He hates just how much life the thought brings into him.

The gas station was eye-offendingly lit, compared to the darkness of the roads. What lights that weren’t broken were the cool led that only existed to trick the human brain into believing it was midday.

Toby guessed that he really couldn’t complain, though. There wasn’t really anyone else in the store with him. In fact, there were 3 others. A trucker picking up a case of beer and two scrawny looking college kids bartering with the cashier over a pack of cigarettes. A good enough distraction. Enough, at least, to get the attention off himself for a moment.

He’d been to this exact store enough times that the layout was memorized. He didn’t even need to scan the isles before slipping the snacks and drinks into the appropriate pockets. Two in the inside of his jacket, a few items up the sleeves, the two external pockets, and one thing in his jean pockets if necessary. By the time the kids had left and the trucker was checking out, he’d left undetected.

He emptied his pockets for your stuff, cradling them in his arm so he could get back in the truck.

“Oh good you’re- I didn’t even tell you what to get holy-“ Now you were impressed. Taking note of what you’d gotten the last times you’ve gone with him, he picked up every single item you’d normally get.

“Dude I gotta pay you back-“ He preens under your attention as you grab your stuff out of his arm, cracking into your drink before putting it in the cup holder.

“Yo-you got th-the gas” He placated, leaning out the window as you began to pull out of the lot.

“How did you even know?” You trade your focus from the road and back to him.

“I’ve g-gone with you be-before?” He shrugs, pretending as if it were nothing. As if he didn’t start buying the same things to see what they were like, trying to understand you.

“Insane work.” You pause “I take it all back, you would 100% kidnap me”

“Yuh-you need to-to let that-t die.”

You laugh, amused at his frustration. Immediately it simmers away.

“Now why would I do that?” And why would you? He thinks he’d die the day you’d stopped making fun of him.

He huffs, nearly jumping out of his seat when he looks over to see you already picking him apart.

“What? Just gonna let me have that one?” Yes. Obviously.

“I r-really don’t guh-get why this i-is s-so amusing t-to you” He tries to swallow down the anticipation in his throat, he does. But the longer you keep staring at him, the more nervous he gets.

“You’re fun to tease.” He’s done plenty bad things in his life but he’s not sure what exactly qualified him for this level of torture. The tone of your voice replays in his head on loop as he desperately prays you don’t look down.

“I hav-e no cl-clue why I’m fruh-friends with y-you” He mumbles, keeping his eyes locked on the road.

“We’ve been over this already. I’m smart and amazing and you’d be dead without me.”

“Uh-uh huh. Wha-tever helps you s-sleep at night” He crumples up the mask he had on, shoving it back into the glove compartment. He doesn’t need to look over to feel you glaring at him.

The hum of the road returns again, that blissful silence that his brain wants to fill. That silence that he needs to fill before his brain fills it for him.

“Wh-what movie are w-we watching?” He blurts, entirely out of the blue. Your eyes flicker as you take in the new information, humming.

“Not like we have any movie services” You hum, tilting your head as you think of your answers.

“Pir-rating, D-Duh.”

“Oh true, I forgot we’re criminals now” You laugh, exhausted at last. All that thinking had finally tired you out. It was rare for you. But on the occasions where he could exhaust you past the point of thinking things through, it was always precious.

He wasn’t very good at the reasoning you did. He was good at following orders, at doing what he was told. But you always seemed so keenly aware of everything around you. And he saw how badly it wore at you. The nights without sleeping, the days spent paranoid and jumpy.

It was only on nights like this that you really seemed the same as you did before you joined him. It was only on nights like this that he sees you as you were, as he once only saw you through your window.

It was something only for him.

“Guess we’ll just see what they have” You shrug, forfeiting your control to fate.

“B-bet.”

Nearly 40 minutes later you pull back up to the large, dilapidated house. You park the truck where you last found it and smuggle your snacks up to Toby’s room.

In the meantime, he slips Brian’s keys back into his coat pocket, relieved to see it still on the coat hanger. With the mission entirely in the clear, he prods back up to his room to join you.

You’re spread out already over his bed, having made yourself as comfortable as you pleased. Already it was rare to see you actually willing to claim space when you weren’t at the small cabin you’d come to call home. He stops on the doorway, shuffling awkwardly. There’s something about you, only so comfortable with him and only so willing to share his space that makes him forget that anything else was happening. His brain just latched onto the fact that someone like you, someone he still thought to be unreachable to the likes of himself, actually sought out his company.

“Dude. Quit standing like that. It’s creepy.” You mumble, shuffling some of your stuff over to make room for his. He heels, immediately pushing off and closing the door behind him to join you.

His room was more lived in. Not quite as nice as his room in the cabin, a little cleaner since he spent less time there, but not nearly as plain as your own. The walls weren’t so offensively empty, and the ceiling didn’t watch you back. He digs through the bag he’d taken back from the mission, pulling out what used to be the vic’s laptop.

“Ne-needed t’ get it through BEN f-for it t’ work” His fingers type in a pass, opening up to a very blank home page.

You both pause, realizing that despite your plan to pirate some shitty movie, you didn’t actually know any websites.

“Well shit” You chuckle, “Seems like our luck finally ran out, geez” You sigh, leaning over his shoulder.

“…Y-you good-d with YouTube?” He suggests after a while, accepting defeat

“Probably wouldn’t have been much better than the move to begin with” You shrug, settling in for the watch.

The algorithm fights, suggesting stream after stream of clickbait. Not that it usually does better, but the feeling of being so close and so tired makes each moment drag on and on. It almost feels normal for you, watching the colors flash across his pale skin as he scrolls. Just trying to relax with your totally-just-friend after a long day, trying to watch a video as you ate. Trying your best to ignore what it meant when he’d stop to stare. Or when he’d buy you the snacks you liked without even asking what you wanted. Small things. Small things that made it easy to forget why you’d met. Small things dragging you to admit that maybe you did like him.

Or maybe, it was entirely nothing at all.

Small things that could’ve just been because he was weird, or lonely, or awkward, or just nice. Because, y'know, he’s a good friend.

“Th-this good?” He looks back at you, head tilted so his eyes are wide, practically begging for your opinion. He was, but you didn’t know that.

It’s decently long, over an hour. Interesting enough without overselling itself on the “real 100% not clickbait!!” front.

“Yeah, yeah it’s good” Your eyes flick from the screen back to his wide eyes and follow down to where he grins. That lopsided, boyish grin. He almost felt like yours.

You fell asleep not too long into the video. Unsurprisingly, getting up at the ass crack of dawn with no sleep the night before and running until nearly 4am wasn’t a battle your body was willing to fight. And you probably would’ve gone unnoticed, given Toby’s attention to the screen. If it weren’t for the fact you were slumped over him.

Awkwardly, you were spread out, taking up the bottom half of the twin bed and the entire right side of his body. He should’ve woken you up. Should’ve taken you back to your room. He really should’ve.

But it wouldn’t be the first bad decision Toby had made that night.

You were so at rest, for the first time since he’d officially met you, he couldn’t pass up seeing it in person. To sit there and watch over you, to hold you, to soothe you when you’d mumble or twitch in your sleep.

He really should’ve done something, anything.

Then again, he was the type to profile you for months before actually meeting you.

He was the type to follow through with plucking you from your life.

He was the type to not give up on watching you.

The first time you met Toby, you were on top of him and tied up.

Especially given the situation, you were surprised you weren’t gagged— honestly it’s probably a mistake you weren’t.

“What do you want- please just tell me what you want”

You weren’t met with a response other than shaky hands grabbing your head and shoving you down until your knees found the beaten truck floor. With purchase at last, you pulled yourself back against the door to catch your breath.

So. just to recap. In the span of two-ish minutes you were tied up and shoved into the back of what you remembered being an old pick up truck.

Good- good ok. Your memory wasn’t great, but it’s better than nothing. It’s good to have details for when you’d go to the police.

If you’d get to. You tried not to focus too much on that.

Instead you tried to focus on what you could see. Specifically, the vast amount of nothingness. The darkness that took up your vision began to choke out your thoughts the longer you went within it. And the longer you went without rational thought, the more you’d panic. The more you’d panic, the less likely you’d be to get out.

You couldn’t see, but you weren't going to let yourself be helpless. You thought back to how many people now it’s been you’ve come across— how many people stood between you and your freedom. It took two men to hold you down and tie you. You were shoved onto another. And judging by your back being to the passenger side door you were shoved in on, there were the only three in the car.

Not great odds, but hey. Better than four.

The car turned —the second right turn since you’d been so rudely interrupted from your walk— taking you toward the main roads. The turns were the only real stimulus you got outside the loud hum of the engine. You couldn’t feel much on account of your wrists being bound behind you, your legs weren’t much help either. You couldn’t even hear anything aside from the road beneath you. It seemed that aside from gagging you, they had all their bases covered.

Experienced in the realm of kidnapping wasn’t a skill you were sure you wanted your abductors to have.

Obsessively, you pick apart the details of what had freshly occurred. Trying to keep each small detail you did catch, few as they were, clear amidst the emptiness you were thrown into. Returning to the moment again and again, trying to figure out what they could possibly want you for.

You’d been walking home from work, not particularly screaming wealth. Besides— if they were mugging you, they’d just take your stuff and leave. But no. You were here and mostly unharmed outside of some rope rash.

The route you’d taken was the same since you’d begun working there. It’d normally suggest stalking but, with as many of them as there are, it’d be brought down in chances. Not that it would be impossible to share— just that stalkers tend to get off on the personal connection to their victims. That they’re your stalker and you’re their victim. Not the type to share the glory.

Moreover, they were skilled. You weren’t their first victim.

The two men that grabbed you were essentially non identifiable. Both masked, with no clothing of note aside from the masks. You couldn’t see their eyes, get a good idea of their builds, knew if or what weapons they carried outside the handgun held against your head, they didn’t even speak.

The whole car shakes as it hits an on ramp for a highway. If the turns are what you remember, you’re going north.

So. You were kidnapped by three men, one of which you hadn’t seen, with nothing to identify them with aside from two masks, a beaten pick up truck, and a hand gun that probably couldn’t even be traced. The only thing you did know was that you were both thoroughly fucked, and headed north.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

The truck finally rolls to a stop an hour and a half later— or so you guessed. It’s hard to keep track of time with no visible input.

“God, finally I can’t wait to get out.“ You laughed, more speaking to yourself, hunching over. You hadn’t spoken much during the drive. You might not have been able to gather much about your captors, but you knew they weren’t particularly great conversationalists. “If only you’d-“

“You’re not getting out” The guy sitting in the passenger seat responds, flat and curt. His voice is vaguely southern if you had to place it, but didn’t lend itself to any possible assumptions.

“You’re staying here and making sure they don’t leave” You can only assume the words are pointed to the person in the back with you. His voice is just as unimpressed as he is when he regards you.

“Wuh-What? Why?”

“Uh, because I said so, Toby. That’s why.” You couldn’t see, but you could hear the aggravating grin in his face from the floor. The type of shit eating grin you’re sure would drive you up the wall if he were talking to you. You can only hope neither of them see you trying desperately to stifle down your humor.

“Wouldn’t be the first time we gotta runner. Someone needs to watch, and you’re the rookie.” His explanation comes as he’s opening the car door, already half out. “Got it?”

The car door shuts before he hears an answer. The driver rolls down the two windows in the back and takes the keys with him as he leaves too. There’s some hassle, retrieving something from the truck as the mumble about something you can’t quite make out. They swing around your side of the truck, pausing before finally leaving. You opt to sit in silence as you heard the two retreat into what sounds like a tree line.

The wind shakes the trees, and all you can hear for miles is the wood creaking. No cars, no talking, not even birdsong. Just wind and the trees and the person still in the back of the truck with you. Occasionally, every 30 seconds to a minute, he’d shuffle. You hadn’t heard it before over the sound of the tires on the road, but you certainly did now. Shuffling and jolts and cut off whistles fairly regularly.

“Sssoooo,” You break the not-quite-silence between you and the guy you were left with “Toby” He sighs, like he’s already deeply annoyed by the fact you know anything

“What.”

“Shitty bosses, am I right?” You’re not sure if he gathers it, but you raise a brow beneath your blindfold, tilting your head. “I’ve had my fair share before, that’s for sure. But jeez yours seem like a piece of work” Understatement of the century. You’re literally tied up in the back of a truck.

“ T-Tim and Brian aren’t sh-shitty bosses- not really” Oh this is perfect. Someone lacks the filter his bosses have.

“Oh?” You sat up, hoping to gain his attention to the fact that you’re, y'know, bound at his feet.

“We-ell,” His words are broken up by another whistle “Not that- that you’re getting the b-best introductions”

“Fair” You settle on that for a moment, letting it sink in. That the situation wasn’t ideal, that they weren’t particularly great people… “Say, It’s uh- pretty uncomfortable” …and, that he could be better.

“I c-can’t- Im really not- not allowed to” He cuts off the idea, from your mouth and before he can even consider it.

“What they don’t know can’t hurt them. Just let me see. I’ll let you put it back on when you see them” You whisper, even though there’s no one else around to hear. As if it were something just the two of you would know.

There’s a long break of silence. You imagined that he considered it, lolling between you and the wooded area the other two retreated into.

“M’ suh-sorry, I am-“

“Cmon Toby, please?”

He sighs, laughing with it like he can’t believe himself. That he can’t believe he’s letting his better judgment lose over his damn name.

You heard him shuffle closer before his hands met the back of your head, where the fabric was knotted. His hands change between accurately measured pulls at the strip of heavy fabric and jolty tugs. It comes loose faster than either of you assumed, even the dying light of the sun was nearly blinding after so long in the dark.

Forced to squint, you missed his face when it was close, too busy blocking out the assaulting light. Only when you adjust, do you start taking it all in. The seats that cage you in are fabric and horribly stained— rusty brown splotches covering the heavy duty material in concerning amounts for how much it smelled of iron. You preferred to ignore it for the priority of looking at your now lone captor.

He couldn’t have been much older than you, if at all, and towed the line between disconcerting and off-putting. Aside from the hole in his cheek (and you were aware that putting that aside was a challenge) several other small details added up to just be slightly… odd.

He was pale, for one. His skin was so cool it almost looked grey-ish. It almost certainly wasn’t helped by the near translucentness of it, aiding for all of his veins being more prominent and what color he did have in his skin becoming splotchy.

To tie it all together was the deadness in his eyes. Wide and almost innocent, but burdened by heavy bags and lacking any shine.

And yet still, despite it all, he held onto some semblance of boyishness that you could almost assume he wouldn’t be an accomplice to your own abduction.

“Yuh-you, uh- You gonna keep st-staring at-t me like that, or?” He looks around, his eyes shifting wildly from the surroundings, to you, to the empty passenger seat, and back to you again. You laugh to yourself, that this was who was between you and freedom.

“Sorry, sorry- just not what I was expecting” He pauses, squinting at you as if flickering between being offended and giving up. “You’re not the ‘tie up and kidnap a stranger’ type, that’s all”

His shoulders shake, clearly somewhat humoured in the entirely bewildered way someone is when things aren’t adding up.

“You’re we-weird” He begins, eyes still caught in you “You don’t-t say a-a word, fo-for nearly an hour. And wuh-when you d-do finally see who’s res-pon-si-ble for th-this you don’t even freak out-t because I'm ‘n-not the kidnapper type’ like-“

He laughs, his head jerking to the side in a motion that almost looks painful.

“What the fuck-” He laughing properly now, full chested chuckles that he struggles to breathe through “Wh-what does tha-that even mean?”

“I dunno,” You shrug, letting your guard down now he doesn’t look ready to lunge at you. “You just look regular brand weirdo not kidnap people off the streets weirdo”

He wheezed, struggling to pause to respond, “And- and I’m not supp-osed to be offended?”

“You just called me weird. I thought we were on an insulting basis already” You counter, stifling a laugh of your own.

“O-oh you move fa-fast, take me out-t t’ dinner first”

You smile, mustering the driest tone you could find “I can’t. I’m tied up.”

Laughter breaks between the two of you, the sound echoing into the empty woods, filling the static silence. It takes a while to settle, but it fills your chest with warmth when it does.

When you look back at him, he’s staring at you, studying you the same way you did him.

“You gonna keep staring at me like that?” You raise a brow, challenging him against his own words. Banter.

What you don’t expect is for him to suddenly become incredibly invested in anything that isn’t you. You watched him switch rapidly from subject to subject as he can’t find anything else to draw your attention off him.

“Aw, cmon. I’m just teasing, Toby” You swear you hear him choke.

“Shu-shut your mouth” He orders, not looking at you while he says it.

“Take me out to dinner first.” You can’t sip yourself from grinning as he finally glares down at you. “Besides, if you want me quiet so bad you could always just gag m-“

“ohwouldyoulookatthattheyrebackigottablindfoldyouagain” He coughs, cutting you off and rushing to blind you again. Not that you can stop him.

You can hear the argument from outside. You’d just only set your duffel bag on the back porch when you’d overheard the impassioned conversation.

You weren’t trying to eavesdrop. You may not have been working for that… thing for very long, but you’d like to think you had a good enough head on your shoulders than to listen in on what you’re not supposed to. That said, the glass door was left open to try and air out the old house and it’s not like a screen door is partially well known for its sound proofing. You couldn’t even try to sort out your bloodied clothes and equipment over the melodramatic screeching from inside.

“I mean dear god- There is no way you’re actually watching that“ You don’t look up to try and see inside, but the quality of the voice lends itself to the ghost— just slightly off from the voices of those still living.

“Cmon. We get it. We spend too much time in here. But that doesn’t mean you gotta subject the whole house to this fuckass garbage” It’s followed by a few short dry coughs, the voice itself raspy. Maybe there was something about being lit on fire that translates to sounding like you smoke 2 packs a day, but who were you to question it.

Whoever it is they’re harassing doesn’t respond. Perhaps out of the futile hopes they’ll just leave or perhaps because they don’t give two shits what a link or a joker rip off has to say about their taste in media.

“I will pay you. I put money into your account.” Ben starts again, just as you finish getting the stained clothes from your bag. The hinge on the screen door lets out a horrible groan as you push it open with your hip, hands too full. You try to get a glance at the screen but can’t see much due to the two fingers currently leaned over the back of the couch.

Their complaints grow fuzzier as you make it to the house’s closest resemblance to a laundry room, dumping your old clothes in the wash and using the large basin to get the dried blood off your arms. The combined humidity from the laundry room and from outside feels suffocating, but the lack of sticky paths running down your arms is one less thing to-

“God I HATE living in this house-“

You didn’t even know Jeff’s voicebox could get that loud.

The sun coming in from the windows and reflecting off the TV is harsh— enough that you can’t make out a whole lot.You lean out of the laundry room, one hand gripping the frame, trying to figure out that the hell happened in the two minutes it too for you to press a few buttons and wash your hands. Apparently, a lot.

Jeff is wrestling Natalie over the remote. Both of them are putting their entire bodies into the struggle and neither seems to be making any ground.

Wait.

You tilt your head to reduce the glare off the beaten TV and see the peak of cinema. You can’t even stop yourself, walking over and standing next to Ben as he eggs Jeff on.

They’d taken this movie nearly entirely off the market— wiped. There weren't even any analog copies made or sold. Still you remember seeing it in theaters, trying to pirate it off shitty websites, clinging to it.

“Oh my god I love this movie” You were taken aback that it was here, on the screen. Not only that, but also there were people who could deny such a great piece of media. Blasphemous fools like the two staring at you blankly.

Jeff falls flat on his ass as Natalie, Clockwork as she introduced herself to you, swoops the remote from his hands. She had this lazy grin on her face, like she’d always knew she’d won. But paired with the narrowing of her good eye you could almost pick out that she was amused. Seeing you, not just looking at you, for perhaps the first time since you’d met. Her head tilts as she sits over the couch and leans on the back cushions.

“Oh?”

“There is no fucking way-“ Ben interjects. Apparently being dead means no social interaction norms.

“I wasn’t asking you.” She smiles, and it’s almost sweet. The kind you’d let beckon you from the safety of company if you were her victim. The same kind that allows her to be so efficient.

“How-“ Your eyes flick up the screen, paused. It’s a little under halfway through. “How did you get it? I mean I’ve found basically nothing.” Returning your attention to her, you see that attention again. That picking you apart.

“Oh c'mon now, I can’t tell you everything”

“What the genuine fuck am I watching- I didn’t hit my head did I?” Oh yeah they were still here. You were learning a lot about Jeff today, mainly how expressive he was despite looking like a slab of leather come to life.

“You’re the one sitting on the floor watching.” You look over the shoulder of the girl in front of you, Jeff finally making a move to stand. Ben joins him, not helping up. Opting instead to watch him struggle. “Get up before you judge, how about that?”

“Weirdos” He rasps, laughing with Ben as they finally leave.

“I can’t tell you everything,” Natalie draws your attention back to her. “Because how else am I supposed to get you t’ sit down and watch” She turns, settling back in her seat while letting her eye linger on you for as long as possible. That one moment felt like she knew everything. That you weren’t flush in the face from the heat, that the euphoria in your blood wasn’t off a fresh kill, and that you would sit down. You would sit down only because she asked, and it’s what she wanted you to do.

And, that you’d listen.

“I have to-“ Your voice dies, suddenly unsure of if you had anything of worth to add. “I have to bring my duffel in”

She doesn’t even turn around, unpausing the movie.

Jeffrey Woods

No matter how smart you started off, or how carefully you treaded, he caught onto you quick.

The thought of killing you did pass his mind, admittedly. Sure, at best you proved as free amusement, but at worst you could stand between him getting off scott free. You were risk. Chance thrown into a safe routine he’d slipped into, a challenge to mowing down body after body.

I’d be lying if I didn’t mention that was part of the appeal.

He ABSOLUTELY gets off on it.

That someone like you —otherwise normal, someone he’d usually label as a victim— was not just able, but willing to follow him down whatever fucked up path he was set on that evening. That someone so average was hiding such a perverse fascination with his craft.

The periods where he knows you’re there, just outside whatever house he’d broken into, he’s far more messy.

He puts on a show for his most adoring fan, as he sees it. Their faces left carved open, gore left splayed out and modelled, maybe even a message written on the walls if he felt so generous. The perfect scene left behind for your collection of polaroids.

It’s only after you go so far as to take a souvenir from him that he cuts the game of cat and mouse and confronts you. He’s not above showing off, but anyone who touches his shit usually leaves with one less finger. Or hand.

Of course, he made an exception for his favorite little fan.

Your first “date” as he calls it, is front row seats to his work. I said before he got off on the idea of someone so unassuming being so deranged when they thought no one noticed, but that was a half truth.

What he really got off on was the idea of you being led into becoming even worse. That you’d succumb to that fascination just like he did. That he could convince you, not just to trust in him, but towards corrupting yourself entirely. That you’d leave that normalcy behind for him.

You would, eventually. He’d lead you to your first kill, one he monologues over while you held the knife.

“It’s not just him you’re killing” He’d guide your hand lower, closer the man oblivious to you.

“That old self… that weak person you were, before me— of course” He would laugh, dry and unhinged in his euphoria.

“Before you committed yourself to becoming even better.”

And you would. You already dug the grave afterall, someone has to lay in it.

Ben Drowned

It was an entirely innocent mistake. Or, at least, that’s what it looked like to him upon first impressions.

You weren’t skittish or paranoid. Not hollowed by sleep and already scared of what lurked beyond your knowledge. All things considered, he’d almost say you’d looked deeply pleased upon seeing the Majora’s Mask title screen.

How were you supposed to know the cartridge was haunted? That the prompts you were getting back weren’t normal? That there was someone, on the other side of the screen, watching you?

You were supposed to be a run-of-the-mill psychological torture for Ben, you were.

You weren’t supposed to take analogue notes of every time he fucked up your PC. To coo in response to his very genuine threats on your life. Or search about ways to piss him off more so that you were sure he’d come back.

To him, all mortals were weird. He’d been dead for so long he’d forgotten what fear was beyond his own death. But horror movie logic (or any logic, for that matter) skipped over any part where you’d respond how you did.

Egging him on, to fuck up your tech even more. Tempting him to get sloppy, to forget what affairs he can and can’t interfere with. Talking to him, learning when he was there, worshipping his presence. Changing in front of your webcam, knowing it was on.

Things only got… weirder the further he looked back at your search history. Pages upon pages of research and questions and websites about him. Even with what little credible information there was, he could’ve sworn you scoured all of it. Now you’d finally caught his attention, and you were giddy.

For a while, a long while, he didn’t do much with your connection to him. He’d hit your line for company, taking amusement in how you’d immediately drop whatever you were doing for him. Revel in your obsession, in your dependence, for someone who was so unattached.

It gave him agency, control over something real. It got to his head. The amusement to your need for him became an equally strong possession to your attention.

He only stops being a voyeur because he gets tired of the screen between you. Images were all well and good, but you were infuriatingly no responsive. Pretending not to notice that little blinking red light, going about your days and nights pretending you didn’t have an observer. Teasing him, tempting him. Innocent mistakes one after another after another. Just goading him to do something to you.

And do something he did.

One by one your contacts stop working.

Your inboxes close and the contacts are deleted.

Your computer’s interface is replaced with one he coded just for you.

The webcams never turn off. Even if you do cover them, the other cameras cover enough of your house so he’s never without you.

And yes, the captures from his recordings do take up a folder in his own computer.

Nina Hopkins

Mutual stalking is SOO in for the summer, or for hers, at least.

The second she realizes she has a stalker (and a cute one at that) she is committed to out doing you.

Nina already lacks a clear understanding of what’s normal in a romantic relationship. Her entire new life came to be from the idol worship of someone who she hardly knew.

In fact, as far as she’s concerned, this is entirely normal! It is normal to leave gifts for your crush isn’t it? You must be a little shy. She’ll just have to help you.

You miss a mission of hers? No worries, a stack of photos are left on your night stand within the hour. Maybe some poor guy’s finger too, but she’ll let you keep the ring!

Trying to follow her? Of course she’ll start going down narrower roads to force you closer. No need to be shy!

You take her clothes? Awe, you should’ve told her you wanted to trade! She’ll just help herself to some of yours.

Oh what’s that? You want more photos? Things of hers? They’re left on top of your bed tied up in a bow.

You are the photo on her lock screen, in her phone case, and the poster on her wall. The trinkets she’s pocketed from her trips to your room occupy a small box she keeps in her nightstand. It’s all too valuable to throw away.

She pushes off missions and assignments in favor of taking a day to just… bask in you. She’s never far behind, just taking notes. Nothing harmful about that, right? She’s just trying to be a good girlfriend! There’s nothing odd in memorising your coffee order, or your usual paths around town, or the list of people you interact with.

She’s absolutely killed for you before. That touchy guy on the train? Oh don’t worry— It’s not like he’ll be sorely missed. Well, his hands will be sorely missed by him, but that’s his price to pay.

She’ll leave notes on the pictures you have of her, noting which ones she likes the most and adding ones of you. Her favorites include the ones where you’re behind her and can’t tell she’s taking a photo. Or when she finds you reading up about her.

It’ll eventually escalate to the point where you come home after work and she’s just taking a nap. Neither of you are surprised to see each other. She’s moved in within the week.

Brian Thomas

Well aren’t you just the cutest thing? Thinking you’re so smart following him, so sneaky breaking in and taking what you want.

He was stalking you long before you took note of him. “Chance” after “chance” encounter until you noticed him, until you latched onto him. He knew you well enough to know how to bait you into it, to get you comfortable making him uncomfortable.

For months leading up to the first time you even saw him he was obsessed in the details. How exactly you’d react, how guilty you’d look the first time you’d tail him, whether or not you’d leave half way though, that you’d still come back.

It’s damn near euphoric when you actually do. It’s payoff for so long of holding himself back, salvation for every sin it took to get there. He’s addicted, after the first time. Even though he had the whole thing planned, you’d still find some way to impress him.

Like how you managed to follow him the whole way home the first time you joined him. Or the first time you installed a camera without him noticing. And especially with how unbothered you were, like it were second nature to you.

He’ll play oblivious, for your sake. Leaving his truck unlocked, clothes easy to grab, gone for long periods of time. Enough for you to feel safe being bolder, but not too long to raise a question in that wonderful head of yours.

Oblivious, but not sloppy.

You’re too enraptured in your successes of following him and breaking into his car to notice the camera’s still recording. Or the tracker sewn into the clothes you stole.

He just can’t help himself. You’re too cute when you think you’ve one upped him. Thinking you’d got away with it.

The footage he collects of you is kept on a hard drive he keeps on him everywhere. He’s just as pleased as you were to break in while watching them back. He runs over every sigh and muttered word, finding a deep enjoyment putting pressure on his chest.

His sweet, sweet dolly finding the same enjoyment watching after him as he’s been doing for nearly a year. He’d known you’d have so much in common after meeting you that first time. You really were perfect for him.

Jeffery Woods

As much as he was infatuated with his Glasgow smile, his burns were left neglected for the most part.

At least, that was before you came around.

While I’m not too sure how “thing of bleach” and alcohol burns work, I am sure that man was probably a little crusty by the time you met. It took quite a bit of persistence on your end to get him to admit the issue— let alone fix it.

It took months into your relationship for any change.

It came in part from his own stubbornness. Jeff isn’t particularly known for his humility and grace. But the lack of progress came equally in part from a stronger distrust. It’s hard, admittedly , to parse people’s motives when you only interact with serial killers.

But for those who he can trust, who can enjoy his brash company for what it was, he was content to let them trespass a few boundaries.

For you, this looked like sitting on his lap applying burn ointment every few nights and keeping his cuts and blisters clean. Sure, he might sit there whining, complaining, and teasing about how you’re overly concerned— but don’t believe his bluffs. Afterall, he’s the one pulling you down by the hip.

“I mean god fuckin’ damnit! And THEN the little shit whines for his dad, so now I gotta deal with that nuisance-“

It was almost comical. The poster child for murdering urban legends being so worked up about his recent attempt on an 8 year old’s life.

He paced the room, his room, gesturing wildly as he recounted the failed mission.

And while you’re sure the world of extra work and attention about to be drawn towards him would certainly be annoying for you both, he seemed more bothered at the moment by the fact he was bested. By a child.

His hands never stilled, waving erratically, mock chocking the child, raking through his hair, scratching at the dry patches of his skin beneath his jaw.

“God!- You ain’t even listening to me, are ya?!” Finally he stills, leaning over you as you sat on his bed, head tilted. It would be intimidating if you knew he was all bark and no bite.

“Dunno, it’s sounds to me…” You linger on the word, drawing it out as your eyes dash to his almost leathery skin. “Someone’s just grouchy”

“Wh-“ He sputters, even more confused as you stand abruptly, digging through the nightstand drawer.

“I mean c’mon, you could’ve just asked” You snicker as you push him back, causing him to stumble and sit down.

“What’re you- hey quit it” He grumbles as you cage him, knees either side of his thighs, and gather up some of the balm. He kept grumbling on, making no move towards getting you off.

“I’m still mad at cha” he mutters, tilting his head back for you to get his neck.

“Uh huh.”

Toby Rodgers

Maybe it’s something to do with his enthusiasm or the gash in his cheek, but there’s only so much you can do by means of cleanliness.

I’m sure by now, the concept of Toby being an eager lover is essentially cannon. I hear you, and I raise you the repercussions of his own enthusiasm.

That is to say, there is spit everywhere.

Innocent peck? Longing kiss? Late night makeout? Head? It doesn’t matter, his saliva is getting absolutely everywhere.

For clarification, in no way is he ashamed. In fact, any attempt of pointing it out is often met with the most shit-eating grin. On several occasions he’s probably licked you through the gap to watch you squirm.

He learned after the first time, he enjoyed it too much to stop.

If the constant mess didn’t happen to be your thing, he would make an effort to try and improve what’s left behind. But truthfully, there was some desire he find for your skin covered in his last attempt of loving up on you.

Like a dog, he was most excitable when you’d leave and when you’d come back.

In fact, he was so consistent that coming home from a mission you were sure to be greeted by your ever-so-eager boyfriend waiting to practically tackle you.

And tackle he did.

You’d hardly gotten through the door when your back was slammed against it, forcing it shut again. It was almost as if he was preventing you from leaving again entirely.

He was too giddy for words, grabbing at your clothes and hair, anywhere for purchase, to get you closer and closer and closer. By the time he was content, the nape of his neck was all you could see.

His attention shifted rapidly, as it always seemed to, while he focused on breathing you in. The crest of your hairline, the plane of your forehead, the curve of your neck, the apples of your cheeks, the ridge of your nose, and on and on and on.

By the time you were able to get a grasp of where you were and what was happening, it’d felt like he’d been everywhere. It felt like he’d managed to cover every inch of your skin in less than a minute.

Your hands, much stiller than his own, grabbed a face as his head jerked, stilling him. You nudge forward to meet him, feeling the cold breeze of your motion on-

Holy shit you were covered in saliva.

No wonder it felt like he surrounded you, as it seemed like he certainly did. It looked like a failed attempt at cannibalism.

“God damnit, Toby”

By the time you finished sighing he still couldn’t tamper down his grin.

Natalie Ouellette

Several times she’s reached for you, to pull you closer, to try and regain your attention, and just… miss.

Natalie suffers from a near comical lack of depth perception.

Mentally, she’s cursed her past self for gauging out her eye. Because, in the middle of a tense romantic moment, she reached for you and either jabbed you in the face or reached for absolute thin air.

For a long while it irked her. She couldn’t even do something as simple as grabbing your hand without being worried she’d ruin it. A feeling of possibly ruining her chance that she swore she’d buried with her past self

After she got over the frustration, even though it took a short eternity, she found it to be almost enjoyable. She learned to bask in seeing you flush in the face —partially from the moment prior and partially from laughing— and finding good fun in her mistakes only endears her to you further.

Summers were always brutal. It seems no matter where either of you went, there was no way to beat the heat. The humidity seeped into every room, making your life feel the same swampy heat for the span of 3 months, no matter how busted the ac was or how high the fan could spin.

Tonight though, it seemed especially worse.

The buzz of the cicadas mixed with the engines running, mixing in your head and muddling your thoughts. Each notion that passed your head came slow and sticky, few and far between, lacking in the quick reason that you’d usually pride yourself for.

Somewhere between the heat and your current… predicament, you lost all sense in reality. Your grasp narrowed down to the girl you lay entangled with.

Both of your skins were sticky with sweat as the humidity clung onto you. And sure, it might’ve been the alcohol, or the high coming off a mission well done, or the fact the tension between you both was thick with yearning. But chalking it up to heat was just easier.

Easier than confronting what that much endearment in your best friend’s eye might mean like this— with tangled legs in the back of her truck because neither of you are ready to say goodbye.

An evil grin takes her face, evil because you know she knows exactly what you’re thinking, and she knows you’re noticing.

“Yknow,” She drawls, enjoying the moment as you squirm, sitting up to get a better view “You don’t need t’ be so nervous” Her head tilts, the clock in her eye catching the light of the moon.

You swallow, the heat feels like it’s in your veins now. Desperately, you try to shove down all the new and old feelings it awakens. The urges you swore you wouldn’t act on for the sake of a friendship “I have no clue what you mean”

She laughs, the non committed chuckle that only exists to humor your response.

“Sure y’ don’t, hun” Her hand comes up past your shoulder, almost like she’s trying to cup your face.

All at once she leans forward, and with nothing to catch her grip, falls into your chest.

Mission failed successfully?

Eyeless Jack

While he’d like to say that being a “monster” for so long has not negated his humanity, his relationship with you has certainly proved enlightening.

He doesn’t get it really, your questioning. In fact, you seem to never run out of them. He can’t recall a day since you’d met where he hasn’t been inquired upon.

Namely, to how having no eyes, many teeth, and a tail aren’t common human traits, and how exactly that works for him.

I have much to say, to the point this section would easily triple the others, but for the sake of equality I’m going to focus on the fact of his tail.

Especially how it’s robbed him of his composed facade and ability to lie.

Sure, you can take him at his word, that he’s not amused by your shenanigans, but his tail flicking behind him betrays his carefully designed persona. The image he fronts to keep himself away from the others.

His rows of sharpened teeth, a maw— really, empty sunken sockets that drip, and a frame not quite right is uncanny enough to send most that cross his path fleeing. And yet you won’t. Because the same anatomy that’s so scary won’t let him hide his amusement.

It’s not all bad, though. It’s kept you around after all, and who’s he to be ungrateful for the best thing he has?

He honestly had no clue why you kept finding yourself back in the clinic.

The first few times it was warranted. Intake, a stabbing taken in defence, a broken nose, the likes.

And sure, he could’ve questioned the visits over shallow cuts or the common cold— but who’s he to judge someone for being health conscious?

But now, with you sitting atop the examination bed, airing your stream of consciousness out to him, he really wonders why you’re here. By all standard metrics, you should find yourself anywhere else.

It’s not like he’s the most engaging conversation partner. In fact, he’s sure he’d hardly uttered more than 6 sentences to you since you’d met.

Alas, there you sit, talking about some recent internet drama between some celebrity couple. Personally he doesn’t see the engagement of others’ infidelity, but he digresses. Or something like that, he hasn’t been paying active attention.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” He sucks in a breath turning around to face you, not at all deterred by the gaping holes in his face. “But I believe we both have work we need to get done”

He feels the urge to smile, to placate the disappointed look that takes your face. But as he considers it, he’s reminded that showing off his method for killing things as unsuspecting as you isn’t polite manners.

“Yeah I guess you’re right.” You hop off the table, only to pause and look down at your ankle.

“Uh….” You swallow, looking back at him.

“Jack?” You laugh nervously, your brows furrowed slightly.

He becomes then, keenly aware of the fact his tail is wrapped around your ankle, preventing you from leaving. It was instinct, an unconscious attempt to keep your company. One so strong he needs a conscious effort to loosen his grip.

“Sorry, my apologies” He’s not sure if his blood works the same, or if he can blush. But if he can, he’s certain he is.

“No worries at all, I’ll see you soon” He can hear you grin, no need for vision. “Don’t miss me too much!”

He thinks he might die again.

Brian Thomas

It was maybe a year or so into your relationship when you started to realise it. The winces if he’d turn to sharply, the sputter in his breathing if you pressed against his ribs, the leaning on countertops to balance out his instability.

Again, I’m not well versed in the effects of being shoved off a balcony. But I do know that not only would it hurt, but that kind of hurt would last a long while afterwards.

This is one I don’t see becoming relevant until further into your relationship because his position has little room for inefficiency.

There’s an ever looming threat in their line of work. What becomes of dead weight. The things people do to stay alive truly are impressive, and that drive only became more potent now he had something to live for.

While the worst of the injuries were managed and tended to, the deep aching pain was one he forced himself to ignore. As all things did, they got worse.

By the time you notice there’s an issue, other people are about to. Only after facing that can you start getting him to medicate instead of just swallowing down the pain every day.

It’s the closest thing to domestic he’ll get. His lover staring him down after asking if he took his meds before leaving on a job, sweetening you with a kiss as he grabs the bottle and turns to leave.

It’s almost enough to feel normal again.

It’s not as if he tried sneaking in. He knew better by now than to try sneaking things past you. And besides, what kind of lover would he be, lying about what he was doing.

That was to say he was trying not to wake you up. Or so that was the excuse he told himself not calling or texting his return to you.

Relief came in the form of a dark house. That you were sleeping, unworried, and to be pleasantly surprised by his return. All the murder aside, he was pretty good at this domestic thing.

He hummed quietly, slinging his bags over his shoulders and making his way inside. Despite the dark of the house, he didn’t find it difficult to find a table to stash his equipment for the night.

All things considered, a successful mission in every aspect.

And then the kitchen lights turn on.

“Well there you are” You sound incredibly unimpressed. Unamused in a way that spells a night on the couch.

“Hey, Darl’n I didn’ mean t’ keep ya up” He abandoned the table in favor of hopefully pleasing you. The crappy motel left enough of a creak in his eternally pained back— the couch might just kill him.

“You didn’t.” You quirk an eyebrow, seeing past his faux sleepiness.

“I didn’t?” He smiles, confused more than anything.

“Tim called and let me know yall were headed back.”

Well shit.

“See, hun-“

“And more interesting than you not telling me yourself, is this” You lazily hold the bottle of pain medication, the motion causing it to rattle.

He stares at you, wondering whether he can talk himself out of the hole he’s dug or to keep on digging.

“So here’s what’s happening. You,” You pause for emphasis, jabbing the bottle into his chest lightly. “Are going to take two of these and go right to bed before I consider sending you to the couch”

He pauses, partially in disbelief and partially for more orders.

“Clear?” You tilt your head and smile, and he swears he’s never been more in love in his life.

“Crystal.”

Timothy Wright

Holy slowburn.

The entire lead up and forging to his spot working under the operator was in mistrust. In Alex not disclosing anything, in Jay never giving the full truths, and in his way of life falling to the mercy of some creature’s whim.

Additionally, with any person he comes across becoming a potential victim to the operator, there isn’t room for sentimentality.

Allies he’d made, friends snuffed out too soon, haunting him long after they’d mysteriously gone missing. Every connection being so intangible, smoke between his fingers, filling his lungs for only a moment.

It takes a while— years, maybe, for him to accept that you’re not going to be ripped away. That the person you show yourself to be is real and genuine and someone he can rely on. Someone who can actually stick around.

You, to him, are the physical manifestation that there is still right things. That he’s not beyond hope or yearning or a good life. That he’s more than just shooting and people that can’t be saved.

If there were one thing aside from the obvious for him to complain about, it’d be the motels.

It made no sense: how a motel in butt-fuck nowhere, with all these rooms, was at maximum occupancy in the middle of a thunderstorm. But between sharing a room with you or sleeping in the truck, he supposed he could suck it up.

Besides, it wasn’t like you were such bad company.

He leaned out the window, his elbows catching the water that overflowed from the gutter so he could smoke. There wasn’t much sunlight he could parse out from the clouds, but it was something to watch.

“Finally, dry clothes” You groaned, saved at last from being soaked to the bone. He doesn’t look for you, instead waiting for you to join him, as you always seemed to do.

“And hot water. For as bummy as these rooms are, I’d buy 10 of em’ for hot water.” You laugh, dry, looking up at him. He tears his eyes from the dying sun to look at you.

His lungs itch from holding the smoke, causing him to shudder, but he can’t help but want to pause the moment.

You’re so much like the sun it hurts. The thing his world revolves around, bright and damn-near blinding. Your hair is soaked from the shower, in clothes stolen and ill-fitting. But for the first time since his last stolen moment with you he feels properly alive.

“Yeah” He exhales with it. He’d give a thing for another moment like this. More of his clothes, all the money in his pockets, the suffering his life absorbs and inflicts, all for one more moment. “I’d give anything.”