#(aaaaagghhh)

Words: 5,463

5 different scenarios/scenes

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Clunk.

Your car door slams shut as you drop your heavy suitcase against the pavement below, pulling the handle up and clicking it into place. God, dragging that out of the backseat was an arm workout. You definitely packed way too many clothes.

With a tired sigh, you gaze up at the tall apartment building before you, taking in your newfound surroundings. The building looks old. It practically screams "made in 1990" from its half-moon windows to its minimalistic beige exterior.

At least the parking isn't half bad. You're pretty close to the building. But realistically, you're not about to complain about much right about now. This opportunity was a godsend.

Life has not been forgiving so far. Feels like every-which-way you turn, things somehow always go wrong. It's been rough, to say the least. You're lucky you even found an apartment in the first place. It's dirt cheap, too. You're shocked no one else has taken the offer yet.

You've got a roommate, but whatever. A small price to pay for a place to stay.

Your suitcase wheels make a gravely-rolling sound against the concrete as you make your way to the building's front doors. Opening them immediately greets you with a strong smell of a dollar store citrus air freshener. The air feels thick. You nearly sneeze, blinking rapidly.

Damn.

The room before you is small, with a big, unattended desk connected to the wall in the back. It reminds you of a hotel reception, with two hallways on either side of the desk leading deep into the rest of the building. There are absolutely zero signs or indicators anywhere.

The color palette consists of reds, yellows, and creams. Combined with the stingy yellow-tinted overhead lights... Yeesh. It's a bright overstimulation nightmare.

Well, this place is cheap. You can't complain about aesthetics too much.

The desk has a dingy metal bell towards the edge, as if inviting you to ring it. Should you...?

You stroll up to the desk, ringing the bell once. The sound is slightly ear-piercing.

Nothing happens.

You ring again.

"I'm coming, I’m coming," an older, feminine, slightly raspy voice yells from somewhere down the left hall. "Gimmie a minute."

You hear what sounds like hurried footsteps before a disheveled-looking older lady comes strutting out. The name Debbie is inscribed on her nametag near her collarbone.

Debbie looks you over once, stepping behind the desk with an out-of-breath cough.

"What can I do for you, dear?"

Dang, now you feel bad. You didn't mean to rush her.

"I'm here to check in," you smile, "The name should be under _____.”

"You paid rent and deposit?"

"Yeah." Weird that she'd ask you now of all times. Shouldn't they confirm these types of details before you check in...?

Debbie roots through a drawer behind the desk, pulling out four different keys. Three of them look worn-down, with a used dark tinge to them, while one of them looks near mint condition.

"Room number?"

You mentally cringe.

"67."

At least Debbie’s probably too old to get that meme. You’d probably have an aneurysm if girl suddenly whipped out the 67 hand gesture.

Debbie gingerly holds out the cleanest key for you to take.

"Down the right hall. Take the elevator."

A few elevator buttons later (and fumbling with your suitcase over bumps in the floor), and you find yourself before a closed wooden door with the number 67 engraved into the wood.

But you pause.

You've... never actually met your roommate before. You two were supposed to meet at a SandwichWay last week to get to know each other, but they never showed.

Rude. And weird.

But as long as they pay their half of the rent, you don't give a fuck.

You should at least knock, though, right? It feels oddly intrusive not to. Even if you technically... also live here now.

Extending your arm out, you carefully knock twice. Your knuckles make a hollow, cheap sound against the hardwood.

The hall stays dead silent.

Maybe they're not home?

You turn the key in the lock. After a slight struggle (and a momentary contemplation about whether or not Debbie gave you the right key), the lock finally gives way with a metallic clunk.

The door creaks as you push it open, peering inside.

The space is pitch-black.

You take a deep breath. Unknown spaces always give you the creeps. Especially when you, y'know, can't see for shit. The horrid hallway lighting doesn’t really help.

Leaving your suitcase in the hall, you step inside, feeling along the wall for any kind of light switch, palm flat against the subtly grainy surface.

You can't help but notice the distant smell of some kind of cleaning solution off in the distance. It's not strong enough to make you scrunch your nose, but it's enough to be noticeable. Apart from that, the room doesn't have much of a smell.

You anxiously bite the inside of your cheek.

...Use your phone flashlight.

Your hand slides into your pocket as you take a precautionary step back out the doorway. You turn on the flashlight located on your phone's notifications bar.

In this lighting, the atmosphere can only be described as straight out of one of those ghost-hunting TV shows.

You'd expected the space to be somewhat sloppy, given your roommate's track record, but actually... it looks pretty good. Small, but you aren't surprised. The room mainly consists of neutrals, grey and brown being the main colors. Thank goodness it's less brain-taxing than the main reception room. There's a living room to your right, directly across from a kitchenette to your left. A TV is mounted on the living room wall, with a two-person couch facing it. The space admittedly looks more like a one-person apartment than anything else, but whatever.

Okay. Now to find a light…

There's a lamp next to the couch, lying atop a mini couch-side table. You take a couple of shuffle-steps inside the room towards the lamp.

The front door behind you creaks.

Click.

The light from the hallway cuts out.

You whip around.

The door is closed. That door is cheap, but there's no way it closed from something naturally occurring.

You aim your phone's flashlight at the door.

Nothing's there. Is somebody messing with you?

You reach out, turning the knob and cracking the door open once more.

You clear your throat.

"Hello?"

No response.

…

This place had better not be haunted. Otherwise, you are leaving and never looking back. Poltergeist your ASS.

Just in case, you decide to wheel your suitcase inside, lifting it over the bump where the door locks into place, leaving it near the entrance. You then shuffle over to the lamp shade, searching for the small notch that turns it on. Ah, there it is.

The notch makes a small tick. Yet... no light comes on.

Just your luck.

As you trepidatiously make your way deeper into the apartment, passing by the living room and now entering the kitchen, the cleaning smell only grows stronger. It resembles bleach, with its strength and battery-acid sting. It’s difficult to locate a source.

In the back of the apartment, there is a small, mysterious hallway leading left and right. Sticking your head into the dark hallway, you half-expect to be jumpscared—because come on, it feels like a jumpscare just waiting to happen. Peeking your head into a dark hallway? No thanks.

You brace yourself, aaaand... nothing.

Okay. Maybe you're a little too paranoid. There's clearly nothing to worry about.

The hallway is quite short on either side. A door lies at the end of each path, with one door in the middle, right in front of you. Opening the middle door leads to a bathroom, small yet clean. Like, really clean. You wouldn't take a black light to it, considering it's still in an apartment, but hey. Still better than what it could've been.

The smell is very strong back here. Almost as if someone cleaned something in the bathroom, then moved the item elsewhere. The smell lingers, but it clearly isn't directly here.

You then try the door on the right. The doorknob is wobbly and loose, so it opens quite easily.

The smell is much lighter over here.

The room is small, yet again. A bed lies towards the back (its sheets more wrinkled than you'd hoped), along with a dresser, closet, and a window, its blinds drawn shut. This is the first window you've seen in here so far. Pulling the blinds back reveals the world outside, with an overview of the side of the building. You can't quite see your car from here, but various other vehicles are parked below, with a few trees in view. Not much, but it's better than nothing! You'll be able to get some sunlight in here, at least.

It feels safe to assume this is your room, judging by the lack of personal items.

On your way out, you notice a light switch near the door.

Finally.

Flipping the switch, the sudden light causes you to squint for a moment while your eyes readjust. Yeah, that's much better. Now you've just got to find the lights for the rest of the apartment…

Leaving the door open, you investigate the other side of the hallway. The cleaning smell is back in full force. Except…

It's the strongest outside the left hallway door. The door is closed, but even then, you can tell that it's clearly from something inside the room.

Your hand hovers over the doorknob, fingers grazing the cold material.

The light drowns out as the door behind you promptly closes shut.

You snap around, nearly dropping your phone as it juggles between your anxious fingers.

No one's there. Just a lonely closed door, the light from inside seeping underneath the cracks.

You swallow.

"Hello?"

Nothing.

"Hello?" This time, with a bit more urgency.

Still nothing.

You swallow again, taking a step back.

Something low whispers in your ear.

"intruding, now are we?"

A shriek gets lodged in your throat as you twist around, nearly stumbling over. You catch yourself on the bathroom door, shining your light forward.

This time, the light hits something other than a door.

A skeleton's ghostly face stares back at you, with a crooked smile and black globs dripping out of its open, dead sockets.

Your whole body freezes. You stare with wide eyes, sucking in a breath.

The skeleton, clearly amused by your complete and utter shock, immediately bursts out laughing.

You blink.

This is a monster. You've never met one before, but you're sure of it.

Although, you’re fairly confident that monsters don't typically live in this city.

"hey there, roomie," the skeleton chuckles, "enjoyin' the house tour?"

The skeleton's sporting a zipped-up blue jacket and white joggers with a black stripe down the sides. On their feet are white and black shoes, staying on theme with the monochromatic color scheme.

The voice sounds male? You'll go with that for now.

The skeleton unzips his jacket, revealing a red… target. It floats out in front of his chest, clear as day in the dark, giving off a gentle glow.

Maybe it's a monster thing. You wouldn't know.

The skeleton tilts his head, considering you for a moment as his hands slide into his jacket pockets.

"damn, i finally got a cute one? that never happens."

Huh? Is he seriously hitting on you?

Your lips part the slightest bit, fighting back the urge to let your mouth hang open in surprise.

His eye sockets squint, arm coming up to block out your phone's flashlight.

"mind shinin' that somewhere else? awfully rude."

You aim the light down at his joggers.

"Where's the light switch?" Your voice comes out more crackly than you'd wanted, but it can't really be helped. Your throat is too dry.

The skeleton does the equivalent of rolling his eyes (despite his empty eye sockets) while grinning.

"what happened to hello, how are you?"

"I could say the same thing to you."

"fistey, i like that." He steps out into the main room, keeping his empty gaze on you. "i might keep you afterall."

Okay? Why's he acting like he has a say in whether or not you stay here? You kind of have to. There's nowhere else to go.

You clear your throat.

"So uh. About that light switch."

"kitchen." Said plain and simple.

"The light switch is in the kitchen." You say it more to yourself, tone flat. Who the fuck puts the main light switch in the middle of the apartment? Shouldn’t it be by the entrance?

You follow the skeleton out of the hallway in search of the light switch, glancing around at the kitchenette’s small counter space and cooking appliances. The skeleton watches as you wander about, a look of dangerous curiosity crossing his skeletal features.

"do i get to put a name to that pretty face?" he asks with a smug grin.

You laugh, glancing sideways. He is way bolder than you're used to.

"____. And yours?"

The new expression on his face leads you to believe that he always looks forward to this question, for some reason.

"name's killer."

...Huh.

"Okay, cool. Hi, Killer," you nod, testing out the name. Just... don't ask about it. Play it safe. It's probably a monster thing. “Nice to meet you.”

Oddly enough, Killer seems somewhat disappointed by your lackluster response.

Your flashlight shines over a white switch on the wall, next to the fridge. Lo and behold. What a shitty design.

Killer's hand suddenly encases yours as you reach out. The chilly sensation sends a jolt down your spine.

Since when was he right behind you?

"hold on."

Killer's got black fingerless gloves; his fingers are smooth with little ridges where the bones connect. The rest of his hand feels surprisingly solid beneath the fabric.

His hand is also much bigger than you'd expected.

"don't use that one," he says. "i don't like it."

You purse your lips, slowly pulling your hand away from his grip.

"Okay... What do I use, then?" It's not like you can live in the dark. Maybe monsters have some kind of... increased night-vision, but you certainly don't.

Killer simply points to the living room lamp.

Your eyebrows furrow.

"It didn't work when I tried it before."

Killer smirks, as if holding back a chuckle.

"that's 'cause i unplugged it."

Your expression scrunches up.

"Why?"

"thought it'd be funny."

"You did it on purpose," you deadpan.

Killer shoots finger guns your way.

"soon as you came in."

You let out a sigh of defeat, shaking your head. Killer just snickers. At least he seems... morbidly friendly. Kind of. Minus the heartbeat-skipping jumpscare of a greeting.

After a quick inspection of the lamp, you realize that yes, it is, in fact, unplugged. Plugging it back into the small outlet next to the TV turns it on immediately; it must still be left on from when you hit the switch.

The apartment is finally properly lit. Thank god. That only took 5 years off your lifespan.

Killer continues to follow closely behind as you drag your suitcase into your new room, laying it on the floor and unzipping the large pocket in the front. You place a few articles of clothing atop the wrinkled bedsheets, ignoring the silent intruder behind you. The way he hovers and watches you is starting to get a little weird. You’d think that staying mostly silent would give him a hint that, hey, maybe you aren’t in the mood to talk right about now. But no.

Can't he let you get settled into the apartment in peace?

Besides, what are you even supposed to say? "Why'd you stand me up at SandwichWay?" That'd be awkward.

Hm.

Maybe...

"What do you do for a living?" you ask, unzipping a smaller pocket. You don't bother to turn your head and gague his reaction, though, he does stay uncomfortably quiet for longer than you'd like.

When he does respond, however, his tone is... oddly flat.

"none of your business." It doesn't sound hostile, but it doesn't strike you as inviting, either.

You decide it may be best to keep quiet.

After a long stretch of silence, and a couple more clothes being laid atop the bed, Killer finally speaks up on his own terms.

"want some friendly advice?"

You glance over your shoulder.

"Do I?"

Killer simply stands there, arms tucked in his pockets, with an unreadable expression on his face.

"yeah. change the sheets."

"Why?" You reach over, beginning to lift your clothes off the bed cautiously. "Are they dirty?"

Killer pauses for a brief moment before responding.

"haven't had a roomie in a hot minute."

You laugh once, awkwardly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"i've fucked in it more than once."

Whatever response you had prepared gets lodged in your throat. You're not sure what you were expecting, but it sure as hell wasn't that.

...At least he's honest? Better than unknowingly sleeping in... used bedsheets.

But uh. He's a skeleton. So how...?

Y'know what, you don't even want to know. Some things are best left unbeknownst.

You'd fully expected Killer to be quite the handful, but to your surprise... he isn't even here most days. Genuinely. Some weeks, he never even shows face once.

And yet, no matter how long he's gone, his half of the rent always ends up on the table last minute when it’s due.

But when Killer eventually returns from whatever venture he was out on, he's always got that same shit-eating grin on his face.

You used to be somewhat alarmed by everything; week-long disappearances aren't exactly normal. But Killer clearly can't be suffering too much if he's all chirpy n' smiley all the time, right?

Anyway, it's not your place to pry. The dude clearly has secrets he doesn't want to tell you about. And hey, as long as his half of the rent keeps showing up on the table at the end of the month, you don't give a damn about what he's up to.

As long as it isn't illegal or hurting anyone, which you highly doubt, who cares.

God, you're so tired…

You can barely keep your eyes open as you stumble through the apartment door, mind racing from the static of the workday. Everything that could've gone wrong, went wrong. It was torturous. You were so overloaded that you…

Fuck, just get to bed.

You practically crash-land into your soft blankets, not even bothering to strip off your attire, face-planting into the warm enveloping fluff. The wonderful aroma of clean laundry fills your lungs as you take a deep breath in, allowing the warmth to take over.

A tired hum leaves your chest, muffled by the bundle of comfort beneath. You've acquired quite a few blankets for your ever-growing nest-of-a-bed; all fluffy, soft, and oversized. Just the way you like it.

Mm, you should probably take these gross clothes off. They don't belong in your sanctuary.

Your hands lazily work to wrestle off your clothes, tossing them somewhere off the bed in exchange for the nightshirt you keep next to your pillow. It's much softer. No pinching fabrics, no tight sleeves, no restriction. Its fabric reaches halfway down your thighs; the perfect length. It allows for shorts underneath, but doesn't require it. And tonight, you really don't feel like digging through your drawer for a pair.

With one final huff, you roll over onto your side, burying yourself in the fluffy fortress, eyes drifting closed with little to no resistance. You're so tired that your mind is already beginning to drift, allowing itself to settle into its sleepy haze, giving into sleep's gentle tugs and beckons.

But a rough, slamming sound off in the distance jostles you out of your haze.

Your eyes crack open.

What was that?

It sounds like something collapsed against a wall somewhere. Like a loud thud.

You wait, listening for anything.

But the apartment stays silent.

Good, 'cause you really aren't in the mood to get up and investigate. Your body heat is starting to warm your bedsheets, and you are not willing to give that up.

Your eyes drift closed once more, pushing down the small tinge of curiosity pulling at the back of your mind. Luckily, sleep's pull is stronger, because you quickly begin to relax, muscles loosening into the mattress, the workday’s tension fizzling out with each breath passing through your lungs.

Squeak squeak squeak.

A quiet squeaking-shifting sound starts up, coming from somewhere off in the distance. You wait for it to cease, but it never does.

It just keeps going.

Your eyes reluctantly crack open once more, a frustrated hum following closely behind. You just want to get some sleep, man. Come on. What is it now?

With a groan, you throw a blanket over your head, smushing your face into the fluff in a sorry attempt to muffle the noise. You're already worked up from today. Constant annoying sound is not what you need right now.

God, what even is that? It's almost like someone's moving furniture around! At this hour! What kind of idiot decides to redecorate—

Your eyes snap wide open.

…

You wiggle back and forth, shaking your bed.

Squeak squeak squeak.

No shot.

You blink.

...That sound is coming from Killer’s room.

Your eyes stare widely into the ceiling as you lie quiet, motionless, the distant squeaking filling the silence. And it's fast. Like, really fast.

And it just got faster.

Oh god.

This is awkward.

Now it's louder.

Your imagination is quickly filling in the blanks for you, to your complete and utter dismay.

Then you hear—WAS THAT A MOAN?

Your face makes what you can only imagine as horrified embarrassment as you pound your fist against the wall, hard enough for them to hear.

The squeaking stops.

You continue to stare into the darkness of your ceiling. You can only imagine how red your face must be right now.

The apartment stays quiet.

Oh goddd.

A part of you feels kind of bad. You probably just made things real awkward.

...But another part of you secretly hopes that cock-blocked him. Serves him right. Maybe have some respect for your roommate next time.

The sound of a door being slammed stirs you from your doomscrolling as you sit up straighter on the couch, eyes darting to the front door.

It’s Killer.

He stands there, eyes wide, black ichor violently dripping down his cheekbones, chest heaving. He seems to be spaced out, staring straight ahead into the door. The target hovering before him twists maddeningly, agitated.

Killer never comes through the front door. He usually just shortcuts inside, jumpscaring you to hell and back with a stupid grin paired with a snicker. Maybe he slammed the door for dramatic effect...?

But why? Did something happen?

You can’t help but notice the strong floral scent now filling the air.

Killer continues to stare into the door, his chest heaving slightly less heavily than before.

Your fingers fiddle with your phone case nervously.

"Hey."

Killer's head snaps in your direction. Like he didn't even realize you were there.

He just stares.

"You doing okay over there?" you ask, shifting in your seat.

Killer blips out of existence in a red blur.

Alright…

You resume searching your phone for entertainment, but quickly realize the doomscrolling isn't hitting the same as before.

Something urges you to check Killer's room. Just to make sure everything's okay. Sure, he's annoying as shit, but this is weird. Really weird.

You keep your footsteps quiet as you tiptoe over to his room.

The door is closed, unsurprisingly.

You knock softly.

"Killer?"

The lock on the doorknob turns violently, denying you entrance.

You try again.

"Are you okay?"

No sound returns.

...Dammit, you're too nice for this shit.

You head off to the kitchenette, heating two cups of milk in the microwave. You aren't in the mood to use the stove top tonight. Rooting through the cupboards, you dig out a Hello Kitty and Cinnamoroll mug. They're a pair; you bought them on a whim a while back. They're cute! What can you say.

Besides, Killer could use a little whimsy in his life. You'll give him the Hello Kitty.

Dumping hot chocolate mix into the mugs and filling them with warm milk, you open the drawer for a spoon to stir the mixture.

Dang, you didn't get around to doing the dishes. There are only forks. Whatever, it'll do.

You avoid scraping the bottom of the mugs, dreading that horrid scraping sound that comes from metal on ceramic. Eugh.

One mug in each hand, you walk back over to Killer's room door.

...Your hands are full. How are you supposed to knock?

You didn't think this through.

You tap on the bottom of the door with your foot. You've only got socks on, but you still manage to make some sound.

"Hey," you say to the closed door, "I know we don't always see eye to eye... socket, but it seems like you could use a cozy drink." You set the Hello Kitty mug on the floor, leaving enough space for the door to open. "Hot chocolate. You don't have to drink it, but I thought I'd offer anyway. It'll be outside your door."

At that, you turn away, heading off to your own room, warm Cinnamoroll mug in hand. You'll give Killer his space. He clearly needs it.

Shortly after you settle into your blankets, you hear the distinct sound of a door cracking open.

Then the door creaks shut after a brief moment.

You lean forward, glancing out your room door. The Hello Kitty mug is gone.

But what you fail to see is the genuine surprise on Killer's face as he holds the warm mug between his hands just behind closed doors.

Out of all the gripes you've had with your apartment building, the worst has got to be the laundry situation.

The only machines in the building are in the basement. Hell, you didn't even know there was a basement. And guess where your room is?

Top floor.

Yup.

And with how much the elevator decides to conveniently stop working, it makes for quite the endeavor.

You sigh, mentally preparing yourself for yet another laundry day.

You and Killer have a netted bag that you two collectively put your laundry in (thanks to you). Killer never brings the laundry down, so it's just you, unfortunately. No matter how much pestering you do, he's always got the same old, "i'm barely here. 'sides, you're better at it." That last bit is always said with that damn smirk on his face.

God, some days, Killer... Some days.

Although... as you inspect the laundry bag you two keep in the bathroom, you can't help but notice the severe lack of blue jackets and black turtlenecks.

Did Killer seriously forget to put his clothes in here? It's already bad enough that he doesn't do any laundry around here.

...You could just leave his clothes unwashed. It's his problem, afterall. Not yours.

…

Ugh. Damn conscience.

Alright.

But if his door is locked, you're giving up, 'cause Killer isn’t even here to open it. And you're not about to break a door for a couple of unwashed jackets.

As you stand before the closed door, you begin to realize that you've never actually been inside Killer's room before. Even just standing outside, you can't help but notice a familiar floral smell; it smells exactly like your clothes.

...At least, the way they've been smelling as of late. The scent you've come to associate with Killer has begun creeping into your clothes, lingering until you wash them.

Then the scent returns shortly after.

It's a weird little detail you've caught onto, but you aren't complaining. You're too embarrassed to say it to him upfront, but ever since you two have started hanging out more often, you've noticed he actually smells pretty good.

You reach out, hand coming to rest atop the door handle.

What if Killer comes back and sees you in his room?

...Yeah, but what are the chances. The dude's barely even here half the time.

The knob makes a funny crackle when you turn it, as if it hasn't been opened for some time. And it probably hasn't, due to Killer's funky lil "shortcut" bullshit.

The door creaks as you advance into the darkened room, one foot inside. Stepping inside immediately fills your senses with roses, notes of sweet cinnamon hinted throughout. It could be classified as a warm, cozy, intimate scent. Romantic, even.

Matches his awfully flirty attitude, you'll give him that.

You can't help but smile as you stand in the doorway. The scent really does suit him. Makes you wonder if that's why he uses this specific cologne. Killer seems like the type of dude to find a signature scent in high school and stay consistent with it.

Though, you've never actually seen any kind of cologne in the bathroom cabinets. Weird.

But why is the scent so apparent? It's as if someone shattered an entire bottle in here, then tried to blow it out with a fan; it helps, but the scent still lingers, no matter how much air you throw at it.

Whatever. You'll have to ask him about it later. Maybe tease him a little. He's always making fun of your clumsy hands; it's only fair you return the favor.

...Actually, maybe not. You're not even supposed to be in here right now.

Hurry up. Before he comes back.

You quietly close the door behind you, as a cautionary step, just in case. Wouldn't want Killer coming back and seeing his door wide open. Your eyes survey the room while they fully adjust to the darkness, legs trepidatious as if they'll trip an invisible trap at the slightest wrong move.

It's a bit ridiculous that you practically have to go on a spy mission, sneaking around just to gather his dirty clothes. Sometimes… you wish he didn't feel the need to hide everything.

The room is roughly the same height and width as your own, fitted with the same bed, window, and dresser combo. Only difference is that Killer's bed is angled slightly to the right, the headboard not quite flat to the wall. The unevenness would drive you insane if it were your own bed. But uh… you have a feeling you know why it's slightly shifted over, due to his rather rowdy nightly activities.

...Now that the thought’s on your mind, you haven't actually heard anything suggestive for a few weeks now. Maybe even a month.

Haha, bro's got zero bitches.

During your short survey of the room, you spot a small pile of clothes in front of the dresser, his jacket’s iconic blue appearing more fuzzy and dark grey in the dim lighting.

Ah, found 'em.

You tiptoe your way over before kneeling down, scooping the small pile into your arms. There's only one jacket and a turtleneck. They're oddly balled up, as if intentional, the sleeves stuffed out of sight. You shake out the garments, straightening the fabric with help from gravity. Dang, they really smell like Killer, minus the hint of rust.

Your eyebrows furrow.

Rust?

You squint, looking over the clothes once more, this time more closely.

Upon further inspection, you notice multiple dark-colored splotches running up the jacket's sleeves, as well as the entire frontside. You wouldn't know if the turtleneck possesses the same; its color is too dark.

Holding the jacket sleeve to your nose, you take in the smell.

Holy fuck.

You nearly choke on your own breath, holding the clothes an arm's length away, taking in fresher air.

That's... That's not…

...That is metallic. Stinging. Seeped into the fabric.

A strong puff of floral hits your nose out of nowhere.

You swallow.

Your thumb grazes over one of the stains.

It's warmly drenched.

"get out."

Your head wheels around with a noticeable flinch, knees digging into the ground where you kneel.

A red mess of a soul stares back down at you, along with a pair of empty eye sockets.

Your heart pounds violently against your ribcage.

"K-Killer!" You straighten up, posture stiff as your feet wobble. "You're... you're back—"

"i said get out." Killer's plastic grin is lethally sharp. A mere automated response. His body is still as a board. You could’ve believed him to be a statue.

A nervous chuckle escapes your lips as you take a shuffle backwards. Your hips gracelessly thud against the dresser.

"I was just... just doing the laundry, and—"

Killer cuts you off with a swift wrist-grab, yanking you forward. Your chin hovers before the erratic red mess, inches from it.

Killer's grip teeters on crushing. A fresh glop of black drips down his already-stained cheekbones.

Heavy rose and cinnamon fill your lungs.

"out."

●○●○●

Now, realistically, I'd do a good amount of world-building for a fic like this, like giving the reader a job, maybe a friend or two, work and personal life drama, etc. I like adding as many realistic elements to my fics as I can cram in (ignore the fact that I write about romancing magic skeletons).

Buuut for the purposes of this post, I kept things basic.

But like. I could literally write a 50k fanfic on this. Maybe even 100k. Oh my gosh. The concept is so good. There are legit ENDLESS POSSIBILITIES.