#5chmidt

"Late night or early morning?" he asks, bending down to retie one of his shoes. "Or is sleep just not your thing?"

             very little unsettles the agent; blend would shrug it off, say that it’s parr of the course of her occupation, but years of being cooped up in a house too small with two adults practically chomping at the bit in hopes to find an excuse to rid of each other, in a town too small to recognise its own toxicity meant that blend had learnt all too quickly that everything's not all it seems. and that was before the obsession with the supernatural and the creatures that went bump in the night started, so it’s safe to say that whatever is causing that feeling ( a feeling she knows oh-too-well, and has long since made bed friends with ), that’s causing her hair to stand up on end is definitely not something to take lightly. 

             trusty torch is swung behind then, earthy orbs quickly searching the growing dark behind them before sparing a glance at their company, as grasp tightens slightly on the lights metal casing, ❛ - —you sure we’re not being followed? ❜

     ❝     ....       -        why   did   you   SCREAM   like   that    ?        ❞     

" hey , i get it . i've been unemployed before . "

𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬   𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩   𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫   𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐬   𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝   𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡   𝐟𝐨𝐫   𝐤𝐧𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬   𝐭𝐨   𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧   𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞,   until   their   fingers   and   tendons   ache   --   like   the   subtle   protest   ﹠   groans   of   some   forlorn   and   dilapidated   building,   abandoned   and   shuddering   on   the   horizon.   their   edges   are   harsh   against   the   give   of   the   couch,   leg   bouncing   incessantly   --   words   are   being   spoken   but   the   vacant   expression   as   they   stare   through   the   coffee   table   is   a   dead   giveaway   on   their   focus   (   𝘰𝘳   𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬   𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘰𝘧   )

it   takes   a   moment,   but   they're   finally   dragged   from   their   thoughts.   blinking   owlishly   for   a   moment   before   responding.   weary   brown   eyes   fluttering   a   moment   in   recognition.   --   (   𝘴𝘢𝘺   𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨,   𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘱𝘪𝘥 !   𝘴𝘢𝘺   𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 !   )

❝   huh?   -   no!   -   it's   [   . . .   ]   y - you   don't   need   t'worry   about   that   it's   -   it's   just   uh.   ❞

just   what?   𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭   𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭   𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬   𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧   𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞   𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐝   𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡   𝐅𝐚𝐳𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐫   𝐄𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭? [ . . . ]   𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑   𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐭 ?   their   words   fall   short,   lacking   authority   as   they   turn   away.   makeshift   bandage   wound   around   their   palm   tightly   twinging   at   the   edges,   a   dull   ache   settling   against   the   flesh   of   their   hand as they drive their thumb into the wrapped wound absentmindedly.

❝   I   had   [   . . .   ]   an   accident?   ❞ 𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐑. and they were always such a bad one at that !

❛   𝘢𝘯   𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵   ❜   --   a   claim   falsified   to   void   themselves   of   telling   the   bitter   truth.   something   metal   and   cruel   and   sharp,   lashing   out   at   them,   in   the   dimly   lit   room.

               ❝           hm    .....    if     you      win      me      a      PRIZE     from     the      claw      machine          ,           then     maybe     i’ll     say      yes.              ❞  

his arms cross over his chest, lips pursed and brow furrowed as he waits for the other to re-enter. "what makes you think that?" he asks, head cocking as he says it. "clients is too serious of a word. you're.. a guy i provide a service for sometimes." that's just the definition of a client. "if they need a place to stay. or they want to." he shrugs and throws his hands up in defense. "maybe i just don't like sleeping in this apartment alone, sue me. i get lonely." he hadn't lived alone for more than a few months since.. well, ever. this is the longest he'd ever been single, the longest he'd ever not had someone crashing on his couch. he misses hearing someone else breathing in the apartment. "and you get a place to stay tonight and i'm super cool to hang out with. so we both get something out of this."

hurting myself ? the idea is laughable & ᵃ ˢᶜᵒᶠᶠ passes my lips before it can be prevented . ❝ you don't know a 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏' 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 about it . ❞ it's unfair & i know it , submission to my anger given so easily that it shames my face in 𝙘𝙧𝙞𝙢𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙝𝙪𝙚𝙨 so deeply that i turn away from mike. ( he could know ... if i told him . if i just ᵒᵖᵉᶰᵉᵈ ᵐʸ ᵐᵒᵘᵗʰ & let it all spill . but i don't , i can't . )