#processing error

It doesn't take you long for the seething mess of emotions swirling in you to rear its ugly head, and you have to very carefully press your hands to the wall so you don't put your fist through it.

You -

You don't know what you want.

But this - this cannot be let slide. You sit on his couch and curse him in the black tongue, words oozing from your lips in hissing bubbles. Your hate smells cloying sweet, putrefaction, the decay of living things.

Today, you are going to remind Deadeye who he's actually dealing with. Even if he never sees it, even if he's face down in a sand dune somewhere rotting under the baking desert sun.

You find it in your black and twisted soul to hope, for the first time in maybe a long time, that this particular annoyance will walk back into your life

You unlock the door from the inside, returning to the couch as you pull your phone out. You're going to replace everything he owns with the most expensive things you can get your hands on. Deadeye's apartment is going to drip luxury by the time you're done, not a single thing will remain in this building that hasn't been replaced. You'll keep it simple, you decide, you won't rummage through the things he's put away, won't interrupt his carefully organized wardrobe. You're delighted to find that it will mean nothing is going to match. Let that stick in Deadeye's throat.

Luckily, there's an unused property nearby you can keep his things in, because while the idea of flaunting your wealth is particularly appealing you would not just strip it all away from him. He can always find the time to move it back how he pleases.

It takes a good day and a half, and by the time you're done the things you've replaced stand out like a sore thumb. Everything is precisely how Deadeye had positioned the previous items, allowing for size and shape discrepancy. Then you have everything moved a few inches to the left, just to really drive the point home.

You let yourself out after leaving a small note attatched to his entirely new refrigerator, the small simple spade in horrorterror ink the only easily seen proof it was you.

It's entirely possible Deadeye will never walk back out of the desert. The endless expanse of sand has a habit of swallowing even the fit and prepared, leaving nothing behind but fading hopes. If he never does - well. This can be a monument, then, and you'll keep it until it drags you to drown like an anchor around your throat.

If he does come back?

You're not going to speak to him for a week, at least. 

Because, basically?