#th.devin

“it’s fine. i’m fine.” he isn’t—hands shaking as they move frantically under the stream of water as he calls out. eyes watching it swirl pink, then darker as the blood washes off his skin. his shirt’s already been yanked off, but it doesn’t do anything for the red splattered across his face. he lost control. again.

devin can barely piece together what happened after he followed that pretty boy behind the bar. he didn’t fuck them. he’s not a cheater but that doesn’t make any of this better. the doorknob rattles, and he tenses. the lock’s shit, always has been. just takes the right push.

“so this week’s episode is a good one. i’m covering the i-70 killer.” papers are spread across his desk, barely any space left between them. behind him, the corkboard takes up the entire wall. covered in more of the same. newspaper clippings, photos of victims, timelines pinned together with string. “they aren't super well known, killed six people along the i-70 corridor back in the ’90s. went on, like, a 30-day spree.” devin talks a little too fast when he gets into it, tripping over his words as a smile pulls at the corners of his mouth.