#yandereoc

“You slouch because your core muscles are in poor shape . Because all you do is sit on your computer. Let's go outside, maybe your serotonin levels will balance out. I can't keep supplying it.” They huff, as if reading off of an itinerary. You groan and stand from your computer, annoyed but relenting. After all, they were right, you haven't seen the sun in days.

You get dressed and go to brush your teeth before it stops you.

“What? But you haven't eaten.”

“Not hungry.” 

“... No. Go eat ”

“No.”

“No? Sweetling, I can see everything in your body. And you're hungry.” 

You groan, burying your head in your hands. This was so fucking annoying. You just wanted to walk and now you had to feed yourself which is a task upon itself.

“... Nothing sounds good?” They sigh, empathetic but frustrated. You nod. Nothing sounded good. Your safe food ran out and you've been too busy with the whole parasite thing to go shopping.

“Okay… okay, we can work with that. The store isn't far. We can walk.” It muses, thoughtful. You feel the little feet are tapping rhythmically, like the way a human would drum their fingers.

You manage to gnaw on a snack before heading outside. The day is bright, and the sky is clear. A breeze combs over you and you sigh. It did feel nice out. You hear them sigh, too. Soon, you arrive at your usual grocery store and enter. Thankfully it was a slow day, with very few people.

You immediately approach where your safe food is kept. 

“Let me read that…” They mumble, and you can almost sense them squinting and leaning forward for a better view. You sigh and look at the label. You don't know how but you learned it can sort of see through your eyes.

“Ah, good. It has a little too much sodium but we can work around that.” It hums. You pause. You sort of expected more pushback.

"... You seem confused.” It notes.

“I… just didn't think you'd agree.” You hum.

“Of course I would. You need to eat and you like this.” It hums, nonchalant. “It's not perfect but you need to eat.”

You consider their words before moving on, combing the aisles. Soon you're in the freezer section.

“We need protein. Maybe check the chicken tenders?” It offers. Ah, frozen chicken tenders. Who hates them? Not you.

You approach before noticing a special on chicken nuggets (25% off!). Meh, chicken is chicken and your wallet can't say no. But you hear an elated gasp.

“Oh? Wait, look to the left?” It chirps. You comply, looking to the next item to the left. 

“Dinosaur shaped-”

“Chicken nuggets come in fun shapes? We have to get it! Come on, it's so cute and it's the same price!” The parasite pleads, seemingly immensely charmed.  

The parasite cheers as you put it in the basket and move on. You suppose even they can desire whimsy.

“Hmm… maybe some fruit? You're low on vitamin A and fiber.” It mumbles, thoughtful. You approach the produce aisle, throwing a few agreeable fruits and vegetables in your cart. 

"How do you feel about fish or eggs? Your B12 is low.” It asks, sounding focused, like it was checking something.

You wander into the soda aisle, before stopping to check on the energy drinks. You hear a sharp scoff.

It starts scolding you, “Absolutely not! You already drink too much caffeine! If you went to bed when I told you to-”

“Ugh, relax! It's fine!” You groan, tossing a drink in before heading down the aisle.

“No it isn't! You don't need more sugar and caffiene!” It protests, annoyed. You roll your eyes. 

“I'm not taking advice from the spine-lobster.” You huff. It gasps dramatically.

“Spine lobst- you take that back!” They scoff, offended, but somehow you could sense it was only teasing. You wander to the next few aisles, gathering the rest of your groceries. Yeah, that's enough, you're ready to check out. You pause, turning your head to the checkout lane. Shit, the worst part of your visits… the constant beeping, the need to focus on what's going on, everything was…

“Hey… are you okay? Your cortisol shot up. Is something scaring you? Your prefrontal cortex and amygdala are firing off higher than usual.” It worries, its tone tender. You feel a pleasant melting/tingling sensation blooming from the crown of your head and crawls down your back, it's attempt at offering comfort. You feel more grounded than before, like the weight of that anxiety had been lifted a bit. You feel your shoulders relax, you were unaware how tensed up they were.

“I just… hate the checkout lane. It's noisy.” You mumble, scratching the back of your neck, sheepish. You didn't expect them to understand and you didn't want to explain. It pauses before doing that little teeth sucking sound it makes when analyzing something. 

“I'd like to get home sooner.” You sigh, deciding to bite the bullet.

“No, this type of response to these stimuli isn't normal…” It mumbles, focused and thoughtful. “Your brain is processing it like it'll be painful.”

“But it's not. It's just a checkout line.” You murmur, mostly to yourself. You approach, eyes straining from the overlap of sounds and sights. Immediately you feel the parasite tense against your neck.

“OH! Oh no!” It gasps in alarm before… everything goes quiet. Not silent but incredibly muffled. You pause, finally standing in line behind a couple with their incredibly furious crying baby and the current customer. You can barely hear the baby wailing.

“What is-?”

“I muffled the incoming sensory input. Don't worry, the hearing loss is merely temporary,… but… sweetling, that was stressful.” It hums, a little nervous. “Is… this normal for you?”

You pause. You forgot this wasn't normal for the average person.

You go to speak and realize since you're so close to everyone else in the line, onlookers could hear you. So, you nod. They sigh, and you feel that tingling sensation flutter over your back. It's oddly comforting, like how it feels to have someone comfortingly rub circles into your back without anyone actually doing it.

“It's okay… I'll help.” They coo, slow and soft.

You start putting your items on the conveyer belt, the sounds of the items being dropped are very muffled. You hate to admit it, but this is far easier than before. 

The cashier rings you up, and says something but you can't understand, their words muffled and almost soft, like warm butter. You understood that there were words, but they blended together in your mind, incomprehensible.

“He asked if you found everything you needed at the store. And we have.” It hums, soft, slow. 

“I-I'm good.” You say, and then flinch, worried you were too loud. The cashier speaks again, saying something you still can't make out. It was so odd… but it didn't feel bad. In fact, it felt relieving. Usually you'd be overwhelmed and tumbling over yourself to get out of here as soon as you could. But you felt okay. 

“They're ready for payment.” 

You jump, a little embarrassed you had zoned out that hard. You quickly take out your card and pay, before leaving with a polite farewell to the cashier. 

You take a long, smooth breath in and out as you leave the store and walk down the sidewalk back home with groceries in hand. The bags aren't too heavy, thankfully. 

“Your auditory cortex is wired incorrectly. You respond strongly to stimulus.” They murmur, thoughtful. “Have you always been this way?” 

You think and then nod. You've always been sensitive to sound, loud or otherwise. 

“Is that why you waited until you were out of groceries to come here?” They ask, worried, imploring. You pause. They were partially right.

“I… also didn't know how to do it with a…”

“With me.” They conclude, sighing. 

You keep walking, admiring the sky. 

“... There's birds.” The parasite hums, and you notice the birds high in the sky, too. You faintly hear their cries. 

“Birds.” You echo back, acknowledging it.

You get home and quickly put up the frozen chicken nuggets to cook. While they warm up, you put the rest of your groceries away. 

“... You know, I could do that every time we go to the store. Dampen your hearing, when things get loud.” The parasite murmurs, soft, imploring. 

“I mean, you don't have to.” You murmur. It'd be too much to ask. 

“I… don't think that's a request.” They hum back, firm. 

“What do you mean?” You scoff, scooping the nuggets onto your plate.

“I mean your brain perceived all that noise as a threat. Even if it wasn't a direct threat, it still made you feel like you were.” It explains, eerily calm. You pause, thinking.

“Yeah, but… it's not a big deal. If I went around avoiding everything that made me overwhelmed I'd get nothing done.” You chuckle, trying to ease the mood.

“That's just it. You get overwhelmed by the outside world. It's loud, and chaotic, and noisy. What if it didn't have to be?” It postulates, eager. 

“You can't just poke my brain everyday because I can't handle noise.” You scoff. You didn't like where this was going.

“It wouldn't be! Just… when you get overstimulated or-”

“No.” You bluntly say, cutting them off. “I appreciate your… help, but I can't rely on you for that.” 

“... Why not?” It asks, clipped and a little cold. You sigh. Maybe it had good intentions but you can't let it just take over your brain like that.

“Because… I'll eventually lose my ability to cope with it.”

“But you already can't cope with it.”

“Which is why I need to preserve all the tolerance I do have.” You counter. 

“What tolerance? If you saw how your brain fired off at just the idea of getting in the checkout line with all that noise, you'd understand the harm it does.”

“Harm? You're being dramatic!”

“No! I'm not! Yes, life is stressful, but that doesn't mean you have to experience every stressor.”

You groan, starting to pace in circles around your kitchen, nuggets forgotten on their plate.

“Listen. I don't know why you won't let me help.” It sighs annoyed.

You try to explain, frustrated. “I've been through this before, I've done this my entire life. I can do it.”

“And?! Things are different now: I'm here. I'm here. And I want to help.” It pleads. 

“There will be a time you can't help and I need to be able to cope by myself.” You counter.

“You make it sound like I won't be able to help everytime. I will.” It insists, firm. You stop pacing, surprised. It pauses, before speaking again. 

“This is the rest of our life. Do you want to go the rest of your life like this? I don't. Not when I can make it better.” It murmurs, hurt but tender.

You two sit in silence, contemplating. You didn't want to rely on them. Hell, you didn't even want it to be here in your spine! But… this was longterm. And while you hated that, it… no, no you weren't going to give this thing permission to jab your brain. What else would it feel comfortable doing?!

“No. And y-you have to stop messing with my brain like that!” You huff. A long, still pause occurs.

“Oh? Is that so?” It dryly snips. It sighs and you feel its weird little legs drum again, methodical.

“See… from where I'm standing, we're in this together. This is an ‘us’ discussion.” It states, clipped. 

You sigh, putting your head in your hands. 

“You can't just… not care about what I want.”

“Hey… that's wrong. I care too much. Sweetling, I'm literally tapped into your nervous system. I can see what your brain does. And your brain fired off like that environment was a threat. And I need to protect you from threats. That's what people who love you do.” It coos, low, soft. 

“Don't think too hard about it… I'll warn you before I do it, so it won't be a surprise…”

A warm tingling pools down your spine again, the little hairs on your arm standing up in response. 

"You'll see… this is good.” It coos. “You're just hungry, we'll talk after you get your blood sugar up.”