Archive of Our Own ^beta

*Sunday 10:00 A.M*

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The sun was out, not a single cloud in sight. It should’ve been a perfect day — but the air had that weird kind of cold that didn’t belong, like the wind already knew something Y/N didn’t.

“Mom… why do I have to move up here?” Y/N asked, her voice dragging with a whine. “I’m seventeen. I could’ve stayed in Louisiana with Grandma and gotten my own place once I turned eighteen…”

She slumped against the car window, watching trees blur by in the reflection. She didn’t want to leave her hometown — hell, her home state.

Anne, her mother, gave a soft sigh but kept her tone gentle. “Because, honey, your dad got a new job opportunity. And I want my child with me. If you still want to go home once you’re eighteen, your father and I will help you.”

Y/N didn’t respond right away. Her mother meant well — she always did. Anne wasn’t controlling, just… attached. She’d only had one child, and she wasn’t ready to let her baby go.

“Okay…” Y/N finally muttered, barely above a whisper. She didn’t want to argue. Not today.

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After what felt like forever on the road, the car finally rolled to a stop in front of a quiet little house tucked away in a suburban part of Washington. The sky was still clear, sunlight catching the edges of the trees — everything looked picture-perfect. Too perfect.

Y/N stepped out of the car, sliding her headphones over her ears as “Lovely” by Billie Eilish played softly. The chill in the air bit at her skin, and she tugged her hoodie tighter around herself.

She grabbed her backpack from the back seat and turned toward the trunk, pulling out one earbud when her dad spoke.

“Here you go, sweetie. The moving truck should be here later today with the rest of our stuff. Bring your bags in and go check out the house, squirt,” her father, John, said with a warm smile as he hefted a suitcase from the trunk.

Y/N gave a small nod, returning his smile before slinging her backpack over one shoulder. “Okay, Dad.”

She dragged her suitcase up the steps and into the house, letting her music fade into the background as she looked around. The living room was bigger than she expected — clean walls, tall windows, wooden floors that creaked just a little under her shoes.

“Not bad…” she murmured, a small grin tugging at her lips.

She wandered through the hallway, peeking into rooms one by one until she found what would be hers — the room on the left. She dropped her backpack onto the carpet and pulled out her Bluetooth speaker. A quick connection to her phone, a tap of the screen, and music filled the empty space, echoing softly through the house.

It felt… less lonely that way.

As she explored, she took it all in — three bedrooms, two bathrooms, two living rooms (one right in front, one tucked behind the kitchen), and even a home office next to the master bedroom. It was a nice house. Too nice, almost.

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*6:00 P.M*

(P.O.V. Shift To Y/N)

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The moving truck had finally pulled away, leaving the front yard crowded with boxes. We’d told the movers to just unload everything outside — easier that way.

Mom was already sorting through the kitchen and living room boxes, unpacking the things she swore she couldn’t live without. Dad was helping bring in the heavier stuff, with some help from a friendly guy who, apparently, lived next door.

I jogged up the porch steps, grinning as I carried a box marked “Y/N’s Things.” The handwriting was smudged from the trip, but it still made me smile — like seeing a piece of home.

Inside, the air smelled faintly of dust and cardboard. I made my way through the living room, down the hallway toward my bedroom — but stopped short when I nearly bumped into Dad and the neighbor coming out of it.

They’d been setting up my dresser and bed, moving things around like they knew exactly where everything should go.

“Hi, Daddy,” I said with a bright smile.

“Hey, baby. This is Joshua — he’s our next-door neighbor. Joshua, this is my daughter, Y/N,” Dad said, smiling back at me.

Joshua gave a polite grin. “Well, you’ve got a pretty girl here, don’t you?”

Something about the way he said it made my stomach twist. It wasn’t what he said — it was how. Growing up in the South, I’d heard plenty of men call girls “pretty” in a harmless, friendly way. It was normal back home — neighborly, even. But this? This felt… different.

Dad laughed, completely unfazed. “Yeah, she’s my little munchkin,” he said, ruffling my hair before motioning for Joshua to follow him toward the door.

I tried to smile, but my attention stayed locked on Joshua. He only looked away once he’d walked past me, and even then, I could still feel his eyes.

A small shiver ran down my spine.

I stepped into my room, closing the door halfway behind me. My boxes were stacked neatly against the wall, my bed already made. It actually looked… cozy.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and forced a little smile. Maybe this won’t be so bad, I thought. Maybe I can get used to it.

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*8:30 P.M*

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I flopped back onto my bed, letting the mattress bounce beneath me as I looked around my newly set-up room.

Most of it was stuff from our old house — my bed and frame, my dresser, my vanity, and my TV. It all felt familiar, which helped a little. But I’d gotten some new things too — a small “sorry-you-had-to-move” shopping spree courtesy of Mom and Dad.

My eyes drifted to the soft, hunter-orange shag rug on the floor — medium-sized but bright enough to make the whole room feel warmer. My new bedspread was black and pink, perfectly matching the vibe I wanted. Pink and orange — my two favorite colors.

The curtains were see-through with pink and orange spots over a black background, and when the light hit them just right, they looked like sunset clouds.

I smiled, glancing around at the little details that made the room feel more me — fairy lights draped across the wall, a big oval mirror hanging near my vanity, and a standing mirror by the corner. Posters and signs filled the empty wall space, and a small photo collage of me and my old friends sat above my bed.

My chest tightened a little when I looked at those pictures — faces frozen mid-laughter, arms slung over shoulders, sunlit days that already felt too far away.

I took a slow breath and smiled anyway. At least I’ve got a piece of home here with me.

I glanced out my window and sighed, pushing it open. The air here smelled different — cooler, sharper — not like back home. In Louisiana, the breeze always carried warmth and the faint scent of rain. Guess there are some things I’ll miss about home…

I leaned against the windowsill, staring into the fenced backyard. Movement caught my eye — a small rabbit hopped from one side of the yard to the other, pacing along the fence line.

“The poor thing’s stuck,” I murmured.

Without thinking, I climbed out through the window, my feet crunching softly on the grass. I crept toward the back gate, the air biting at my arms, and unlatched it.

Then I slipped back through the window and perched on the sill again, watching. The rabbit paused, its ears twitching before it cautiously hopped toward the open gate — and then, just like that, it was gone.

I smiled to myself, the quiet moment warming me a little from the inside out.

Sliding down from the window, I changed into my pajamas — a big T-shirt and a pair of black leggings — and skipped out of my room toward the kitchen.

Mom was there, standing over the counter, peeling back the plastic from a few TV dinners. The smell of instant mashed potatoes and gravy filled the air. Simple. Easy. Comforting.

Once the food was ready, the three of us gathered around the dining room table, the soft clatter of forks and the hum of the microwave still hanging in the air. It wasn’t a fancy dinner, but after the long day, it felt good to just sit down together.

“Momma,” I said quietly, poking at my mashed potatoes, “what is there to do around here? I know there’s a mall, but I don’t really wanna go somewhere like that without any friends.”

My voice came out softer than I meant it to. The idea of being the new girl — again — made my stomach twist. Dad had promised I could skip Monday to catch up on sleep before starting at a new school, and that was the one thing I’d been holding onto.

“Well, baby, your dad and I talked—” Mom began, but the second she did, my eyes lifted from my plate, the look on my face probably saying everything.

“I’m going tomorrow, aren’t I?” I mumbled, disappointment bleeding through my tone.

Dad gave me that weak, guilty smile — the one he always had when he promised something before checking with Mom.

“Dad! I thought you talked with her about it,” I said, setting my fork down with a soft clink.

“I—” he started, but Mom cut in, her tone sharp but not unkind.

“Well, he didn’t. And I don’t want you missing tomorrow,” she said firmly. “I have a lot to take care of, plus unpacking our things.”

I nodded, letting out a slow breath. My chest felt tight, a little sting of unfairness settling in. Great. New town, new school… and now I’m starting without even a day to adjust. Just like always. I pushed the thought down, knowing arguing wouldn’t help a thing.

Why’s it always gotta be like this? I thought, a small bitterness twisting in my chest. Back home, things felt right. I had my friends, my space… my life. Here, everything was new, unfamiliar… lonely.

“Okay, Momma,” I said quietly, trying to keep my voice steady. “Well… I’m gonna get a shower and get to bed.”

I gave myself a nice, hot shower, letting the warm water wash away the day. Slipping back into my pajamas, I padded quietly to my bedroom. Snuggling under my new sheets and covers, I turned on the TV and let the cool evening breeze drift through the open window.

A sigh escaped my lips, soft and slow, before I closed my eyes. The day — all the moving, the new house, the awkward introductions — faded away as slumber finally took me in its gentle arms.

*Monday 6:30 AM*

*Your P.O.V*

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The alarm on my phone blared from the nightstand, and I groaned, slapping it off. Ugh. First day. “Alright, (Y/N), let’s pick an outfit,” I muttered to myself, trudging to my closet. I scanned my clothes and smiled, pulling out an orange overall-type dress with a daisy stitched on the chest. On the floor, I grabbed a pair of white boots and tossed them onto my bed.

Next, I headed to my dresser, pulling out a pastel pink long-sleeved undershirt, a white bra, and knee-high white socks with stripes at the top. Satisfied, I walked to my window and closed it, leaving it unlocked. I threw on my clothes, yanking my long (Y/HC) hair into two high pigtails. Standing in front of the mirror, I grinned at my reflection. Yeah, it was a bit childlike, but I loved the way it looked.

A quick stop at my vanity and I brushed a small amount of mascara on my lashes, added a touch of light pink lip gloss. Simple. Pretty. Not over the top — just me. I tossed my lip gloss, phone, and charger into my pastel pink purse. Keys? Nah. I’ve got a license, but no car yet.

I took a deep breath and smiled at myself one last time in the mirror. Let’s do this, Y/N. First day… no messin’ it up.

I checked my wallet, making sure it was in my purse, and glanced for any other random things I might need before leaving my room and heading into the kitchen. There, I saw Mom talking to a woman at the door.

“Hey, Mom!” I said, walking up beside her. Behind the woman stood a girl about my age.

“Hey, sweetie. This is Gloria, and her daughter Hayley! Gloria, Hayley, this is my daughter, (Y/N),” Mom introduced us, her voice bright and cheerful.

I smiled and waved at both of them. Gloria was a shorter woman, with long, curly brown hair, green eyes, and a petite frame. Hayley looked almost exactly like her, except her hair was a shade of auburn and her eyes were dark brown. She was a little plump, but she carried herself with confidence.

Hayley’s outfit caught my attention immediately — a black and yellow striped crop top, low-waisted white skinny jeans, bright yellow Converse, and a teal backpack slung casually over her shoulder. A girl with style, I thought, smiling to myself.

Back home, most girls dressed one of two ways: tight T-shirts that looked a size too small with booty shorts and open-toed shoes, or boot-cut jeans with oversized tees and boots. Very few dared to mix it up or dye their hair unusual colors.

Looks like this town’s got a little flavor, I thought, my stomach fluttering with the tiniest spark of curiosity.

"“Well, (Y/N), I was telling your mom here that maybe you and Hayley could walk to school together, since we live just two houses down. Would you be okay with that?” Gloria asked.

Hayley glanced at the ground, fiddling with her forearm. I nodded and looked at Mom.

“I need to grab my binder out of my room. When I get to my classes, I’ll make a list of the things I need for them. Promise,” I said before heading back to my room.

As I walked in, the curtains swayed slightly in the morning breeze.

“I could’ve sworn I shut that,” I muttered, pulling them closed.

I grabbed my binder quickly and rushed back out, meeting up with Hayley, Gloria, and Mom.

“Okay, I’m ready!” I said, a little happier now, slipping past the adults.

“Okay. Follow me — it’s almost eight, so we’ll get there just in time,” Hayley said, leading the way toward the school.

I followed, matching her pace, and we started making small talk. I learned a little about her interests, her favorite shows, and even got her phone number by the time we reached the school.

I like her… I thought, smiling to myself. Hopefully we can be friends.

I’d already been through the whole ordeal with the rude secretary, who seemed determined to make my first day harder than it needed to be. Once that was over, the vice principal sent a red-haired boy named Cole to bring me around to each class for the day.

I tried my hardest to be polite, even thankful, when he walked me to first-hour, but all I got in return was a rude comment.

“I’m not here to make friends with you, hick. I don’t know one person who wants to. No one volunteered. I was forced,” he said, smirking.

My stomach sank, and a hot blush crawled up my neck, but I held my head high. Great. Just great. First day, and I’m already the town joke, I thought, letting the words sting for a moment before brushing them off.

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1 pm

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Right now, I was in math class. Thank goodness I got a super sweet teacher — someone who actually made me feel confident enough to raise my hand. I hadn’t said hardly a word since being called a hick. “May I please use the restroom?” I asked politely, my voice steady even though my heart was thumping. A few students glanced my way, some snickering quietly, but the teacher nodded with a kind smile and let me go.One step at a time, Y/N… I thought, trying to steady my nerves as I walked out of the classroom.

You got this. I found my way to the nearest bathroom and quickly relieved myself before washing my hands and glancing at my reflection. I fixed my uneven pigtails and dabbed a bit more lip gloss on as I heard the door creak open.

“Oh, look at what she’s wearing,” a brunette, Paige, said, her voice dripping with amusement.

Following her were two other girls — a blonde named Missy and a black-haired girl named Paris, who Hayley had told me about at lunch. They snickered as they moved toward the sinks, Missy giving me a slight bump so Paige could stay between her and Paris. I felt like I’d stepped into a movie, one I hadn’t auditioned for. My stomach twisted, but I forced a small, polite smile.

“Hi, I’m (Y/N),” I said sweetly, my country accent slipping out more than I intended. I extended my hand toward Paige, hoping my smile would at least seem genuine.Please don’t make this worse… I thought nervously, keeping my fingers crossed. A sharp slap landed on my wrist, followed by a disgusted, “Ew,” from Paige and Missy.

It was Missy’s hand that had made contact. “Do not touch Paige, me, or Paris with your nasty bumpkin hands,” she said sharply, glaring into my eyes. I held my wrist with my other hand, frowning, and took a small step back.

“Oh, I—I’m sorry,” I muttered softly, reaching for my purse.

“Ooh, let me see this!” Paige exclaimed, pushing past Missy and grabbing it from me.

“Aw, look,” she said, pointing at the little Care Bear dangling from the buckle.

“It’s a wittle beawr,” Paris said, leaning over Paige’s shoulder to get a look at my bag. I had always thought it was cute. “Give me that!” I said, snatching the purse back and holding it close to my chest.

“What’s wrong… Does wittle (Y/N) need her teddy bear?” Missy taunted, her voice dripping with condescension as they started circling me slowly.

“No… let me out. I want to go back to class,” I said, trying to stand my ground. I took a cautious step forward, aiming to get past them and toward the door, my heart pounding.Don’t let them see you cry, Y/N… just get out, I thought, forcing my nerves to settle as I tried to stay calm.

I felt a harsh shove, and before I could brace myself, I was flung to the ground. The back of my head slammed against the wall, sending a sharp pain through my skull. My vision blurred slightly.

“Ow…” I mumbled, looking up at the three girls now towering over me. Tears started welling up before I could stop them.

“Ah, the wittle baby is stawting to cry,” Paris sneered, bending down slightly to look at me.

I wiped at my eyes quickly and reached for the back of my head. There was a knot forming, but no open wound.

“Not hard enough,” Paige muttered before her slightly platformed sneaker struck me square in the mouth, my head hitting the wall once again. Blood oozed from my lips.

A scream ripped from me as I clutched my mouth, trying in vain to stop the blood from dripping. My dress was already stained with it, the red spreading across the fabric faster than I could react.

“Never snatch shit from me again,” Paige said coldly, turning on her heel and grabbing her things. “Don’t even talk to us… hell, don’t even look at us again.” Missy grabbed my wrist, squeezing it as she added her own sharp warning.

Paige snapped her fingers, and the two other girls scurried after her, leaving me alone, clutching my mouth, and trembling against the wall.

Once they were gone, I slowly started gathering the things that had fallen out of my purse, shoving them back inside with hands still slick and trembling — streaked with my own blood. My body ached as I stood, one hand holding my purse, the other pressed against my mouth.

The sight in the mirror made my stomach twist. It looked like a murder scene… or at least what I imagined one would look like. I set my bag down and turned on the sink, watching pink water swirl down the drain as I washed my hands and splashed my face.

When I finally looked up, my lip was split open, a dark bruise already blooming across my jaw. My head pounded with every heartbeat. I grabbed a tissue and pressed it to the cut, muttering under my breath, “I’m not stayin’ here…”

Yanking my hair out of the pigtails, I snatched up my purse and rushed out of the bathroom.

“(Y/N), are you okay?” my teacher asked as I slipped into the classroom. I didn’t answer. I kept my head down, hair falling like a curtain over my face as I grabbed my binder and pencils.

Ignoring her protest, I shoved my way past the desks and out the door. I didn’t care who saw me. I just needed to leave.

I walk home slowly, my head hanging low. My arms stay tight around my things, pressed close to my chest as I drag my feet along the sidewalk. The walk we took this morning only took thirty minutes—somehow, I’ve stretched it into an hour.

When I finally glance up, I realize I’ve wandered to the outskirts of town. There’s an old, run‑down park sitting empty, its swing set rusted and creaking in the breeze. I shuffle over and lower myself onto one of the swings, the chains groaning beneath me.

“What did I do wrong?” I whisper, staring into the treeline ahead. My voice sounds small, even to me.

I pull my phone out of my purse and notice the dried blood smeared along the inside. My chest tightens. I sigh and fish out the things I actually need, shoving them into my pocket. Then, before I can stop myself, I stand and throw the purse as far into the woods as I can.

A scream rips from my throat—loud, raw, and broken. I squeeze my eyes shut and fall to my knees, fists clutching the skirt of my blood‑stained dress. “I was just tryin’ to be nice!” I cry out, my swollen lip trembling as the words dissolve into sobs.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper after a long moment, barely louder than a breath.

I stay like that for what feels like forever—twenty minutes, maybe more—until the tears finally run dry. My body aches, my head still throbs, but the storm inside starts to quiet.

“Why’s everyone so mean…” I murmur, slowly pushing myself up from the dirt, brushing off my knees. My voice shakes, but I manage to stand.

A loud shuffle came from the treeline, making my eyes snap toward the noise.

“H-Hello?” I called, my voice shaky as I scanned the area where I thought it had come from.

I wasn’t stupid enough to walk toward it, but I also couldn’t afford to look like a scared little kid over a fight. My reputation… that mattered.

Something white flickered at the edge of my vision.

“Hello?” I tried again, my voice rising just a little, trembling with nerves. Maybe I was imagining things.

I need to get home… I thought, my heart hammering. Without another second’s hesitation, I spun on my heel and started power-walking, faster now, putting as much distance between myself and the woods as I could.

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*6:00 PM*

*Later that night at home*

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As soon as I got home, I bolted to my room, quickly changing into a huge hoodie and sweatpants. I grabbed a garbage bag and shoved my dress into it, along with most of my other outfits and shoes — anything except hoodies, graphic tees, and jeans.

Now I lay in bed, hood pulled over my head, hiding my face, the TV playing softly in the background. My phone sat on the nightstand, buzzing relentlessly with texts I wasn’t ready to look at.

A gentle knock at the door made me tense before it cracked open slightly.

“Honey?” Mom’s voice came through.

“I’m not hungry, momma—mom, thank you though,” I muttered, correcting myself and trying to smooth out my southern drawl.

“No, honey… Hayley is here,” she said, opening the door wider.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Hayley said softly, stepping inside.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Mom added, letting her in, then closing the door behind her.

Hayley slowly made her way to the bed and sat at the end. I scooted over a little, hesitating before flipping over to reveal my bruised, tear-streaked face.

“Hey, Hayley,” I muttered, not meeting her gaze.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her expression — full of worry and maybe a little pity. My eyes threatened to fill again, and I quickly flipped back over, pulling my knees up to my chest.

“No, hey… it’s okay. Just talk to me. I was worried when I heard you ran out of school earlier,” she said gently, placing a hand on my back. The sudden contact made me jump slightly.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine, girl… just go home,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Okay, I’ll give you your time. I’m here to talk whenever you’re ready,” she said, standing and leaving the room quietly.

I lay back against my pillow, hood pulled low over my face, letting the soft glow of the TV wash over me. My lip throbbed, my head ached, and the memories of the day replayed relentlessly. "Why’s everyone so mean…?" I muttered to myself.

I hugged my knees, trying to calm the storm inside. And yet… a different thought crept in, one I didn’t say out loud, one I didn’t dare even think too clearly: If they hurt me, I’d make sure they’d regret it. The image of Paige and her friends, just the way they had cornered me in the bathroom, flickered in my mind. My heart raced at the thought — not out of excitement, but… satisfaction.

I shook my head, trying to push it down. No one can know… not Hayley, not Mom or Dad. They’d never understand. I let my eyes fall on my phone, the texts from Hayley still sitting there, unread. She’s different… Maybe she could be a real friend.

Thinking of Hayley made my chest feel lighter, a small thread of hope threading through the dark. I imagined walking to school with her tomorrow, laughing about small things, maybe even feeling… safe. But the other thoughts — the ones I’d never share — stayed tucked away, behind layers of charm and smiles.

I let out a shaky breath and whispered to the empty room, “I can do this. I just… gotta be smart.” Somewhere deep inside, I knew that one day, keeping secrets like this could come back to haunt me. But for now… it was my only shield.

Saturday 11:00 AM

(The next week)

Y/N POV

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The sun shines through the crack of the curtain. Warming the bruises on my face, I squeeze my eyes together and turn over. I throw my blanket over my head and try to force myself to go back to sleep.

Then there was a noise. A text. I reach over and grab my phone, staying under the blanket. I see a text from Hayley.

‘Hey, let's hang out!’

I set my phone back down and close my eyes. I let out a soft sigh and start to drift away before another ding sound — then the ringer went off. I let out a groan and picked up the phone.

“Hey, I’m coming over. We are hanging out.”

That’s all I heard before the hang-up noise. I huff and sit up, letting out a soft groan as I stretch my slightly aching body. I turn to the side, allowing my feet to dangle off the edge of the bed.

I push myself up and walk past my mirror. I stop and turn toward it, facing myself in it. I look like a wreck — my cheeks puffy, black underneath from my mascara. My jaw was swollen and bruised, not as bad as I thought it would be. It was actually starting to fade. I reach my hand up and rub my fingers over the slightly darkened spot.

I should’ve hit her back.
The thought slips in so easily I almost don’t notice it.
One good punch — right across that smug face.
I blink hard, shaking my head like that could push the thought away.
Maybe then she’d finally shut up.

A faint smile tugs at my lips before I catch myself. I breathe out, forcing my hand down and looking away from the mirror. The quiet stretches too long. I grab my clothes — black skinny jeans and a black-and-orange striped sweater — and throw them on. I drag a brush through my (Y/H/C) hair, before tossing it onto the vanity.

There’s a knock on the door, making my eyes snap toward it. I walk over and unlock it, opening it in the process.

“Hey!” Hayley greets, smiling. “You going to take you any longer?” she teases, giggling. I let out a soft laugh and stepped aside to let her in. She sits on my bed, watching as I finish fixing my hair. “What do you have in mind?” I ask quietly, my jaw aching slightly as I talk.

“I was thinking about that park down the road,” she says, twirling a strand of hair. “No one really goes there on weekends—it’s always quiet.” That made my shoulders ease a little. 'Somewhere quiet sounds nice.'

“Hey,” Hayley’s voice softens. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say quickly, glancing in the mirror. “It’s just… peaceful there.” She smiles. “Then that’s settled.”

‘At least someone here wants to be my friend.’ I think as I finish getting ready.

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11:30 AM

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After I got ready, Hayley and I set out on our way. She had her little backpack-like purse slung over her shoulder.

“Oh! I got us some snacks! And drinks!” she said, patting the bag. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I grabbed a few different things.” Her voice softened near the end, almost shy.

A smile pulled at my lips as I watched her. She seemed relieved just to see it.

“I’m not that picky when it comes to snacks. Thank you,” I said sweetly, looking forward.

The road was empty — no cars, no chatter — just the breeze, our footsteps, and the faint rustle of leaves along the tree-line.

Hayley rambled about something she and her mom talked about, her voice floating in and out as my thoughts drifted back to my friends back home. She reminded me of all of them somehow — their laughter, their warmth, the things I couldn’t go back to.

“Oh, my mom has a medical card. Look what I was able to snag.” Her words snapped me back. I turned as she held up a blunt between two fingers, grinning. “She buys a whole bunch of pre-rolls,” she added casually, slipping it back into her purse as we reached the park. We made our way to the swing set and started to gently sway.

“This is okay, right? I don’t want to force you into anything,” Hayley said, glancing at me as she set her purse by the swing’s leg. “I know. I can say no,” I said quietly, looking up at the cloudy sky. “I used to do it back home, when I’d get super stressed out over softball or exams.”

“Is it ever sunny here?” I asked, catching the trace of my southern accent right at the end. She looked up too, smiling faintly. “It does. It’s just getting closer to fall, so not as likely,” she said with a little hum. The wind picked up, stirring the leaves in the tree-line. A faint snap of a branch caught my attention, but I shrugged it off, focused on the sky and Hayley.

We sat there swinging, talking about everything and nothing at once. She told me small pieces about her childhood — not enough to paint a full picture, but enough to hint at something heavier she didn’t say. I couldn’t tell if she was hiding it or just trying to make me comfortable. If that was her goal, it wasn’t really working. My guard stayed up. My mind kept wandering — to things I shouldn’t think about.

What it would feel like to just disappear into the woods.
What would happen if I stopped pretending to be okay?

Every so often, the leaves in the tree-line rustled again — soft, subtle, almost like someone shifting behind them. I didn’t think anything of it. “Come on,” Hayley said, breaking my thoughts. She grabbed her purse and smiled back at me. “We can sit and chillax.”

I followed her to the picnic tables. She laid out the snacks and drinks, and most of them were things I liked — that small detail pulled another smile from me. “I don’t think you need to worry if I like the snacks you pick out,” I reassured her, making her giggle as she lit the blunt. We both smoked, letting the world slow down around us. Soon we were lying in the grass on our jackets, watching the sky. The gray clouds stretched endlessly, and the trees framed everything in shades of soft green and brown. It wasn’t the same beauty as the South, but it was something else — muted, colder, yet still kind.

The distant birds called, leaves rustling gently in the tree-line. Every so often, something shifted deeper in the shadows, barely noticeable as we talked.

'The smell', I thought. 'That’s the one thing this place can’t beat — the southern air.'

After a quiet moment, Hayley spoke again.

“For years, I struggled with panic attacks,” she said softly. “The kind that make it feel like my chest is caving in — like my head’s going to explode. They aren’t as common now, but… they still happen sometimes.”

I looked over at her. She seemed calm, even as she said it. “I’m okay now,” she continued. “I just felt like I needed to tell you that.” Her eyes met mine. “I don’t think anything’s wrong with you,” I said after a pause. “You are who you are. Just let me know what to do when it happens, and I’ll do my best to help.” My country accent slipped out again — this time, I didn’t bother hiding it.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

5:00 PM

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

After a while, we started to gather our things. I threw all our trash away and brushed off any dirt that had stuck to me. Hayley was picking up her stuff and doing the same. I walked back over as she rambled on about something random. She’d been talking the whole time — it was actually kind of entertaining. ‘I hope she doesn’t mind if I just listen.’

The hairs on my arms prickled, and a strange feeling crawled up my spine, like eyes burning into the back of my head. Hayley had already begun walking, so she obviously didn’t think anything was wrong. I trudged after her, catching up slowly. The feeling only intensified, making me spin around, eyes darting toward the treeline. There it was — a silhouette, a shadow of something… someone. My mouth parted slightly as I stared.

A faint twig snapped somewhere deeper in the trees. Leaves shifted softly, just enough to catch the corner of my eye. Shadows seemed to stretch and flicker between the trunks, moving ever so slightly. My heart thumped, but I didn’t step back or say anything. “What?” I heard Hayley ask, turning toward me.

I blinked, and poof. Gone. No silhouette, no shadow, no sound. The wind, the birds, even the subtle rustle of leaves seemed to pause for a heartbeat. “I think we should get going,” I said quietly, almost sternly. “Well, yeah—” Hayley started sarcastically, but I cut her off, grabbing her arm and starting toward my house. I wasn’t rough with her, but I didn’t let her pull away either. Once we were far enough away, I finally let her go. She huffed and shot me a small glare.

“I’ve always been told that when nature goes silent, something bad is going to happen — whether it’s natural or not,” I muttered, head down, gripping my elbow. I felt paranoid, ashamed for letting the feeling get to me. A smile formed on Hayley’s face, and a laugh escaped her. At first, I thought she was laughing at me, but then she softened and spoke. “Why didn’t you say so? I have things I’m weird about too. You’ll see,” she said, wrapping her arm around my shoulder. I smiled shyly and let out a little laugh. Sliding my arm around the top of her back, I matched her stride, walking home beside her.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

We made it to Hayley’s house first and we said our goodbyes. I gave her a tight hug and went my separate ways, Two houses down walking up my driveway.

I unlocked the front door and stepped inside, the quiet of the house settling around me. My parents were finishing up dinner, the clink of utensils and low chatter filling the kitchen. I waved faintly, murmuring a soft, “Hi,” before retreating to my room.

I shut the door behind me and exhaled, letting the tension of the day ease slightly. I walked over to the dresser and pulled out my silk pajamas, slipping my day clothes off. I looked over myself in the mirror once before i slipped my PJ’s on. My pajamas were warm and soft, a comforting contrast to the stiffness in my muscles. I changed quickly, letting the familiar motion calm me. I threw my hair off of my shoulder and turned toward my bed. That's when my body froze, my eyes locked.

On the windowsill sat my purse. The one I had thrown into the woods a week ago after being called childish, a baby. The leather was scuffed, and the side was smeared with red — a dark, sticky mix. Some of it was mine, from the bathroom the night I got beaten. The rest… I didn’t want to think about it, but it had clearly been someone else’s. Whoever had it had tried to clean it, but the attempt was sloppy, leaving streaks that made my stomach twist.

I inched closer, fingers tingling as I reached for it, my heart pounding. The wind rattled the window slightly, brushing against the edge, making the room feel suddenly colder.

Someone had been here. Someone had watched. And now, they had returned what I thought was gone forever.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breath. My hand hovered over the purse, trembling slightly. I didn’t know what to do — fear and curiosity battled in my chest — but one thing was certain: I wasn’t alone, and I never really had been.

I wrap my fingers around the handle of the window and open it. I reach my hand out and grab the handle of the purse. As I pulled it inside I heard another rustle from outside. This made me slam my window shut and lock it. I closed the curtains and threw the purse into my closet.

I locked my bedroom door and threw myself in bed. I don't usually get scared but I couldn't help it.

I curled up under the covers, hugging my pillow close. The day’s warmth slowly drained from my body, replaced by the quiet of my room. My eyelids felt heavy, but my mind refused to settle completely. Every shadow in the corners seemed to twitch, every creak of the house a reminder that I wasn’t entirely alone.

Slowly, my breathing evened out. The tension in my muscles eased as I let myself sink deeper into the mattress. Thoughts of the park, of Hayley’s laugh, of the purse on the windowsill, all drifted to the edges of my mind. Eventually, my eyes fluttered shut, and though a faint shiver ran through me, sleep finally claimed me, fragile and uneasy.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Sunday 1:00 PM

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

I hadn’t slept much. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the treeline again — the shifting shape tucked between the trunks, the silence that felt deliberate, like the world itself was holding its breath.

I woke up late, almost afternoon, my body heavy and my mind buzzing. The moment I sat up, the feeling hit me again — that same crawling awareness, like someone had spent the whole night standing just outside my window, waiting for me to get up.
The room was quiet. Too quiet.

I stayed in bed longer than usual, pulling the blanket up to my chin, staring across the room at nothing. Every tiny sound made me jump — the creak of the house settling, the wind brushing the siding, a car door somewhere down the street.

I didn’t want to go anywhere today.
Not after yesterday.
Not after that… thing I saw in the woods.

I dragged myself out of bed and threw on a hoodie and some shorts, not even bothering to brush my hair. My body felt tense, wired, like prey still listening for predators.

My parents had already eaten breakfast, leaving a note on the counter saying they ran to the store. Their absence made the house feel bigger. Emptier. More vulnerable.

I retreated to my room as fast as I could and shut the door behind me. I didn't lock it. But only because locking it would make me look paranoid. Even to myself.

I climbed back into bed and pulled my knees to my chest, resting my chin on them. My phone buzzed beside me. I flinched before taking a look at it.

Hayley:
You alive? Lol

I stared at the message for a long second before typing back:
Me:
Yeah, just tired. I don't really wanna go out today.

A few minutes passed.
Then:
Hayley:
Did yesterday freak you out? You kept looking at the woods…

My chest tightened.
I typed:
I just didn’t sleep well.
Deleted it.
Typed again:
Just tired. That’s all.

I sent it before I could overthink it.
She didn’t answer right away.
Fine by me. I didn’t feel like talking anyway.

I lay back and stared at the ceiling, the feeling from yesterday still lodged beneath my skin like a shard of glass. I kept replaying the moment — the rustle, the silhouette, the stillness of the woods right before I grabbed Hayley.

What if it wasn’t my imagination?
What if there really was someone watching us?

I rubbed my hands over my arms. They were cold. Goosebumps prickled even though the room wasn’t chilly.
Time dragged.
Minutes.
Hours.

Eventually, boredom pushed me to sit at my desk. I tried drawing. My hand shook too much. Tried reading — the words slipped right past without meaning.

Every few minutes, my eyes flicked toward the window.
I hated how much it bothered me. I hated how much power that feeling had over me. But the truth was simple: I didn’t feel safe. Not even in my own skin.
My phone buzzed again.

Hayley:
Do you want me to come over? If not, it's okay, I just wanna make sure you’re alright.
I hesitated.
A part of me wanted her here — wanted something familiar to drown out the emptiness of the house. But another part didn’t want anyone else getting close. Not today.

Not when I still felt like eyes were on me.
Me:
Maybe tomorrow. Just wanna chill today.

She sent a little heart and a “rest up” emoji. I set my phone down face-down on the desk. Outside, the wind hit the side of the house, making a soft scraping sound along the siding. I froze.
Listening.

Slowly, painfully slowly, the sound faded. I exhaled, but it didn’t calm me.
I went around my room checking everything — the closet door, the corners, the space between my dresser and the wall. I didn’t know what I expected to find. A shadow? A stranger? Something with teeth and a smile carved too wide?

Nothing.
Just my empty room.
'Why does everything feel so wrong?'

Time slipped again — the quiet stretching thin and sharp. My head felt heavy. My eyes were gritty with exhaustion. Eventually, I crawled back into bed, curling up on my side.

I stared at the wall.

And for a moment… I could’ve sworn something dark moved along the edge of my vision, just outside the window.

My heartbeat kicked up. I sat up, staring.
The curtain fluttered.
Then settled.
Nothing else moved.
A shaky breath escaped me.
‘Tomorrow, I’ ll tell Hayley we could hang out again.’
Tomorrow, I’d pretend everything was fine.

Staying inside and in bed all day made my knees cramp, ankles get stiff, and back hurt. The feeling of someone being here without my knowing, someone watching me and i cant see them... but the worst part?
A tiny part of me — the one buried deep, the one I pretend isn’t there — wasn’t scared.

It was excited.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

6:40 PM

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

The sun was slipping behind the trees, the sky bleeding into gold and purple. I hadn’t left my room since noon. Not once. I just kept pacing — from my bed to the window, from the window to the door — like something in me was coiled too tightly to sit still. That ‘watched’ feeling hadn’t stopped. If anything, it got worse as the day went on.

I finally cracked my window open to let in some air. The breeze drifted in — cool, sharp, carrying the scent of pine and damp bark. It almost calmed me. Almost.

I took a deep breath trying to allow myself to calm down, go get something to eat and try to move to the living room, when a shape moved across the yard — not fast, not slow. A steady, deliberate glide along the far fence line. My breath hitched.

It wasn’t a deer. Not the neighbor’s dog. Not branches moving. It was tall. Human-shaped. Still. My chest tightened. I leaned forward, slow, careful — the way you would when spotting something that might run if you breathe wrong.

That’s when it happened.

The figure turned its head. Even from a distance, even through the dimming light, I felt it — like cold fingertips dragging down my spine.

Someone was staring back at me. Not blinking. Not moving. Just… watching. I couldn’t see his face. But I felt it. A sharp, hungry, almost posessive glare.

A recognition I didn’t understand.
My fingers curled around the windowsill, knuckles whitening. For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. Just two shapes locked across the yard.

Then—

The back gate creaked open. I jerked away from the window instinctively. Whoever was watching me stepped back into the shadows, swallowed by the treeline in a breathless, silent flicker.

And someone else stepped into view.

Joshua.

My next-door neighbor.
He walked into our backyard like it was his own, a beer bottle dangling between his fingers. His eyes scanned the fence, the grass, the house. Then he looked up.

Directly at my window. He didn’t smile this time. Just stared — hard, unblinking — like he’d been looking for me specifically. A prickle of unease spread across my arms.

He lifted his beer in a slow, lazy gesture. Not a wave. Almost like a… toast. Like he was greeting me. Watching me.

The world went still again. No cars. No wind. Just him.

Claiming he’d seen me even when I hadn’t seen him. I swallowed, staying perfectly still. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t call out. Didn’t ask if my parents were home. He just stood there. Taking his time. Taking me in.

I slowly reached up and closed the window then the curtain — but before it shut all the way, I saw Joshua’s head tilt ever so slightly.
Just enough to feel wrong.

The second the curtain fell, I backed away from the window entirely, heart hammering. There was something off about him. There had been since the day we met. But now it feels different.
Sharper.
Intentional.

I sat on my bed, pulling my knees up, breathing quietly through my nose. Two people had watched me today.

Not one.
Two.
One from the woods.
One from the yard.

And the worst part was the realization that crept in, slow and inevitable —

One of them had been curious.
The other had been hunting.

A shiver slid down my spine.
I brought my blanket up to my chest, hugging it tight. The house felt too quiet again.

Too still. And somewhere outside — in the darkening yard or at the edge of the trees — someone’s gaze lingered long after I’d shut the curtain.

Someone who wasn’t going to stop coming back.

Someone who had already chosen me.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Jeff’s POV

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

The woods were dead quiet. The damp earth clung to my boots, and the smell of rain still hung in the air.

I moved through them the way I always did — like the dark belonged to me. I didn’t rush. I didn’t stomp branches or snap twigs. I slipped. Glided. A shadow that breathed. I knew exactly where I was headed.
Her house.

I’d been watching it since the morning, drifting in and out of the trees whenever the urge in my chest got too sharp. I needed a kill. My hands were itching for it. My pulse kept stuttering with anticipation. And she was perfect.

Something about the way she moved. The way she held her shoulders. The way her eyes flicked around like she was listening for things most people couldn’t hear.

She felt different.
That’s what pulled me in.
She was wrong in a way I recognized.

Now, standing at the tree-line, I could see her through the window. The sun hit her face just enough to catch the shape of her eyes.

Then she looked toward me.

Not right at me — not exactly — but close. Too close.
My breath caught, and for a second I just watched her watching the yard.

Most people don’t feel me unless I want them to. She did. I stepped forward. Slow. Controlled.

‘Tonight.’

'I could make it happen tonight. Slip in through a window. Press my hand over her mouth. Draw the first line of red across her skin…'

A creak snapped the thought in half. The back gate.

I vanished into the shadows, silent, eyes narrowing. Some guy wandered into her yard with a beer dangling from his hand. I watched him. Studied him. I didn't like a single thing I saw.

He looked up at her window. Not curious. Not accidental. Like he was checking if she was there. Like he’d been watching too.

He lifted his beer in this slow, greasy “cheers” motion — not a greeting, but something territorial. A claim. A rush of heat tore up my spine.

Possessive. Sharp. Ugly.

I absolutely hated that. Her curtain slid shut. The yard went still again. I stayed where I was, waiting until the neighbor finally dragged himself back into his house. When he disappeared, I stepped out of the treeline and crossed the yard without hesitation.

Right up to her window. Close enough to touch it. My pulse settled into that familiar killing rhythm — slow, strong, hungry.

‘Just climb. Slip inside. End her slow’

My fingers brushed the windowsill. And I froze. A tug pulled at me from the inside — tight, confusing, wrong. Not fear. Not guilt. Something else. Something that told me to wait. To step back.

I didn’t understand it. I hated that I didn’t. I dropped my hand. Backed away from the window. Then stepped back faster, retreating to the shadows like the air itself had shoved me.

‘Why are you walking away?' a voice hissed in my head. ‘You always finish what you start. Always.’

My chest tightened. My pulse stuttered. Part of me wanted to climb through that window, to end it now. Part of me recoiled, tangled in something unfamiliar — hesitation, frustration, a sharp twist I couldn’t name.

I clenched my jaw, trying to shove the feeling down, trying to force control back into my hands.

'Fine. Not tonight,’ I told myself, but even saying it didn’t feel right. 'Not tonight… but it’s not over. She’s not safe. She’s not spared. I’ll come back.’

The thought coiled tighter, like a living thing under my ribs, hungry, patient, waiting. And somewhere in the shadows, I knew — I would.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Y/N POV

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

My alarm blares, ripping me out of another night of barely any sleep.

“Ugh.” I drag myself upright and shuffle toward the mirror. The bruise on my cheek is almost gone, but the deep purple rings under my eyes give me away. I haven’t been sleeping. Not really.

I glance toward the window. The curtains are still tucked tightly around the frame, no gaps. I move to them anyway and peel a sliver open.

Backyard. Empty.

A shaky breath escapes me. I tug on the lock just to be sure, then turn back to get dressed. Black turtleneck, skinny jeans. I run a brush slowly through my hair, watching myself in the mirror—watching for anything that feels off.

A sudden rattle hits the window, just the wind, but it makes me jump. My eyes snap toward it before I force them away. No shadows. No figures. Just the wind. My shoulders loosen a little.

I dab concealer across the fading bruise. My phone lights up with a message from Hayley saying she’ll be at school early. I grab my backpack, check the window one more time, and whisper, “It’s okay,” even though I’m not sure I believe it.

Down the hallway, I scan each doorway before passing—a quick flick of my eyes to make sure nothing is there. In the kitchen, my mom is gathering her things for work.

“Your dad will be home before you,” she says while pouring coffee. “I have to stay late tonight. It’s his choice between cooking and takeout.”

I hum and nod, gripping the strap of my backpack. “Okay. Mom…” The words catch in my throat. A flash of the backyard hits me—Joshua’s head tilting, the curtain falling back into place. My chest tightens.

“Yes? Spit it out,” she urges.

I swallow everything down. Instead I force a smile that feels too light to be real. “Nothing. It can wait. Be safe. I love you.”

She blows me a kiss and heads out the door.

I let out a long breath and step outside. The door clicks shut, and I lock it quickly. My mom backs out of the driveway, and I wave as she pulls away.

Then I turn, letting my eyes roam across the yard, the tree line, the corners shadows cling to this early. Something in my stomach twists, a slow, warning ache.

Something feels wrong today.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

The morning air hits me as I step onto the sidewalk, colder than I expected.

I pull my backpack tighter and start down my usual route—Maple Street, the blue mailbox, the yellow house with the crooked flowerpots. All of it should feel normal, but it doesn’t.

A silver sedan sits idling at the end of the street. The windows are dark, the engine running low. It’s usually gone long before now.

'Maybe they’re just running late,' I tell myself, but my stomach gives a small twist.

I walk faster. A man across the street leans on his fence with a coffee cup. Normal. Average. But when he glances at me, his eyes linger a second too long. Not enough to say anything about. Just enough to tighten my chest.

'People look. It’s fine.' Still, my fingers curl around the straps of my backpack.

Leaves scrape across the pavement behind me—sharp enough to sound like footsteps. I don’t turn around. I just keep listening. Waiting for the rhythm to change. It doesn’t.

My usual landmarks blur together. The peeling blue mailbox. The leaning street sign. Even the cracked sidewalk near the corner feels darker today.

As I pass the brick house with the wind chimes, Mrs. Thompson waves.

“Morning, sweetheart!”

I force a smile. “Morning!”

But my eyes are already scanning past her—the narrow gap between fences, the shaded corners no one ever stands in. A few steps later, something moves in the alley between two houses—a tall silhouette standing completely still. My heart skips. I blink, and it’s gone. Just shadow.

'Stop. You’re overthinking'.
But the voice in the back of my head doesn’t believe it.

The closer I get to school, the tighter the air feels. My feet want to move faster, like some part of me already knows something’s off.

And no matter how many times I look behind or ahead…

I can’t shake the feeling that something is there. Watching. Waiting.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

By the time I reach the school gates, the tight feeling in my chest still hasn’t let up. Kids crowd the sidewalks, laughing and messing around. I slip through the groups quickly, hoping blending in will help.

It doesn’t.

“Girl!” Hayley calls, jogging up. “Finally. I thought you ghosted me.” I force a smile. “No, I’m here. Just tired.”

“You look it,” she teases, bumping my shoulder. “Rough night?” I shrug, trying not to look like I’m scanning everything around us. Something near the side of the building catches my eye—a man standing half-hidden by a tall shrub. Not talking. Not moving. Just… watching. A passing car blocks my view for a second. When it moves, he’s gone.

My stomach drops.

“Y/N?” Hayley asks. “You’re spacing out again.”

“I’m fine,” I lie, pushing open the doors.

Inside, the hallway is loud—lockers slamming, kids yelling, music thumping from someone’s headphones. Normal. Supposedly. But even here, something feels wrong. Like the outside followed me in. I walk to my locker, glancing toward the big windows facing the courtyard.

There.

Standing at the edge of the tree line: a tall figure.

Still. Silent. Facing the building.

My blood runs cold. He’s too far away to see clearly. Could be anyone. But I know that stillness. A classmate bumps into me. “Damn, Y/N, jumpy much?”

“Sorry,” I mutter. Hayley edges closer. “Okay, seriously. What’s going on?” i shake my head slightly “Nothing,” I say, too soft. “Just tired.” We move toward class. The whole hallway feels brighter than it should—like the noise is trying too hard to hide something. Before stepping into the classroom, I glance at the window one more time.

The tree line is empty, but farther down, near the staff parking lot, another silhouette stands partly hidden behind a car. Motionless.

Watching the school.
Watching me.

I look away as a group of students passes, and when I look back—the figure is gone. A chill settles into my stomach. Someone is out there. Someone who doesn’t belong. Someone who knows how to stay just out of reach.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

The rest of the day drags. I can’t shake the pressure between my shoulders. It follows me into every classroom. I keep noticing little things.

A shadow outside the window. Gone when I blink.
Someone pacing near the bike racks. Not a student.
Everyone else laughs, talks, lives—and I’m tracking ghosts.

'Calm down. Relax.'
But that darker voice in me whispers: 'No. Someone’s watching you. Pay attention.'

And I do.

By the last bell, my nerves feel stretched thin. I shove my books into my bag and head outside with the crowd, trying to look normal even though my pulse won’t settle. The moment I step outside, I scan the grounds automatically. Kids messing around, cars pulling up—everything looks normal. Too normal. I don’t know what I’m expecting. I just know something’s wrong. I start walking, keeping my pace steady. My eyes move everywhere—corners, windows, familiar shapes that suddenly don’t feel familiar at all.

Whatever’s waiting for me… it’s not done.
And neither am I.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Y/N POV 2:30 PM

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

The final bell had rung thirty minutes ago, but my nerves hadn’t. My shoulders were still tight, hunched like I expected something to jump me from behind. I was gripping my backpack straps so hard my fingertips were tingling, but letting go didn’t feel like an option.
I kept scanning the street as I walked — the parked cars, the tilted mailboxes, the school zone sign swaying even though there was barely any wind. Nothing looked wrong, but everything felt too still.

'You’re fine. Seriously. You’re being paranoid because of last night.'
It didn’t make the buzzing under my skin go away.

A car idled at the curb across the street — just sitting there. Dark windows. No visible driver. My pace picked up automatically.

Every alley looked deeper. Every shadow felt heavier. Like something was waiting in them.
My heartbeat was loud in my ears. My footsteps were louder.
My phone buzzed and I jumped so hard I almost dropped it. For one awful second I thought someone had grabbed me.

It was Dad — Incoming Call.
I exhaled, half laughing at myself, and answered.

“Hey,” I said, forcing normalcy into my voice.
Dad’s voice crackled over the line. “Kiddo, I gotta stop by the store and grab stuff for dinner. You good getting home?”
“Yeah. I’m already on my way.” I forced my shoulders to relax. “No big deal.”

“Good. Lock the door behind you, okay? And don’t forget the trash.”
“Got it. I’m fine, Dad. Really.”
He believed me instantly — responsible, calm, nothing wrong.
“Alright. Love you.”
“Love you too.”

When the call ended, the street felt twice as quiet.
I glanced at the time 2:45

For a moment, the normalcy helped. Dad talking about dinner and chores made everything feel sane. I let myself believe it.
Then a dog barked somewhere far off, sharp and sudden, and the tension snapped right back into my spine.

I should’ve gone straight home.
I knew it the second I turned down an unfamiliar cross-street — narrow sidewalks, old peeling houses, long stretches with nobody living there at all. The kind of place people drove through, not walked.

But the car from earlier had taken my usual route, and instinct told me not to follow it.

The farther I walked, the quieter the world became. No kids. No traffic. Just the echo of some dog barking blocks away. Even that sounded wrong.
Leaves scraped the pavement.
A loose shutter clattered.
A swing creaked without being touched.

I kept cataloging everything — rusted bike chained to a fence, broken streetlight flickering, weeds splitting concrete. None of it dangerous.
But my brain kept whispering: 'You shouldn’t be here.'

My footsteps were too loud.
'Short breaths. Short strides. Just get out of this neighborhood. Fast.'
The deeper I went, the fewer signs of life there were.
No porch lights.
No voices.
Just rows of homes with curtains pulled tight.

I hated that I kept looking over my shoulder. Everything felt wrong. Empty. Watched.
A dog barked again — frantic — and then cut off too suddenly.
My footsteps echoed.
'Streets shouldn’t have echoes.'

I passed a bent chain-link fence with “DON’T WALK ALONE” spray-painted on the wall beside it. The letters were rushed, uneven, desperate.
My chest tightened.
'You’re fine. You’re tired. Nothing is happening.'
Any excuse flowed through my head as I walked faster.

A sudden metal crash behind me made me freeze.
My pulse thundered.

Something scraped the ground.
Another bang.
I turned, slow.

Something darted through the alley — low to the ground.
Then—

A rat.
Just a rat.

It disappeared under a dumpster. I let out a shaky breath, half laugh, half sob.
“You’re being ridiculous,” I whispered. “It’s just an animal.”

But my legs stayed locked.
Because the fear hadn’t been about the rat.

It was that my body was so sure someone was behind me.
That instinct terrified me more than anything else.

I backed out of the alley, never turning my back. When my feet hit the wider sidewalk, I forced myself to breathe normally. To look normal.
But the air felt heavier now.
Like something really was close.

And watching.
And then headlights turned the corner.

A car slowed.
Then stopped.

My pulse spiked — until the window rolled down.

“Y/N?”

Joshua leaned toward the opening, scanning me like he was checking for injuries. “What are you doing out here?”

My panic dulled but didn’t vanish.
“I… took a different route.”

Josh laughed softly. “In this neighborhood?” He shook his head. “Kiddo, people get jumped out here in broad daylight.”

I looked around without meaning to. The street felt twice as empty.
Josh unlocked the passenger door. Click.
“Come on. I’ll take you home.”

His tone was friendly, familiar — the same voice he used watching football with Dad.
There was no reason not to trust him.
And yet… my stomach twisted.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. No one knew I was walking this way. This wasn’t coincidence.

My hand hesitated at the door handle.
Josh noticed. His smile didn’t fade, but something in his eyes sharpened. “Hey. I’m just worried about you, okay? It’s not safe out here.”

Nothing sounded threatening.
Except the idea of refusing.
I climbed in.

He reached across and buckled my seatbelt for me.
“Safety first,” he grinned.
The seatbelt clicked too loud. I never replied just forced a smile.

He drove slowly at first. Pawn shops and boarded homes slid past the window. Everything looked worse from inside a car.

“You scared me,” he said lightly. “Saw you coming out of that alley and I about had a heart attack.”
“You… saw me?” My voice cracked.

“Yeah. Lucky timing.”
‘Lucky, Right.’
The heater hummed even though the air wasn’t cold. My palms were sweating.

“You don’t have to walk home, you know,” Josh went on. “You can always call me.”
“Yeah,” I murmured.

He smiled. “I just want to look out for you.”
Compliment. Warning. Possession. All tangled.

Another slow turn.
Then another.
It took me far to long to realize...

“…This isn’t the way home.”
Josh didn’t even blink. “Construction on your street. I’m avoiding traffic. Trust me.”

Everything in the car looked normal.
He looked normal.

But the air was heavy.
The seatbelt too tight.
“Can you drop me at the corner? I want to run to the gas station.”
His smile didn’t change, but something in his jaw twitched.
“Come on, Y/N. You don’t want to walk again after that. Relax. You’re safe with me.”
‘Relax. Safe.’

My heart didn’t listen.
Instinct whispered:
'This is the moment everything goes bad.

And then Josh turned down another road.
Not toward home.
Not toward the gas station.
Somewhere else.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

I wake up with a sharp inhale, the kind that hurts all the way down.
Cold metal digs into my back. The sharp smell of dirt and damp leaves floods my nose.

My clothes feel wrong. Stretched. Pulled. My hair’s gritty, stuck to my face. Everything feels… off. Violated.
I push myself upright. My body trembles, unsure if it wants to move.

The park comes back in slow pieces — empty swings, cracked sidewalk, trees whispering in the wind. One swing creaks long and slow even though nothing touches it. The sound crawls down my spine.

The air is too quiet.
Too still.
Even the shadows feel like they’re holding their breath.

'What… what happened?'
The thought hits like ice water.

Confusion first.
Then fear.
Then shame, heavy and suffocating.

And under it all — anger. Hot and dangerous.
I shove it down. Not yet. Not here.
I wrap my arms around myself to stay small, stay steady.

I have to think.
I have to move.

My legs wobble when I stand. My eyes scan the park and land on my phone lying face-down in the dirt. I bend slowly, keeping an arm over my chest.
Because my shirt—
My turtleneck is torn almost clean across the front. One wrong move and I’m exposed. Completely.

I keep one arm clamped over myself while I grab the phone. The screen is cracked like someone slammed it.
There’s a text from Dad:
“Hey sweetie, I noticed you weren’t back yet. I went out to get your mom, her car broke down.”
Sent twenty minutes ago. I glance at the time 3:53 pm

‘How long have I been here?’

Memory slams into me — the paranoia, the figure watching me, the walk through the bad neighborhood—
Joshua.

My stomach twists violently.
I grip my arms tighter, holding the torn fabric together.

I remember getting in his car.
The things he did.
The threats.
The force.
The parts of me he stole.

My body trembles uncontrollably. I sit on the edge of the slide as adrenaline fades and pain claws its way in.

A noise from the woods makes me jump to my feet.
“Who’s there?”
My voice comes out stronger than I expect.
“I—I have a gun!”
It sounds like a lie even to me.

Then a white flash.
I step toward the bushes.

A white hoodie lies crumpled in the dirt, 'Cover Up' scratched into the ground beside it.
I pick it up. Red stains blot the fabric. I touch one — it’s sunk deep into the threads. Maybe it’s supposed to look like this.
“…Thank you,” I whisper. I doubt the stranger can hear me, but I hope somehow they know.

I’m standing here in a tore up shirt and jeans. I don’t really have a choice.
I pull the hoodie over my head. The smell hits instantly — sweat, metal, something sharp and human.
I don’t react. I can’t.
I clutch the hoodie tighter around myself, shove my phone and the rest of my things into the pocket, and start walking home.

When I get there, I text Mom a simple 'home' and head straight to the bathroom.
The second the water hits me, everything caves in. I sit on the shower floor and sob until my chest aches. Thirty minutes, maybe more.

Then I scrub. Hard. Until my skin burns.
'Why do I still feel filthy?' the thought burns into my brain.

After an hour and a half, I get out, wrap in a towel, and change into soft clothes. I throw my dirty clothes in the basket, then pick up the hoodie again.
“I don’t know who did this for me… or why you ran… but thank you,” I whisper. “I feel a little better.”

I wash it, start the machine, then check every door and window. My parents have keys. No one else should.
I shut my curtains without checking the lock — I swear I hadn’t opened it.

I fall asleep almost instantly.

***************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

*7:30 PM*

***************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

I wake up, change clothes, and start the dryer. Arms suddenly wrap around me.
I scream.
“Please!”

I pull away fast — tears in my eyes — until I see my mother’s horrified face.

“Sweetie, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!”
I wipe my eyes. “No, Mom. I just… had a nightmare.” The lie slips out easily.
She touches my cheek, kisses it. “Dinner’s in the fridge.”

I thank her and peek inside — burger and fries. I’m not hungry. I close the door and sit in the living room, staring at the TV without hearing it.
Movement catches my eye.

I look toward the window, frowning. I walk over and make sure it’s locked. I see nothing outside except the side of Joshua’s house.
I instinctively cross my arms over my chest.
My eyes don't wander over there again, worried it would somehow summon him.

When the dryer finishes, I put my clothes away. The hoodie is slightly stained pink now. Cleaner — but still eerie.
“I should return this tomorrow,” I mumble, folding it and setting it on my bedside table. I watch TV until midnight, then turn the volume down and drift off.

***************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

*4:00 AM*

***************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

I snapped awake to a noise — a heavy thump against the glass.
Then:
Tap…
Tap…
Tap…

My breath stalled. I turned slowly toward the window. A silhouette stood outside — darker than the night behind it. I pushed myself out of bed, backing toward the light switch without taking my eyes off the shape.
Before my fingers reached the switch, the window slid upward with a low scrape.

I know I locked it.
…didn’t I?

My chest tightened. My voice was barely there.
“L-Leave me alone… I didn’t tell anyone, I promise— please…”
A pale white hand curled over the windowsill.

“Relax.” The voice was low, rough, bored. “If I wanted to do something to you, I’d already have done it.”
He pulled himself inside like it wasn’t a stranger’s bedroom — like it was nothing.

The TV glow barely lit him, just enough to draw the shape of him. I reached again for the switch — instinct. He stepped toward me, no hurry, no threat in his tone but no safety in it either.

“Don’t.”
A pause.
“I’m not here for you. I just came for my hoodie.”

My breathing froze. I felt the cold smell before I fully registered it — metal, dirt, sweat, something else underneath. My stomach knotted.
I pointed toward the nightstand. “…over there.”

He turned, picked the hoodie up, lifted it to his face. In that tiny movement the TV glow caught him — dark red smeared along his jeans, streaked faintly across his cheek, dried into the fabric of the hoodie.
“You’re bleeding,” I whispered before I could stop myself.

His mouth twitched — not a smile, not happy, almost amused at the wrongness of the question. A soft chuckle escaped him, but it wasn’t humor. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a kitchen knife with dried blood on the blade, then slid it into his hoodie pocket like someone tucking away a phone.
“I’m not hurt,” he said plainly.

My pulse thudded so loudly I could barely hear myself when I asked, “How do you know where I live…? ”
He didn’t look at me when he answered — he just adjusted the hoodie and moved toward the window.

“I notice things,” he said, as if that explained everything. “Nobody pays attention around here. That’s why people get hurt.”
He was already halfway over the windowsill when he added, almost as an afterthought:
“…thanks for washing it.”

There was no warmth in it. Just acknowledgement.
Before I realized I was doing it, I stepped closer to the window, leaning out just enough to see him walking away down the yard.
“What’s your name?” The words came out small but steady.

He stopped. Turned just enough for the dark outline of his face to catch the smallest trace of moonlight — forehead, nose, jaw. Still unreadable.
“Jeff.”
No last name. No question back. No goodbye.

He walked off like the night was familiar to him — like nothing about any of this was strange.

I shut the window. I locked it. I checked the lock twice.

Then I slid under my covers, heart still pounding, the name running circles in my mind like it wouldn’t let go:
Jeff.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Y/N POV 4:50 AM

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

It’s been a month since… The Incident. I thought I could handle keeping it to myself, but people keep saying I’ve changed. I mean, I guess I can see it a little — but it’s not like I’m a whole new person.

Okay, maybe now I stay in my room most of the time.
And never talk to anyone...
And have anxiety attacks when I’m left alone in public...
And stay up all night so I can sleep through the day.
But, I smile when I’m with Jeff.

Three days after I met him, police swarmed the house next door.
Joshua was dead.
And he wasn’t the only one.
A bunch of people have been killed this month — same way Paige, Missy, and Paris were found.

Same three words written on their walls: “Go To Sleep.”

“They’re just dumb,” Jeff muttered from his spot on the edge of the window. “People around here don’t know anything when it comes to personal feelings.”

There was something in his voice — a flicker of pain — but most of what I heard was nothingness. Cold, empty nothingness.
“I just… I feel so bad for not telling anyone,” I whisper, twisting the strings of my hoodie around my fingers. “But I’m scared.”

“Y/N, stop.” Jeff’s tone barely changed. “The man is dead anyway. No one has to know anything. You told me, didn’t you? And you haven’t even told your little friend about me.”
He meant Hayley.

I haven’t told her about Jeff because I know exactly what will happen. Her true-crime brain would take over. I can already hear her:

‘You met him because he crawled through your window — three days before your neighbor died?’

“She’d think too much into it,” I mumble, sighing.
There’s a long pause — the kind that presses on your ribs.
“Why don’t you let me see your face?” I ask quietly, standing and taking a hesitant step toward him.

He glances back at me.

He’s still wearing the black face mask — the one that hides everything below his eyes. His eyes had terrified me the first time I saw them, but later he’d explained, flat and monotone: ‘House fire… three years ago. Skin melted. No eyelids.’ That’s why his skin is so pale. That’s why the mask.

It all makes sense.
Mostly.

“Because you’ll just leave,” he says. His voice is flat, unmoved. His eyes don’t leave mine. “People always do.”

The way he says it hits something in my chest — not dramatic, just quietly painful. He’s never talked like this before. I hate that a part of me… has started to like him. He always seems to know when I’m sad or angry. He shows up without asking, like he notices things nobody else does.

“Jeff, I—I wouldn’t—”

“You would.” No hesitation. No anger. Just fact. “Don’t argue.”

He turns back toward the yard, cutting the conversation clean.

I sit next to him, trying to breathe around the tension hanging between us. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” I whisper.

He doesn’t look at me. “You didn’t.” It’s not comfort — just a correction.
Silence stretches. I trace the outline of the moon with my eyes, like he is.
“Jeff… do you have anywhere to stay at night?” I ask softly.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t react. For a moment I think he won’t answer at all.
Then: “Does it matter?” He says it quietly, but not sadly — just like he’s used to the question.
“I just… wondered,” I say.

He exhales through his nose, annoyed at himself for replying. “I sleep where I end up. Bus station, roof, where-ever.”
There’s no self-pity in it. Not even discomfort. Just reality.

I frown, stand, and walk across the room. I dig out a blanket and spare pillow from my closet and make a pallet on the floor. When I turn around, his eyes are locked on me — sharp, unreadable, like he’s evaluating what I’m doing rather than appreciating it.
“Here,” I say softly.

“Y/N.” The way he says my name is a warning, not gratitude.

I shake my head. “It’s fine. My parents tried to wake me up last week and it turned into a whole fight. They won’t bother me again.”

He watches me — not concerned, not sympathetic. Just absorbing every detail like it could matter later.

“…Alright.” He climbs through the window without another word, landing silently.
I go to my dresser and pull out a grey hoodie and red sweatpants, tossing them to him. “You can wear these. And you can shower if you want.”

He catches the clothes without looking down. “If the water’s running and you’re still in here, your parents will check. That’s how people get caught.” His tone is low, controlled — not scared of the idea, just planning around it.

For some reason, him thinking that far ahead makes the room feel smaller, the air heavier.
He isn’t afraid of being found.
He just doesn’t want to be interrupted.

"You're okay, if I need to I'll hide in my closet and they'll never know," I say softly, giving a small nod.
Jeff doesn’t answer. He just stares at me for a second — not confused, just reading me like I’m giving away more than I meant to.

I watch as he takes the clothes slowly, like he’s weighing every reason not to accept them. His hand settles on the doorknob, grip firm, like he’s already planning where to move next if something goes wrong.

"The towels are in the second cabinet and you can use my dad's soap… unless you wanna smell like me."
I try to joke, lightly poking his arm.

Jeff doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even smile. His eyes moved to where my hand touched him, then back to my face — not offended, not flattered… just aware.
When he finally speaks, his voice is flat, quiet, and certain:
"I don't need to smell like you. I don't need to smell like anyone."
Then he opens the door and slips into the hallway with barely a sound, closing it behind him like he’s done it a hundred times before — no hesitation, no nerves, just clean, practiced movement that makes the room feel too still once he’s gone.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Jeff POV

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

I close the bathroom door and lock it. Not because I’m scared of anyone coming in — just habit. Control the space. Secure the perimeter. Always.

The mirror looks back at me. The mask looks ridiculous on me, I look ridiculous in this house, — clean walls, working lights, safety everywhere. I pull it off in one motion. The air hits the carved smile, still tight and aching at the edges.

I stare at my reflection for a long second. I don’t say anything out loud. I don’t need to. The thought is already there:
'You were going to kill her.'

It isn’t guilt. It’s information. A reminder of what I am, what I do, what’s easy.
So why am I here?'

I turn on the shower, step in before the heat settles. The water burns a little — good. It keeps the mind quiet. Steam rises, and for a moment it’s almost enough to drown out the instincts.
Almost.

She let you in.
She shouldn’t have.
She didn’t even think about it.
Reckless. Stupid. Kind. Whatever word fits — it’s all the same weakness. That kind of softness gets people hurt. Gets people killed. That’s usually where I come in.

I press my palm flat against the tile, feel it shake under the water. I breathe until everything goes still again. Thirty minutes. Maybe more. Doesn’t matter.

When I get out, the mirror is fogged. I wipe a line across it. The scars stand out under the fluorescent light, pale ridges against pale skin. I drag a finger over one — not sentimental, just confirming it’s still real.

Clothes on. Mask last.

The weight of the wet towel hits the tile. I scoop up my dirty clothes — I don’t like leaving a trail — and open the door.

Back into her room. Quiet. Controlled. Like I’d never left.

She looks up when I walk in. Sitting on the pallet she made. Waiting for me to use her bed.

Pointless.

“No. Get up. You’ve done enough for me tonight.”
I don’t raise my voice. I don’t have to. I just sit beside her instead. The floor is cold, the air is still, and she listens — like she always does.

The clothes land next to the nightstand. Not folded. Not neat. I don’t care where they end up as long as they’re close enough to grab if I have to leave fast.

“Seriously? When’s the last time you actually slept on a bed?” Not mean. Not mocking. More like someone who’s worn down, worried, but i can hear the slight attitude behind it.

The anger isn’t loud — it hits like a switch. Fast, sharp, clean.
She doesn’t need to know what I’ve done, where I’ve been, or who bled on the sheets the last time I used one.

“None of your business.”
I make sure she hears the warning, but I don’t move. Staring straight back into her eyes until she looks away first. She always does.

She retreats to the bed, tucks herself under the covers. The room goes quiet. Small. Expectant.

She’s waiting for forgiveness that she’ll never hear out loud.

“(Y/N)… Listen, you don’t need to worry about me like you are.”
It slips out before I can stop it. Not comfort — just correction. A reminder that worrying about me is dangerous. For her. Not for me.

My left hand tightens around the blanket. My right goes into the hoodie. Touching the knife, not drawing it.
Not because I want to use it — because it centers me. Metal is simple. People aren’t.
She tenses. Good. Instinct working.

Then she talks again — quietly, steady, looking right at me.
"I just wanted you to have a good night sleep,"
"God knows when the last time that happened." It wasn't attitude soaked, it was stated simply. 'I can respect that.'

I don’t trust my voice, so I keep it short:
“Okay. Thanks, I guess. But I’m staying down here.”

I hear the softness in my tone and it irritates me.

She checks the time. 5:40 AM. She tells me to sleep. She closes her eyes like she isn’t sharing a room with something dangerous.

“…Okay.”

One word. Flat. Emotion scrubbed clean. 'Back to normal.'

She sleeps inches away from me. She doesn’t understand how easy it would be to end her life.
The more confusing part is that I don’t.

So I stay awake.
On the floor.
Knife in my hand.
Guarding something I was supposed to destroy.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Y/N POV 3:00 PM

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

I wake up a sticky, sweaty mess, jolting upright and gasping for breath. Same nightmare I’ve had for a month. At first, it was Joshua. Then it changed.

Now it’s the woods. I’m running, climbing, hiding — but no matter what I do, he’s there. Tall. Silent. Dressed in a tuxedo. Always in the distance. Watching. Waiting. Catching me. Always catching me. A grip so tight around my abdomen I swear i feel it when i wake.

I drag in slow breaths until my body stops shaking. Then I remember last night.

The pallet on the floor is empty. Jeff isn’t there. My binder is open where he had been, and on top of the pages is a note, short and precise:
'Eat something.'

No thanks. No smiles. Just instructions. Typical Jeff. Somehow that makes my chest tighten instead of calm. I tuck the note into my notebook, sliding it into the drawer, careful to keep it neat — like keeping him here, even in paper.

I straighten the pallet, fold the blanket, replace the pillow, and stack the clothes. Everything put back so it looks like no one was ever here. I lock the window, grab clean clothes, and head to the bathroom.

The house hits me the moment I open the door. My parents are fighting again. My dad’s voice is low and rough; my mom is screaming. Alcohol lingers on my dad’s breath. I sigh and step into the shower, letting the hot water wash the tension off my skin. For a few minutes, the world feels quiet, though I know it’s only temporary.

Once I’m done, I toss my dirty clothes and the ones Jeff left into the washer. The screams and pounding from their fight still echo through the walls. 'I’ve had enough.'

I grab my purse and pull my hood over my head, trying to disappear. I move down the hall, careful, hoping to slip past without anyone noticing. Almost there — until my mom bursts out, slamming the door behind her and clutching her face. She runs into the bathroom, slamming that door too.

Then my dad comes out, red-faced and disheveled. “What?!” he shouts, catching my eyes. I know he started hitting her. I say nothing — she begged me not to.

“Just wanted to tell you I’m going out,” I mutter, keeping my tone even as I open the door.

“I don’t care. Do what you want,” he grumbles, fumbling at the bathroom door. He walks to the living room, grabbing a bottle, as I slip out and close the door behind me.

Even with Jeff gone, his note, the smell of him, the faint shift of the blanket… it’s like he’s still here. Watching. Waiting.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

The walk to the park felt longer than it ever had. Every sound made my shoulders tighten — a car passing, a branch shifting, even the gravel crunching under my shoes. I just needed somewhere quiet. Somewhere open. Somewhere I could breathe without feeling hands on me.

The moment I stepped onto the grass, my eyes swept the whole area out of habit. Checking shadows. Checking corners. Always checking. The swings sat empty, swaying just slightly in the breeze… but the picnic bench wasn’t.
Someone was there.

A boy sat hunched forward on the tabletop, elbows on his knees, a hood pulled loosely over messy hair. Smoke curled up from the joint between his fingers, the sweet smell drifting toward me with the wind. He didn’t notice me at first — or maybe he did and pretended not to. I paused, spine tightening, weight shifting to the balls of my feet. Not scared. Just ready.

I headed toward the swings instead of him, keeping plenty of distance. Metal chains creaked as I sat down, and that sound must’ve grabbed his attention, because his head snapped up immediately.

He blinked at me like he hadn’t expected anyone to be here. His leg bounced a little, restless. 'Nervous.'

“…You good?” he asked finally. His voice was soft, unsure — not the kind you brace yourself against.

I didn’t answer at first. I watched him. His body language. His hands. His posture. No tension in his shoulders, no leaning forward, no sizing me up. Just… startled. Maybe embarrassed he wasn’t alone.

When I didn’t respond, he held his hands up slightly, like he didn’t want to startle me. “I’m not gonna bother you. Just— didn’t expect company.”

That helped. A little. Enough that I loosened my grip on the chains.
“I usually come here,” I murmured, voice low. “It’s quiet.”

He nodded, looking relieved I’d said anything at all. “Yeah. That’s why I’m here.” He rubbed his thumb along the joint, fidgeting with the paper. “Didn’t mean to sit in your spot or anything.”

I huffed a shaky breath — almost a laugh, but not really. “It’s not my spot. Just… familiar.”

“Right.” He nodded again, then glanced down, almost shy. “I’m Tim, by the way. In case, uh… you cared to know.”

I watched him another second. Not threatening. Not pushy. Not trying to get closer.
Just a boy who liked quiet too.

“(Y/N),” I said quietly.

He gave a tiny half-smile — the kind someone gives when they’re not sure they’re allowed to — then took a slow drag of his joint. The smoke drifted up between us, carried off by the breeze.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

For a while, he stayed where he was on the bench, and I stayed on the swings. Separate, but sharing the same air. The same quiet. And for the first time all day… the quiet didn’t feel dangerous.

Just quiet.

We sat like that for a while — me on the swings, him on the bench — letting the quiet settle around us. The breeze moved through the trees, rustling leaves overhead. It should’ve been calming, but my chest still felt tight. Safe, but not safe. Not really.

Tim was the first one to break the silence.

“You come here a lot?” he asked, voice low like he didn’t want to disturb anything.

“Mm.” I nodded, eyes following the fading sunlight on the grass. “Almost every day.”

He hummed like that made sense. “Yeah… you seem like the type who’d notice the quiet. Most people don’t.”

His words didn’t feel like a judgment — more like an observation. Careful. Soft.
Something about that eased me... just a little.

I dared a small glance toward him. His hands were restless; fingers tapped the joint, then his leg bounced, then he rubbed his palm against his jeans again. 'Nervous habits," I thought. 'But not the dangerous kind. More… anxious. Uncertain.'

Jeff would’ve noticed that instantly.
‘Always read people before they read you,’ he’d told me once.
I swallowed, pushing the memory down before it pulled me somewhere I didn’t want to be.

“So… you from around here?” Tim asked. He didn’t look up when he said it — just stared at a spot on the dirt like it was safer than eye contact.

“No,” I said. “Louisiana.”

His eyebrows lifted a little. “Huh. That’s… far.”

“Yeah.”

Another quiet pause. His hood shifted slightly when he turned his head, and I noticed the faint outline of something tucked around his neck — a mask, half-hidden. Not raised, not used. Just… there. Like a habit he didn’t know how to break.

My stomach tightened again — instinctively — but he didn’t reach for it, didn’t adjust it, didn’t even seem aware I’d noticed. He just kept tapping his thumb against his leg, lost in his own head.

“What about you?” I asked, forcing my voice steady. “You from here?”

He shifted, shoulders tightening for a second — then loosening, like he’d decided to tell the truth instead of something easy.

“Pretty much,” he murmured. “Moved around a bit. Didn’t stick anywhere long.”

I nodded slowly. That… I understood. Too well.

His eyes flicked up to me briefly, then down again. “You’re real calm,” he said. “Most people would’ve either bailed or yelled at me to stop smoking.”

A tiny, humorless smile tugged at my mouth. “I’ve been around worse things than a joint.”

He looked at me like he wanted to ask what that meant — but didn’t.
Good. Jeff always said the people who didn’t push were the ones you could breathe near.

The metal chain creaked as I shifted slightly, and Tim watched my hands, not in a predatory way, but like he was making sure I wasn’t uncomfortable.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” he said quietly. “I just… didn’t want you sitting over there thinking I was gonna come at you or something.”

My throat tightened.
He saw it. He understood without asking.

“That’s… not why I sat over here,” I whispered, but we both knew that was only half-true.
Tim nodded anyway, like he didn’t need the full story.

The sun dipped lower, painting everything orange. I felt a pulse of anxiety when I saw the shadows stretch longer — the way they always did before dark. Jeff’s voice flickered through my head again:
‘Be home before sunset. Don’t be stupid.’
My heart thudded unevenly.

But Tim stayed where he was. Not moving toward me. Not pushing. Not trying to fill the space.
Just letting me exist.

And somehow, that was the calmest I’d felt all day.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

The sky was sliding toward dusk faster than I wanted it to. That heavy blue hour where shadows stopped looking like shadows and started looking like… other things. Wrong things.

My fingers curled around the swing’s chain, knuckles whitening. I tried to keep my breathing even and quiet, but my eyes kept drifting back to the tree line behind the bench. The woods were just… still. Too still. Like they were holding their breath.

My mind flicked to Jeff — sharp, unwanted.
He always saw danger first.
He always had that instinct I didn’t trust in myself anymore.

I swallowed, forcing my gaze away from the treeline — only for it to snap right back a second later when a branch shifted, just slightly, like something stepping behind it.

Tim noticed.

His voice, when it came, was cautious. Not prying — just aware in that quietly observant way he had.
“You keep lookin’ over there,” he said gently, following my line of sight but not staring too hard. “Something bothering you?”

I didn’t answer, not exactly. My grip on the chains tightened and I kept watching the dark between the trees. My whole body stayed ready — not to run, but to react.

Tim shifted on the picnic bench, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He didn’t crowd me. Didn’t stand. Didn’t move closer. He just made himself… steady. Present. A shape I could predict.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said. “Just… you seem kinda on edge. That’s all.”

A pause.

I looked at him again, noticing the way he kept his body small, non-threatening. The way he didn’t look away too fast, but didn’t stare either. The way his voice stayed low. Controlled. Almost careful — like he didn’t want to startle me.

And I hated that it mattered, but something in my chest loosened, just a little.

The woods shifted again — or I thought they did — and my pulse jumped. Darkness had settled fully now, swallowing the edges of the park. The lamp by the old slide flickered once, steadied again, but it did nothing to settle me.

Tim’s eyes followed mine toward the treeline. Something softened in his face.

He cleared his throat.
“Hey… it’s getting pretty dark,” he said quietly. “If you’re uncomfortable being out here alone… I could walk you home. Only if you want. I’m not gonna push it.”

My fingers dug tighter into the swing’s chain.
I didn’t answer right away — I watched him first, felt that old cautious instinct humming behind my ribs.

He didn’t move toward me. Didn’t assume. Didn’t stand like the decision was already made. He stayed right where he was, hands hanging loose between his knees, posture open but not expectant.

“I just—” He exhaled, steadying himself.
“You look like you’ve had a rough day. And… nobody should have to walk home alone feeling like that.”

A pause.

He glanced toward the woods — actually looked — not pretending, not dismissing the possibility that something was out there.

“Besides,” he added softly, “the woods get weird at night. No shame in wanting someone around.”

My stomach knotted.
Not because he scared me — but because he noticed. Because he paid attention without making me feel exposed.

Jeff flashed through my mind again.
How he would’ve already stood beside me.
How he would’ve stared into the trees like he dared something to try us.

I breathed out, shaky but contained.

“…You’d really just walk me home?” I asked, my voice low.

Tim nodded once.
“Yeah. Only if you say yes. And if not, I’ll sit right here until you’re ready to go.”

It wasn’t smooth.
It wasn’t rehearsed.
It wasn’t a trick.

It was just honest.

And that made something ache deep in my chest — soft, unfamiliar, almost painful in its gentleness.

I nodded once, slow but certain.
“…Okay. You can walk me home.”

Tim stood up carefully, like he didn’t want to startle me, and waited for me to move first. I stepped away from the swings, and he matched my pace automatically — not crowding, not hanging too far back. Just… steady. Predictable.

The park faded behind us, swallowed by the dark. Streetlights flickered overhead, weak and buzzing. Every little sound — a branch shifting, a car far off, the wind pulling at the leaves — made my shoulders jump before I could stop them.

Tim didn’t comment on it. He’d already noticed back on the swings. Already understood enough not to poke at something raw. He just stepped slightly closer, not to much, but enough to remind me of his presence.

We walked for a little, the quiet soft instead of suffocating. My fingers fidgeted with the chain marks on my palms, trying to rub out the imprint.

A pause.

“You walk alone a lot?” he asked — gentle, not prying.

“Sometimes.”
I kept my eyes on the sidewalk. “I don’t… like it when it’s dark.”

He nodded, hands in his pockets. “Yeah. Makes sense.”

We fell into silence again. Not awkward. Just… space. A kind of quiet I didn’t have to brace myself against. I kept glancing behind us — at the road, the shadows, the things that always felt like they were breathing just out of sight.

He didn’t push. Didn’t ask what I was looking for. Didn’t tell me I was imagining it.

When we turned onto my street, the tension in my body snapped tight again. I could hear the low rise and fall of voices from inside my house. Not shouting yet, but sharp. Familiar.

Tim slowed his steps without me asking. 'He noticed?' Of course he noticed.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pre-roll, tapping it lightly against his thumb. “If you want a hit before you go in,” he said softly. “Might take the edge off.”

I hesitated — because I hated needing anything. Hated how obvious it must’ve looked.

But he didn’t push it toward me. Didn’t assume. He held it loose, like he’d put it straight back if I said no.

“No pressure,” he added. “Just offering.”

My eyes drifted to the house again — the flicker of movement behind the curtains, the tone of the voices inside tightening. That familiar dread crawled up my spine.

“…Yeah,” I breathed out. “Just one.”

I took it from him and lit it. The first inhale burned, the second settled somewhere deep in my chest, loosening everything that had been pulled tight since the park. I let the smoke out in a slow stream, watching it dissolve into the night air.
“Thanks,” I said, voice soft but real.

“Anytime,” he murmured.

I handed it back and he tucked it away without even taking hit — like it wasn’t about the weed at all. Just about letting me breathe.

When we reached the edge of my walkway, he stopped.
I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag. Tim shifted slightly beside me, quiet, giving me the space I seemed to need—but I could feel him there. Watching. Waiting.

“Thanks… for walking me,” I muttered, voice low, careful. My words sounded strange even to me, like admitting anything at all might draw attention I didn’t want.

He just nodded. No teasing, no questions—just presence. That simple, steady presence made my chest ache in a way I wasn’t sure I wanted to acknowledge.
Almost without thinking, I leaned forward and gave him a quick, hesitant hug. Nothing long, nothing too close—just a brief press of my arms. A silent, fragile “thank you.” I stayed tense, my body ready to pull back at the slightest wrong move.

His hands didn’t move, but I felt the faint shift of his weight, like he understood. When I stepped back, I kept my eyes low, tugging at my bag strap like it was a shield.
“Okay..." I murmured, the words coming out for my sake.

He gave the smallest nod, patient and quiet, and I started up the walkway, every instinct alert. Even with the small comfort he offered, part of me couldn’t stop scanning the shadows, counting the distance to my door.

And in the corner of my eye, just for a moment, I thought I saw a tall, still shape half a block down. My chest tightened, a sharp instinct warning me—but when I blinked, there was nothing there.

I stepped inside, closed the door quietly behind me, and Tim turned back into the dark alone.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Jeff’s POV Thursday 3:00 AM

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

I can’t stop seeing it.

Every time I blink, it’s there again—her leaning into Tim like he deserves to touch her. Like he earned that. Like she’s allowed to smile at someone who isn’t me.
My teeth hurt from how hard I’m clenching them. I’ve been walking for… I don’t even know how long. Streets blur together. The cold air doesn’t help. Nothing helps.
She looked safe with him.

Safe.
With him.

I kick a rock so hard it ricochets off a mailbox and makes a huge metal crack. The sound shoots right through me, and I feel that buzzing under my skin again—like something electric and wrong crawling around in my veins.

“She let him hold her,” I mutter, pacing faster. “She let him—God, why would she let him—”

My hands ball into fists so tight my nails cut the skin. Good. The sting keeps me from turning around and going after Tim first. Because I would. I really would.
“She’s mine,” I whisper. “Mine. He doesn’t get her. Nobody does.”

I turn into some backyard without thinking. I’m not paying attention to where I’m going, just following the anger. There’s a motion light that snaps on as I pass. It hits me like a spotlight, and something inside me jerks—instinct, reflex, whatever you want to call it.

Something moves in the bushes.
Small. Rustling. Doesn’t matter what it is.
I snap toward it so fast my neck pops.

Move = threat.
Threat = kill.

I’m over the fence before I even finish the thought. My breath comes sharp and fast, every inhale scraping like sandpaper. I land in the grass and stare at the closest house.
Normal. Quiet. Safe.

I hate it.
I hate how soft it is.
I hate how it feels like the whole world is allowed to be peaceful except me.

A window on the side is cracked open. Not much—half an inch. But it’s enough to piss me off. Enough to feel like an invitation.
“Fine,” I breathe. “Fine. You want company? I’ll keep you awake.”

I wedge my fingers under the window frame and force it up. The wood groans, but I’m already inside before it fully opens. I drop onto carpet that smells like detergent and candles and boring suburban happiness.

I want to tear all of it apart.
Then—
A sound.
Soft. Faint.

Someone shifting in bed, maybe. A creak. Breath. Movement.
My head snaps toward the hallway.

That’s all I need.
One sound.

My pulse spikes so hard it makes my vision blur at the edges.
“Awake,” I whisper, even though I don’t know if they are. “Someone’s awake.”

It feels like permission.
Like release.

I start toward the hallway, every step lighter, quieter, easier.
I’m not thinking about who they are.
I’m not thinking about why.
I’m not thinking at all.

I just know one thing:

I need to break something before I break myself.
And the first person in my way is going to die.

The hallway is narrow, carpet muffling my steps, but every breath I take feels loud enough to shake the walls. There’s a faint noise—just a shift under blankets, or maybe someone exhaling in their sleep.
The nearest door is cracked open. Soft light from the street slips through the blinds inside, striping the floor. I push the door with one fingertip, and it swings silently.
Someone’s lying in the bed.

A grown woman, hair fanned over the pillow.
Asleep.
Peaceful.
I hate it.

I move before I can think—my body knows what it wants. I’m on her in a second, knee hitting the mattress, knife already in my hand. Her eyes snap open, mouth struggling for breath, for sound—
Too late.

The first stab sinks deep into her ribs. She jerks, tries to push me off, fingers clawing at my arm. I barely feel her. All I hear is the soft wet sound of the blade sliding out, then back in again.
And again.
And again.
I don’t stop.
I can’t stop.

Every strike flashes with the same image—
Y/N laughing Tim—
Y/N letting him walk her home—
Y/N trusting someone else—
someone that isn’t me.

My breath comes out in a laugh.
Or a sob.
I can’t tell the difference.

Her struggles weaken. Her arm slips off my wrist. Her legs stop kicking. The sheets go dark and warm under my knees.
When she finally stops moving, the silence hits hard.
“Go to sleep,” I whisper close to her ear, voice steady now, almost gentle.

I tilt her head with one hand, fingers sticky. My thumb presses into her cheek, turning her face toward the window. I don’t want her to be unrecognizable. I want her to look like she heard me.
The knife draws the smile easily—flesh opening in soft curves around her mouth. The cut pulls wider, deeper, until it mirrors mine.

I sit back on my heels, watching the blood shine in the low light. My heartbeat slows.
But the buzzing—the anger—that doesn’t go anywhere.

Killing her didn’t fix anything.
Didn’t stop the image replaying in my head.
Didn’t stop the thought:
'She’s mine. Why did she go with him? Why did she go with him?'

Something scrapes in the hallway.
A whimper.

Another heartbeat besides my own.
I smile.

Someone else is awake.
And I’m not done.

Something shuffles in the hallway.
Small.
Fast.
Trying to be quiet.

I step out of the bedroom, wiping the blade on my sleeve out of habit even though it accomplishes nothing. Blood smears up my arm, tacky and warm.

Then I hear it—
a soft, desperate whisper:
“…please pick up… please…”

I follow the sound to a closet door cracked open just enough to show a sliver of shaking fingers clutching a phone.
The girl inside can’t be much older than Y/N.
Auburn-brown hair.
Wide, terrified eyes.

She clutches the phone like it’s the only thing keeping her alive.
“911, what’s your emergency?” chirps through the speaker.
Her eyes meet mine through the crack in the door. She gasps, drops the phone, scrambles backward until her shoulders hit the shelf.

That fear—
it hits something in me too fast, too hard.

She looks like Y/N did that first night in my room.
Backed into a corner.
Shaking.
Soft and small and breakable.

My pulse spikes.
My vision tunnels.
And suddenly I’m not seeing her anymore.

I’m seeing Y/N leaning close to Tim,
letting him walk her home,
looking at him like she trusted him.
My teeth grind together.

“Don’t—” she tries to say.
I drag her out of the closet by her ankle.
She kicks, screams—
and it only feeds the storm burning through me.
“You shouldn’t have called them,” I hiss.

My hand pins her shoulder.
The knife lifts itself.

The first stab rips through her hoodie, splattering it with a new coat of crimson.
The second hits bone.
The third silences her scream into a wet gasp.

I stab until her movements stop.
Until I’m panting.
Until the blade drips onto the carpet.

It makes me sick.
It makes me furious.
It makes me empty.
I dip my fingers into the blood and write on the wall:
'GO TO SLEEP'

The O smears when my hand trembles.
Distant sirens rise—too close.
I bolt out the back door, through yards, over fences, and into the woods. Branches claw at my arms, smearing the blood even more across me.

By the time I reach my hideout—a collapsed concrete foundation half-swallowed by moss—my head is spinning.
I drop to the ground, breath ragged.

There’s a slab of broken window glass leaning against the far wall, warped and dirty but still reflective enough to catch movement.
I glance toward it—
And freeze.

I see myself, crouched in the dark,
hands shaking,
and—

Her hoodie.
On me.
Drenched across the front in someone else’s blood.

For a second my brain blanks, like even I don’t recognize what I’m looking at.
Then everything in me drops:
“No—no no no—”

I rip the hoodie off so fast I almost tear the fabric.
There’s a splash of blood across the sleeve—
blood that leaked from the shirt she washed,
the pants she folded,
the clothes she allowed me to wear.

I rub at the stain, frantic, desperate—
but it just smears deeper. Darker.
My throat closes.
I slam my fist into the concrete wall until my knuckles split.

'Stupid.'
'Stupid.'
'Stupid.'

I ruined it.'
I press her hoodie to my face.
Her scent fights through the metallic blood‑smell, but it’s faint.
Dying under everything I’ve done.
“I didn’t mean—”

My voice cracks.
I hate the sound of it.
I hate that I can’t make it stop.
“I didn’t mean to mess it up…”
But the blood is there.

Staining the hoodie she lent me.
Staining everything I touch.
And for the first time tonight—
I’m terrified of what’s going to happen when she looks at me again and sees what I’ve turned her kindness into.

I curl forward, hoodie clutched tight against my chest.
I can’t lose her.

Even if I’m the one tearing her world apart,
piece by piece.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Y/N POV Sunday 12:00 PM

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

The sky was flat and gray, like it had given up before the caskets even touched the ground. I stood beside Mom, both of us in black, staring at the two small graves before us. Hayley. Gloria. Gone. Just like that.
Mom didn’t speak. Her hands were clenched in her lap, jaw tight, eyes hollow. She had been silent ever since we left the funeral home, and I could feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing down.

Dad wasn’t here in the moment, but his presence haunted me anyway—his anger, his drinking, his constant threat of chaos at home. He’d been fired yesterday, just one more fracture in our already broken lives.
And Jeff. I hadn’t seen him since Wednesday. I noticed it—every time my phone buzzed or a shadow passed down the street, I expected him. But he didn’t show. Maybe he didn’t want to be around me anymore. That thought tightened my chest. My chest ached for him, for the comfort he usually gave without asking. But now… silence.

I felt like I was falling apart, thread by thread. The world moved around me in muted colors, in muffled sounds, but inside my chest, there was nothing but an ache I couldn’t name.
When the priest spoke, it was all words and rituals I couldn’t focus on. I wanted to scream, to cry, to shake something back to life. Instead, I pressed my palms together and stared at the dirt. The smell of the earth, damp and heavy, made my stomach twist.

I caught a glimpse of Mom’s shoulder trembling and felt the sting of tears on my own face. I wanted to comfort her. I wanted someone—anyone—to comfort me. But there was no one, and even if there were, the part of me that needed saving had started to shrink back, hiding under the weight of grief, rage, and exhaustion.

When it was over, we walked back to the car in silence. The world outside the funeral seemed too loud, too alive, like a cruel reminder that life went on for everyone else. For me, for us, it was only the echo of loss, the growing tension waiting at home, and the empty space where Jeff should have been.

The house feels wrong the moment we step inside—too quiet in some places, too loud in others. Mom goes straight to the office without even taking off her coat. The door shuts, the lock clicks, and that’s it. She disappears.
Dad’s already drunk.

The whole living room smells like stale whiskey and anger that never fully cools off.
“Where the hell you been?” he slurs, like the question is a threat.

I don’t answer. I don’t have the energy to. I just keep moving, slow and careful, like walking past a sleeping dog that might snap if I breathe wrong.
Up the hallway.
Into my room.
Door closed.
Not locked—Dad hates locked doors—but closed enough to dull his voice into vibrations through the floorboards.

I stand there for a moment, staring at the mess of clean clothes Mom left folded on my bed. My hands move without thinking—changing out of my funeral clothes, slipping into the softest shirt I own. The motions feel far away, like someone else is guiding my limbs.
Still no sign of Jeff.
Not a shadow.
Not a whisper.
Not even that strange feeling of being watched from the treeline, that I always had when he wasn't around.
Just empty space where he should be.

I sink onto the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, breathing too shallow. Everything inside me feels tight, like my ribs are locked.
“Hayley…”
Her name leaves my mouth before I even realize I’m speaking.
It feels stupid—talking to someone who isn’t here anymore—but the silence is worse. The silence hurts.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, fingers twisting into the blanket. “I’m so… sorry. I didn’t even know you were gone until they said your name. I should’ve— I don’t know. I should’ve done something.”
My throat closes.
I swallow, but it doesn’t help.
“Everything’s bad. All of it. Joshua… Jeff… Tim… my parents…”
The words tumble out, tangled and raw.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Joshua hurt me. Jeff scares me. Tim’s the only one who’s been nice and I don’t even know what to do with that. And Mom— she’s broken. And Dad— he just gets louder and louder and…”

My voice cracks.
“I don’t know how to fix any of this. I don’t know how to breathe right now.”

The room feels too small. The air too thin.
The edges of everything start to blur—like the world is pulling a few inches back from me, leaving an invisible space between my skin and reality. My heartbeat sounds distant, like I’m listening to it from underwater.

“I wish you were here,” I whisper.
The words are barely sound.

I curl onto my side, knees to my chest, fingers gripping the blanket until my knuckles ache. I don’t cry—not yet. I just breathe in short, broken pulls that don’t feel like enough.
And the worst part—the part that twists something deep inside me—is that even now, even in this moment of choking panic and grief…
I want Jeff to show up.

I want him in the dark outside my window.
I want the feeling of his eyes on me again.
Because the quiet he left behind feels like abandonment.
And I don’t know how much more of that I can take.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Y/N’s POV Sunday 6:00 PM

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Time disappears after I curl up on my bed.
I don’t remember falling asleep.
I just remember the sound that yanks me back awake.

A thump—heavy.
Violent.
Like a body hitting a wall.
I jerk upright, disoriented, heart slamming against my ribs.
For a second I just listen.
Breath held.
Every muscle locked.

Then I hear it again—louder.
A choked cry follows it.
"Mom..."

I’m moving before my brain catches up, feet hitting the cold floor. I grab the aluminum bat from behind my dresser—my hands shaking so hard the metal rattles.
The hallway feels too long, like I’m walking through a dream I don’t want to see the end of.
Another crash.
Then Dad’s voice—low, furious, slurred in that way that means he’s gone too far to reason with.
“You think I’m stupid? Huh? You think I don’t see what you’ve been doing?”
Mom’s voice trembles.

“I haven’t— I swear, I haven’t done anything—”
I turn the corner into the living room—
—and freeze.
Dad has the gun.
His hand is shaking, but his grip is tight.
Mom is backed up against the wall, hands raised, eyes wide with terror.
“Dad—”

The word slips out before I can swallow it.
Both of them whip their heads toward me.
Mom’s face crumples.
“Y/N— go— go back in your room—”
Dad laughs.
It’s sharp, cracked, wrong.

“Of course she’s here. She should hear this. She should see what her mother really is.”
The gun swings toward Mom again.
I step forward without meaning to, bat trembling in my grip.
“Dad, please— put it down—”
He doesn’t even look at me this time.
He looks at Mom.
“You wanted a different man? You wanted me to be someone else?”
His voice breaks into a yell.
“Here he is.”
“NO—!”

The shot detonates the room.
The sound is so loud it punches through my skull, through my chest, through everything. Mom’s body jerks, then drops like someone cut her strings.
I don’t remember screaming.
But I must have.
My throat hurts.
My lungs burn.

Dad lowers the gun slowly, staring at her like he didn’t expect her to actually fall.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t blink.
I can’t move.
Mom is on the floor.
Not moving.
Not breathing.
And everything inside me cracks open at once.

The world doesn’t feel real.
Everything is muffled — like I’m underwater or trapped inside my own skull.
Mom is on the ground.
Dad is standing over her.
The gun is still in his hand.

I can’t hear my heartbeat.
I can’t feel my fingers.
I don’t move.
I don’t breathe.
I just… freeze.

Dad finally looks at me.
There’s no shock on his face.
No regret.
Just that same boiling anger he’s worn for months.
“You—” he spits, raising the gun, “—this is your mother’s fault. All of this. And now you’re gonna act just like her—”
He lifts the gun higher.

I don’t run.
I don’t duck.
I just stand there, staring at him, staring at the shaking barrel glinting in the dim lamp light.
The gun goes off.

A blast of air cracks past my ear — so close it burns. The wall behind me erupts in dust.
He missed.
Something twitches in me.
A small, ugly snap.
Like a thread pulled too tight finally tearing.

My body moves before my brain catches up. My hands grip the bat — tight, bone-aching tight — and I surge forward with a sound I don’t recognize as mine.
Dad barely has time to blink.
The bat slams into his wrist first.
The gun clatters to the floor.

He screams.
I don’t.
I raise the bat again.
Bring it down.

His skull makes a sound I’ll never forget — a wet, hollow crack.
He collapses to the floor, trying to scramble away, but my legs move on their own and I swing again—
and again—
and again—

until his screams smear into gargles
until the carpet goes dark
until my arms throb
until the sound stops.

My chest rises and falls too fast. Too hard. My vision pulses at the edges.
Something bubbles up my throat.
It bursts out of me.
Laughter — shrill, broken, wrong — spills into the room.

I slap a hand over my mouth but it keeps coming, shaking out of me in half-sobs, half-gasps.
My father is dead.
My mother is dead.

And all I can do is laugh like something inside me finally snapped free and doesn’t know what to do with the space.
Still laughing.
Still shaking.
Still gone.

A piece of me that isn’t coming back.

The house is… quiet.
Too quiet.

I’m standing in the middle of the living room, but it feels like I’m watching myself from across the room. My hands are still wrapped around the bat. There’s blood on it—thick, dark, sticky. I can feel it cooling against my palm. It doesn’t feel real.

Everything looks wrong.
Tilted.
Far away.

I can’t hear anything except this ringing in my ears. It’s loud enough that I almost miss the sound behind me—
A creak.
I blink.
No. No, that’s not—
No one should be in the house. No one.

Another creak, softer this time. Controlled. Like whoever made it was trying not to be heard.
My breath catches in my throat. It hurts.
I turn toward the hallway just as a shadow moves into the doorway, and for a second my heart stops altogether—
Jeff.

Just standing there.
His eyes move slow, dragging over the scene—my face → the bat → the bodies → back to me.
Something cracks inside me.
My knees give out before I even know I’m falling. The bat slips out of my hands and hits the floor with a sound that feels like it echoes inside my skull.
I don’t know if I make a noise. I think I do. Something broken and small and ugly.

Jeff is suddenly right in front of me, crouched down, his hands gripping my arms hard enough that I can feel the pressure through the numbness.
“Y/N…” His voice is low, steady in that way he gets when everything is going to hell. “Look at me.”
I try.
I really do.
But my vision keeps swimming, blurring at the edges. My chest keeps tightening like something is sitting on it.
I open my mouth but nothing comes out. Just a shaking breath.

His jaw flexes once. He looks past me—toward the window.
And then I hear it.
Sirens.
Faint. Distant.
But coming.

Jeff’s eyes sharpen. That cold, focused look takes over—the one he acts like he doesn’t have.
“We have to go,” he says.
I nod. I don’t think about it. I can’t think at all.
He pulls me. I stumble, my legs feel like someone else’s. I think I’m shaking, but I can’t tell if it’s me or the floor.
He drags me toward my bedroom.

“Window,” he mutters. “Backyard. Woods.”
He opens it, then pauses. Looks around my room like he’s calculating something.
“It has to look like you escaped.”
Then he grabs my lamp and slams it into the window. The glass bursts outward. I flinch hard—too hard—but I can’t make my body stop.
“Out,” he says. Not harsh. Just firm. “Come on.”

His hands are on my waist, lifting me through the broken frame. My feet hit the dirt outside but it’s like stepping into cotton. Too soft. Too unreal.
Jeff climbs out behind me, landing without a sound.
The sirens get louder.
He takes my hand.
Not gently. Not romantically.
Purposefully.

Like he needs to hold on to me to make sure I’m still here.
“Stay with me,” he whispers. “Don’t look back.”

I nod again. My throat burns. Something wet is on my face—I don’t remember when I started crying.
We move fast. Or maybe slow. I can’t tell. The backyard passes in a blur. The fence. The neighbor’s shed. Footsteps. Voices. Or maybe noises in my head.

Every time I stumble, Jeff’s arm catches me before I fall. I don’t know how he keeps doing it.
The trees swallow us whole.

Branches scratch my arms. Cold air stings my lungs. The dirt shifts under me. My heartbeat feels like it’s bouncing around inside my skull.
Jeff finally stops when the sirens turn distant again—small and tinny, like a radio far away.

He turns to face me. His breathing is fast, even if he’s trying to hide it.
I sway. I think I’m going to fall again.
Jeff reaches out, brushing his knuckles along my cheek. He avoids the blood on my skin like it’s sacred.
His voice is quiet. Softer than I’ve ever heard it.
“You’re safe.”

Safe.

Something in me gives way, but it’s not violent this time. It’s like I just… fold.
I fall forward.
Jeff catches me instantly. His arms wrap around me, holding me like the only thing keeping me upright is him.
He doesn’t say anything else.
He just holds on
while everything I knew burns behind us.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Branches snap under my feet as we break deeper into the woods, Jeff dragging me half a step ahead of him until the sirens fade to a distant hum. When he finally stops, he lets go of my arm like he suddenly remembers he’s holding it.
The cold air bites at my lungs. My hands won’t stop shaking.

“Y/N,” he says, low, rough. “Look at me.”
I don’t. My eyes are glued to the blood on my own skin—their blood, my blood, I don’t even know anymore.
“Y/N,” he repeats, sharper this time.

I lift my head.
And in the moonlight—
I see it.

The carved smile along his cheeks, the black mask usually hid.
His clothes splattered.
His expression… empty.
My stomach drops so hard I almost collapse.

“You…” The sound scrapes out of me. “You did this.”
He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t dodge.
His non-blinking eyes just stayed on mine.

Something in me snaps so violently it echoes in my ears.
I shove him—hard. He barely stumbles, but it’s enough.

“You killed them!” I’m screaming before I realize it. “Gloria. Hayley... E-Everyone—everyone around me—” My chest heaves. “You made everything fall apart!”
He doesn’t blink. He just watches me unravel like he’s waiting for me to finish.
“You ruined my life!” My voice breaks. “And you didn’t even care.”

A slow breath leaves him, misting in the cold air.
“I cared,” he says softly. “Too much. That’s the problem.”
His calmness only makes me angrier. I feel dizzy—like the world is tilted wrong.
I step back, trembling. “Were you going to kill me too?”

He tilts his head, unreadable. Not amused—just honest in a way that makes my skin crawl.
“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe. Once.”
His eyes flick over me, slow and unsettling.

My throat tightens. “That’s not an answer.”
“No,” he says, “it’s the truth.”
'The truth.'
Like that’s supposed to make anything better.

I wrap my arms around myself, sudden cold seeping into my bones. My house is gone. My mother is dead. My father is dead because of me. And the only person left standing in front of me is the one who tore everything else apart.
Jeff looks at me like he already knows my next thought.
“You’ve got nowhere to go,” he says quietly. “Not anymore.”

Tears blur my vision again. I hate that he’s right. I hate that I’m standing here. I hate him—
But I also know I can’t walk back. I can’t turn myself in. I can’t survive alone tonight.
My body knows it even if my mind refuses to accept it.

He steps back, turning away. “I’m heading to shelter. Follow me if you want. Or don’t.”
He starts walking.

And for a long, shaking second… I stay frozen in place.
Then—
My feet move.

I catch up, silent, and without thinking, my fingers brush the back of his hoodie. Just enough to anchor myself. Just enough to say don’t leave me too.
He tenses—
then lets out a breath and keeps walking.

Neither of us says anything as the woods close around us.
Eventually, a collapsed, rotting shack appears through the trees—a half-standing skeleton of something that used to be a house. He pushes the warped door open and nods me inside first.

“We’ll stay here tonight,” he mutters.
I step into the darkness, the floor creaking beneath me.
My whole world has been destroyed—but somehow, I’m following the boy who lit the match.

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Y/N’s POV Monday

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The first light of dawn barely touched the edges of the shack, spilling through the cracks in the walls like hesitant fingers. I woke before it fully came, my chest tight, every muscle still pulsing from the chaos of yesterday. The air was cold and smelled faintly of moss and damp wood.

Across the room, Jeff was curled into himself near the far wall. He had moved while I slept. Not far, but far enough to make me pause. He wasn't facing me. His shoulders were tense, his fists half-clenched, one leg bent as if ready to spring up at the slightest sound. Even asleep, he seemed poised for conflict.

I stayed where I was, watching. My eyes traced the sharp angles of his jaw, the slight rise and fall of his chest with each breath. His hair fell into his face just enough to shadow the intensity in his features. Quiet. Still. Cold. Everything about him screamed control—but beneath it, I could sense the storm waiting, the part of him that burned too bright to fully hide.

A small part of me… I don’t know. I felt relief, almost comfort, seeing him like this. Seeing him here, alive, unbroken. My chest loosened just slightly. But then the thought hit me: 'why did he move away from me last night? Was it guilt? Fear? Rejection?'

I didn’t reach for him. I didn’t want him to know I was awake. I just… watched, memorized him. The way his arm rested over his head, the subtle twitch of his fingers. How even in sleep, he was dangerous. How even in sleep, he was mine in a way I couldn’t explain.

The quiet of the shack pressed against my ears. No birds, no wind. Just the low creaks of the floor, the faint drip of water somewhere distant. And me, staring at him, feeling something I wasn’t sure I should. Something dangerous, something that felt wrong—but also, comforting in a way that scared me more than the memories of yesterday ever could.
I closed my eyes for a moment, taking a shallow breath, forcing myself to stay still. He didn’t stir. I didn’t move. For now, that was enough.

The floorboards creaked first, subtle but enough to pull me from my thoughts. Jeff stirred across the room. His eyes snapped open, dark and sharp, scanning the shack in a fraction of a second. Every instinct I’d come to notice in him—the way he registered threats, measured distances, noted details—was already in motion.

I froze. My chest beat too fast, my hands pressing into the blanket. He didn’t look at me. Not yet. Not immediately. His gaze swept the walls, the shadows, the tiny shift of light spilling through the cracks, then paused just long enough for me to feel it: he had taken in everything in the room. Everything except me.
“What,” he muttered under his breath, barely audible, his voice low, sharp, like it cut the air.

I swallowed, embarrassed, and looked away, though I knew he had already noticed me staring. My heart lurched. I’d memorized his face yesterday—the scar, the tight line of his jaw, the almost cruel calm after everything. I knew too much. Or maybe not enough.

He shifted slightly, sitting up, and I noticed the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands flexed, ready for something—anything. Protective, even if he didn’t want to admit it. He finally glanced at me, just for a second. His eyes were quiet but assessing, reading me the way he always read the world. I looked down fast, cheeks heating. I didn’t want him to know I’d been watching him, studying him like he had studied me.

“Don’t… don’t breathe too loud,” he muttered, almost dismissively, as if saying it out loud made it less dangerous. Then he shifted again, crossing his arms over his knees, his gaze already moving past me to the doorway and shadows beyond.
I stayed still, barely daring to move. Even in this quiet moment, the tension between us hummed, low and electric, impossible to ignore.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

The fog clung to the trees like a shroud, hiding the forest and the weight of what had happened yesterday. My legs moved on their own, following Jeff through the mist. Every step felt unreal, like I was walking in someone else’s body. My hands were clammy, my stomach churned, and I kept tasting iron—the metallic ghost of blood that wouldn’t leave my mouth.

Jeff moved ahead, silent, shoulders stiff, glancing over each branch, each shadow, as if the forest itself could attack us. My eyes followed him, noticing the tight line of his jaw, the faint twitch in his hand. Every motion was controlled, deliberate, but underneath it all, I sensed the storm he carried inside.

I swallowed, and my throat burned. I wanted to say something, anything, but my voice caught. My mind replayed the scene over and over—my father’s eyes, my mother’s body, the swing of the bat, the sound of it cracking. The memory made my hands shake even as I gripped the strap of my bag.
“You… you don’t sleep much,” I whispered, more like a hoarse rasp, and immediately regretted breaking the silence.

Jeff didn’t look back. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, short, clipped—but there was that edge in his voice, the kind that made the air tense. My chest tightened. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. I was frozen between horror and awe, trying to understand the boy who could be so calm when everything in me was screaming.

My feet faltered over a root, and I stumbled. Jeff’s hand shot out, steadying me without a word. His fingers pressed briefly against my wrist, firm enough to ground me but not so hard it hurt. I froze, caught between the lingering terror in my chest and the strange, impossible safety I felt from him.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t even glance at me. He just scanned the fog, the trees, every shadow and sound, moving with the precision of someone who expected the world to turn on them at any second. And in that silence, I could feel the weight of him, the way he carried the chaos I’d barely survived, as if he’d done it a hundred times before.

I swallowed hard, tasting the metallic echo of yesterday still on my tongue. “I…” My voice caught, trailing off. My legs felt like lead, my hands shaking despite the early-morning chill. I wanted to say the words—the ones I’d been running from all night—but they stuck in my throat, trapped between fear and disbelief.

Jeff glanced over his shoulder finally, just a flick of his eyes. “Keep up,” he muttered. Short. Dismissive. But it wasn’t cruel. It was a warning: don’t falter, don’t get caught, don’t stop. And somehow that tiny, sharp command made my pulse spike even faster.

I followed him, my body moving on autopilot. Every step was jagged, like I wasn’t sure if the ground was real or if I was really alive. And all the while, the forest seemed impossibly quiet, watching, waiting—mirroring the tension coiling in my chest. I wanted to scream, to collapse, to curl into myself, but instead I kept moving.
Step by step.

Jeff’s shoulders stayed tight ahead of me, each motion purposeful. He checked our surroundings, angles, exits, just as he always did. But I could feel him, too—like a tether, a constant presence that reminded me I wasn’t entirely alone in the wreckage I’d created.

I wanted to hate him for what he’d done, for the way he’d taken control of a night that was already impossible to process. But my chest betrayed me. My heartbeat hammered in my ears, echoing against the terror and the strange, sick relief that someone else was here, someone steady, someone alive… and somehow, impossibly, still human.

When he finally slowed at the edge of the forest, a big two story house looming in the early fog, I noticed the subtle shift—he was aware, always aware, but now he was aware of me too. Watching. Calculating. Waiting. And I realized, somewhere deep in the haze of shock and dread, that everything between us had changed. I just didn’t know how, or why, or if it would ever be safe to try to understand.

The house rose through the morning fog like it had grown out of the ground itself, twisted and uneven, every corner seeming to watch. I followed Jeff up the worn path, my legs still stiff from the walk through the forest. My chest ached, and my hands trembled slightly—not from cold, but from the echo of yesterday, the weight of what I’d done, and the impossible calm in the man walking ahead of me.

Jeff didn’t slow for me, didn’t glance back. I didn’t dare speak. The house’s windows glinted faintly in the dim light, and the peeling paint, the uneven porch, the way the door hung slightly off its hinges—it all felt alive. Something about it pressed against me, like the walls themselves could see everything, remember everything, and judge me for it. And yet… I felt a strange tug of safety in the familiarity, in the way the house was structured, in the quiet hum of life it contained despite the chaos.

The door creaked as Jeff pushed it open. Inside, it was warmer than the forest, but the shadows were long, stretching across the floorboards like silent sentinels. The air smelled faintly of smoke and old wood, mixed with something metallic, sharp. I noticed the little signs of life—personal belongings tucked into corners, a carefully stacked pile of food cans, worn blankets folded over chairs. Nothing about it was clean or polished, but everything had purpose. The house wasn’t just lived in—it was defended, fortified. A trap, a sanctuary, a cage, all at once.

Jeff’s hand brushed my back, a brief anchor. “Don’t touch anything. Don’t ask questions you’re not ready for.” He didn’t need to explain; the weight in his tone said it all.
I moved forward slowly, the floor creaking beneath my feet. Everything about the house screamed warning, every shadow whispered vigilance—but somehow, with Jeff nearby, it also hummed a quiet reassurance. I felt the paradox twisting in my chest: watched, measured, trapped… and yet, for the first time in what felt like forever, oddly safe.

Jeff guided me silently down the narrow hallway, past doors labeled with crude symbols or words scrawled in a shaky hand. I caught glimpses of rooms that seemed both familiar and alien—beds hastily made, corners shadowed, knives and tools tucked carefully along shelves. The house wasn’t just a hiding place. It was a living thing, structured around survival, defense, and secrecy. It was terrifying. And I couldn’t stop staring.

When we reached our room, Jeff stepped aside, letting me pass first. The space was small, dimly lit by a single window. A bed, a chair, a worn rug. Everything essential, nothing extra. He closed the door softly behind him and leaned against it, silent. I realized I was holding my breath.
“You can sit,” he said finally, voice low, careful. “Rest if you want.”

I nodded, settling on the edge of the bed, still trembling. My mind spun, replaying every detail of yesterday, the forest, the fog, the way Jeff had moved, the way he had looked at me. The house pressed against my skin through the walls, the floor, the shadowed corners. Alive. Watching. Safe. Terrifying. And somehow, impossibly, it felt like the only place I could be.

Jeff’s eyes scanned the room, every shadow, every movement, then finally rested on me for a fraction of a second—quick, careful, unreadable. I looked away, heart pounding, and felt the strange, magnetic pull of him, the weight of the house, and the terrifying thrill that maybe… I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

The room was quiet except for the faint groan of the floorboards and my own uneven breathing. I hugged my knees to my chest on the edge of the bed, trying to keep myself small, to disappear into the shadows.

Jeff stood by the door, shoulders stiff, eyes staring. Every subtle movement of his made my chest tighten. He wasn’t looking at me, not really—just the way a predator reads the room, checks the exits, notices the smallest shift in air—but I felt it anyway.
The weight of him. The distance. The control.

I swallowed, but it felt like my throat had turned to stone. I could hear the memories, fresh and hot in my mind—the gunshot, the screams, the way my father had looked at me after failing to kill me, but I had done it. I had killed him. And it hadn’t scared me the way I thought it would. Not fully. Not entirely.
A strange, hollow panic clawed up my spine. I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell someone. But I couldn’t. Not anyone here. Not Jeff. Not yet.

“I… I don’t know what I’m doing,” I whispered finally, voice raw, barely audible. “I didn’t… I didn’t feel anything. And I… I can’t… I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Jeff’s posture stiffened for the first time, a subtle shift that made the air feel tighter. He ran a hand over his face, quiet, low-voiced. “It’s…” His words caught, broke, then he muttered something halting and unfinished. “…that’s how it is sometimes.”

I turned my head toward him, seeing only the lines of his jaw, the shadow over his eyes. No judgment. No pity. Just… acknowledgement. Recognition. Someone else who understood more than they should.

My fingers dug into the edge of the mattress, knuckles white. “I thought… I thought I’d feel worse. I thought I’d…” My voice broke. “…I thought it’d be different.”
Jeff’s steps were slow as he crossed a few feet toward the bed, hands hanging at his sides. He didn’t sit, didn’t try to comfort. Didn’t speak. Just stayed there, silent, a mirror of the quiet I felt inside.

I let out a shuddering breath and curled into myself again. “I don’t… I don’t know how to… be okay.”
His eyes flicked down at me, then away. “Nobody does,” he said finally, voice low, careful. “Not really. Not here.”

The room felt heavier after that. The fog outside pressed against the glass, the shadows stretched, and the silence between us grew, thick and unbroken. I wanted to look at him, to understand him, but the truth was unbearable: we were both broken, both dangerous, both holding onto pieces that could shatter at any moment.

I let the tears slide quietly, not sobbing, just… leaking out. And Jeff stayed, rigid and watchful, the only anchor in the room. Not gentle. Not soft. Just present. And somehow… that was enough.

When he finally stepped back, it was almost imperceptible. The tension didn’t ease—it thickened, wound tighter around both of us, linking us in something neither of us could name.

We didn’t speak again. We didn’t need to.

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Third Person POV Thursday

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Three days had passed, and the house still didn’t feel familiar.
To Y/N, it felt like standing in someone else’s shadow, waiting for it to move.
Jeff was the only thing breaking the stillness—pacing across his room like he was trying to carve a path into the floor. Every movement was sharp, precise, the kind he made when he was trying not to think too loudly.

He hadn’t told her what happened or why he suddenly had to leave. Just a clipped, certain:
“I’ll be back.”
He said it like a fact, not reassurance.

Y/N’s hands fidgeted with the hem of her shirt. “Is it… dangerous?”

His head snapped toward her, quick, as if the question annoyed him—or as if he was annoyed at himself for not hiding the tension better.

“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” he said. His voice was flat, clipped, but not cruel. Just controlled. “Just stay here. Don’t go wandering. You’ll be safe.”

'Safe.'
That word again.

She nodded, though her stomach twisted. The air felt heavy around her, pressing down, thick and expectant, and she hated that he could see it.

Jeff’s eyes flickered over her face—fast, clinical, like he was searching for something. Fear. Panic. Weakness. He didn’t know.

Then his eyebrows twitched, barely a millimeter, like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if he should, or even could. His fingers flexed once at his side, a small, involuntary movement. His gaze locked on her—not soft, not gentle, just… focused. Hyper-focused. Watching every breath she took.

For a moment, he looked like he might reach out.
But he didn’t.
His head turned sharply instead, jaw tightening. A low curse slipped out, irritated and self-directed.
Then he walked out without another word.
The door shut hard enough to make the walls thrum.

Y/N stayed still for a long moment, listening to the quiet settle back into its heavy shape. Only when she was sure he was gone did she move, leaning onto the edge of his bed. His room smelled like metal, cold air, and something faintly like smoke.

The silence dug under her skin. Every creak of the house—every distant shift in the hallway—felt like a warning.

Eventually she slid down the bed until her shoulder touched the desk. The weight of the wooden frame grounded her a little. She pressed her fingers along the edge, tapping lightly, just to hear something that wasn’t her own heartbeat.
Minutes passed.
Slow, thick minutes, dragging like molasses.

Then the TV turned on.
By itself.

Static burst through the quiet, sharp and violent. The screen glowed white in the dim room, flickering like it was struggling to hold an image.
Y/N’s throat tightened.

“…Jeff?” she whispered, even though she already knew it wasn’t him.

The static didn’t stay still. It shifted—like something underneath was pushing against it. The edges glitched first, warping in and out, forming a shape where nothing should be.

A silhouette.
Then a figure.
It pulled itself out of the static, stepping onto the floor as if the screen had never been solid at all.

Definitely not Jeff.

He was boyish, almost normal-looking—if someone ignored the way his grin twitched too wide at the corners, looping like a broken animation. He looked entertained. Expectant. Like he was waiting to see how she’d react. Like this was a private joke only he understood.
Y/N’s whole body went rigid.

Cold flooded her veins so fast it felt like she’d been dropped into ice water. Her breathing stuttered, then caught altogether.

She couldn’t move.
She couldn’t blink.
She could only stare.

The boy stepped fully out of the screen, static trailing off him like dust. Not physically—nothing actually drifted—but the air bent around him as if reality didn’t know how to hold him. He blinked once, twice, eyes glowing an unnatural blue, like a corrupted loading screen.

Y/N had never seen him before.
But he looked at her like he knew exactly who she was.

“Oh,” he said, his voice crackling at the edges. “You’re not Jeff.”

He said it casually. Like this—walking out of a television—was normal. Like she was the strange one in the room.

Y/N couldn’t move.

Her breath stumbled in her throat.
Her fingers dug into the edge of the desk without her realizing.

He took one step toward her.
Just one.
And something in her snapped.

“Wait—” he started, lifting his hands a little, as if trying to calm a frightened animal. “Don’t freak out, I’m not—”
But she was already shaking.

The room tilted sideways. Her vision tunneled. Her chest tightened until every scrap of air burned going in.

He shouldn’t be here.
He shouldn’t be real.
Nothing should come out of a TV.

“Hey—hey, seriously, it’s okay, I’m not—” His voice glitched mid-sentence, distorted for a second. “Jeff lets me show up. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

He didn’t sound threatening.
If anything, he sounded confused.
But her body didn’t care.

He moved again—another step, too close, too sudden—and the panic hit her like a drowning wave.

“Stop,” she whispered, the word barely escaping. “Don’t—”
And then the fear broke.

Y/N jerked backward, grabbing the desk for leverage—
—and the wood beneath her fingertips gave.

For a heartbeat, she didn’t understand.
Then she looked down.

There were dents.
Deep ones.
Four marks pressed into solid wood like it was soft clay.
Her heart lurched into her throat.

The boy froze. His eyes widened, the glow flickering.
“Whoa—okay, okay—shit—hey, breathe—”

She pushed herself upright too fast, stumbling back and knocking Jeff’s chair over. It crashed against the floor, the sound exploding through the room. Her head spun, the edges of her vision darkening for a moment.

He took a step toward her like he meant to help—
—and she flinched so violently he stopped dead.
Both his hands lifted immediately in surrender.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said quickly. “Seriously. I didn’t think you’d— I mean—nobody told me you were… like that.”

His eyes flicked to the dented desk.
Back to her.
Then to the broken leg of the chair on the floor.
He swallowed hard.

“I’m Ben,” he said quietly, the glitchy amusement gone from his voice. “Jeff’s friend. I thought—shit, I thought you knew that.”

Y/N couldn’t answer.
She could barely breathe.
Her hands were still shaking, the dents she made right in front of her, impossible to ignore.

Ben dragged a hand through his hair, pixelating for half a second. “I really didn’t mean to scare you. Jeff’s gonna kill me. Actually kill me. I didn’t think you’d react like—”

His ramble cut off when he saw her expression. He stepped back. Further.
“Okay,” he murmured, softer now. “I’ll… give you some space.”
For the first time, he looked genuinely sorry.
For the second time, Y/N looked at the dents her own fingers made.
And for the first time in days…
She was more afraid of herself
than anything else in the house.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Ben didn’t disappear completely.
He stepped back toward the TV, glitching at the edges as if trying to make himself smaller. It didn’t help much—the room still felt too tight, too loud, too full of static.

Y/N sank down onto the floor before her knees gave out. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Every breath felt like dragging cold air into a chest that didn’t want to expand.

The dents in the desk stared back at her.
Like proof.
Like accusation.

She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to get her breathing under control. 'In—out. In—out.' Was all she could think but even her lungs refused to listen.

Ben stayed where he was, watching. Worry flickered across his face between glitches. He ran a hand through his hair; it pixelated for a split second.

“I shouldn’t have popped in like that,” he said quietly. “Jeff’s gonna lose his shit.”
This time, his voice wasn’t joking, wasn’t smug. It was… different. Scared.

He shifted, searching for words. “Look, I didn’t mean to mess with you. He didn’t tell me you were new.” He paused. “Didn’t tell me you were human-human.”

Y/N didn’t know what “human-human” meant. She didn’t have the energy to ask. Her throat was too tight to speak anyway.

Ben noticed. He angled himself slightly away, giving her space without leaving completely. His eyes flicked to the dents again.

“You really don’t know, do you?” he asked softly.
Y/N swallowed, the motion shaky. “Know what?”

He hesitated—and that hesitation said more than words could. Ben didn’t strike her as the kind to hesitate over small things.

Before he could answer, something shifted in the hallway. A floorboard creaked.
Y/N’s entire body went rigid again, breath caught in her throat.

Ben heard it too. He straightened, the glitchy static gone from his face, eyes wide like he was already imagining Jeff walking in.

He lowered his voice so much that Y/N could barely hear it. “Hey—hey, it’s okay. It’s not him. He’s not back yet.”

“How do you know?” she whispered.
Ben scoffed, like the answer was obvious. “You’d feel it.”
It made no sense. None of this made sense.
But the footsteps faded. The house settled.

Y/N pulled her knees up to her chest again, pressing her forehead against them. The room smelled of static, wood dust, and fear. Her hands curled tightly around her arms, trying not to look at the dents—but they were there, burned into the desk like fingerprints made of panic.

Ben shifted awkwardly. “Do you… want me to go?”
She didn’t know what she wanted. She didn’t know what she was.
She wiped at her face, pretending her eyes weren’t stinging. “You don’t have to.”
He nodded and sank down near the TV, keeping a solid six feet between them, like he was afraid to get any closer.
“Just… don’t freak out again,” he muttered, softer this time. “My heart can’t handle watching you Hulk out.”
Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding—half a laugh, half a sob.
The quiet settled again.

Ben stayed.
Not talking.
Not moving much.
Just… being there.

And for the first time since Jeff left, the silence didn’t feel like it was closing in on her.
The second Ben stepped back, the room felt too big. Too exposed.

Y/N’s hands shook harder now that everything had gone still. She stared at the marks on the desk—thin, warped grooves where her fingers had crushed into the wood—and panic flared hot in her chest.

She grabbed the first thing she could reach: one of Jeff’s notebooks, the cover half-ripped from being shoved in and out of drawers. Sliding it over the dents with her forearm, she pretended to look casual, even though her heartbeat was a wild, uneven drum.

Ben noticed, of course he did. His eyes tracked the movement—her hand, the notebook, the way she was trying too hard to look normal. His expression softened from curiosity to understanding so fast it almost threw her.

He didn’t call it out. Didn’t make a joke. Didn’t pry. He just gave a tiny nod, like: Don’t worry. I get it. I won’t say anything.

It hit Y/N in a place she didn’t expect, tightening something behind her ribs. She opened her mouth—maybe to thank him—but the air shifted. A pressure rolled in from the hallway, heavy as a shadow passing over the sun.

Ben straightened at the same time, the hair on the back of her neck rising.
Footsteps. Slow. Measured.
Jeff.

He appeared in the doorway like he had been carved out of the dark—shoulders set, jaw tight, eyes already scanning the room with that sharp, predatory focus that made it hard to breathe.
His gaze hit Ben first. It froze. Hardened. Then it dragged to Y/N.

It was like he could read the tension in the air, taste it, feel it under his skin. His jaw clicked once—a tiny, violent sound.

“What was going on in here?” His voice was low enough to vibrate through the floor.
“Nothing.” The answer came too fast, too thin. She hated how obvious it sounded.
Jeff didn’t even look at her after that. His attention snapped back to Ben, cold enough to burn.
Ben lifted his hands slowly, palms open—not scared, just trying to avoid a fight.
“Relax. She’s fine. We were talking.”
Jeff huffed something like a laugh, but there was nothing amused in it.
“Talking,” he repeated, like the word tasted wrong. “Right.”

His eyes flicked to the space between them. To the way Y/N was holding herself, half ass blocking something on the table. To the broken chair on the floor. Then back to Ben.
The misinterpretation hit him instantly. Hard.
Jeff stepped forward once, not loud, just deliberate. Every movement controlled, restrained—like he was choosing not to lash out.

“What did you do?”
Not a shout. But somehow worse, because of how quietly he said it.
Ben’s expression shifted—annoyance, frustration, something like resignation.
“I didn’t touch her.”

Jeff didn’t buy it for a second. In two strides, he was close enough to grab Ben by the collar, yanking him up to eye level. The motion was fast—too fast—and automatic, like instinct had taken over before thought.

His voice came out colder than steel.
“If you laid a hand on what’s min—”
Y/N’s stomach twisted, breath catching so hard it hurt.

Ben’s reaction was instant. As soon as Jeff yanked him forward, Ben planted a hand against Jeff’s chest and shoved—just enough to break the grip and put space between them.

“The hell is your problem?” Ben snapped, static prickling faintly around his shoulders. “I didn’t touch her. Why would you even—”

Jeff lunged half a step like he was ready to shut him up, eyes burning with something far uglier than anger.

“You expect me to believe that?” His voice was a scrape of metal.
Ben scoffed, appalled. “Yeah? Because it’s the truth. Not everyone’s a creep, Jeff.”

That hit a nerve.
Jeff’s expression shifted—not surprise, not doubt—but something darker. He reached back with the hand closest to his jacket, fingers brushing the handle of the knife tucked under the fabric.

Y/N saw it before he even got a grip. Her body moved on its own.
She grabbed his hoodie sleeve, fingers locking around the thick fabric.

He stopped. Not because he was afraid of hurting Ben. Not because he had suddenly changed his mind. He stopped because of her.

Jeff turned his head just enough to see her face—the fear written all over it, the way her hand wouldn’t let go, her breathing sharp and uneven.

Something cracked in his expression. Not much. Just enough to show the smallest flicker of recognition. Softening for a heartbeat.

His fingers loosened on the knife. He didn’t draw it.
Ben saw the shift and exhaled slowly, lowering his shoulders but still tense, still offended.

Jeff’s attention dragged off Y/N—reluctantly—and snapped back to Ben. Whatever softness he had was gone instantly.
“Don’t go near her again,” he said, voice low, controlled, lethal in the way only Jeff could manage.

Ben’s jaw tightened. He didn’t argue, but he also didn’t look afraid. He shot Y/N one more look—checking on her, silent, patient—before he flickered once in a wash of static and vanished from the room completely.

Gone.
The silence he left behind was suffocating.

Jeff stood there, chest rising and falling like he was still fighting the instinct to go after him. Y/N’s hand was still gripping his sleeve.

He glanced down at it, then back up at her. This time, he looked… conflicted. Like he wanted to say something but had no idea how. Like he didn’t understand why the sight of her had scared him so much.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Jeff’s eyes stayed on Y/N’s for a long, heavy second—long enough that she expected some emotion to surface, anything: anger, confusion, something. But nothing did.
He slowly pulled his sleeve from her hand, not rough, not gentle—just removing himself, refusing to let the moment mean anything.

“Back up,” he muttered. Not an order, not soft. Neutral.
Y/N took half a step back, hands curling at her sides.

Jeff didn’t look at her face first. He scanned her, starting at her feet, then her legs, her arms, her throat, her hands. His eyes moved like he was checking for wounds, marks, any sign that someone had hurt her and he had missed it. His face stayed blank. Dead calm. Not a flicker of worry showed.

“Tell me what happened,” he said flatly. Not kind. Not angry. Cold and demanding, like he was gathering facts for a kill.
Y/N swallowed. Her throat refused to work right.
“N-nothing. Ben didn’t—”
Jeff cut her off without even looking up.
“If he touched you,” he said quietly, “I’m not stopping next time.”

There was something brutal in the way he said it—not loud, not heated—just honest. A promise more than a threat.
Y/N shook her head quickly.
“No. He didn’t. He wasn’t trying anything, I swear.”

Jeff finally lifted his gaze to her face, eyes narrowed. He didn’t believe her—not because he thought she was lying, but because he knew who Ben was. Ben, the one with the reputation. Ben, the one who crossed lines before. Ben, the one who played stupid every time he was called out. Ben, who for once didn’t do anything—and still got assumed guilty.

Jeff’s jaw clicked. Not anger… calculation.
“So what did happen?” Still cold. Still emotionless. Still watching every micro-expression she made.

Y/N’s spine went tight. The notebook on the desk behind her suddenly felt like it was glowing with how obvious she must be making things. She couldn’t tell him the truth. She couldn’t let him see the marks. She couldn’t—

Jeff’s eyes flicked past her shoulder, right to the desk, right to the notebook she had dragged over the wood, the broken chair on the ground. His gaze sharpened.

“Move,” he said quietly. Not a shout. Not a threat. A command.
The air dropped ten degrees.
“Move,” he repeated, quieter this time—too quiet.
Y/N’s chest tightened. Panic spiked so fast it nearly knocked the breath out of her.

“I—it’s nothin’,” she stammered, stepping sideways just enough to block his path more obviously. “Really, Jeff, it—it ain’t—”
The word slipped, thick and heavy, impossible to hide.

Jeff froze. His head lifted just a fraction, like he was listening closer. His eyes cut to her mouth, then to her shaking hands, then back to the notebook. He had heard it. He definitely had.

But he didn’t say a word. Didn’t call it out. Didn’t tease. Didn’t ask why she suddenly sounded like she was back home, scared out of her mind. He just watched—too still, too calm, too aware.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low, “move.”
She shook her head fast. Way too fast.

“N-no. It’s fine. It’s fine, I swear. It’s jus’—I dropped somethin’, is all.” Another slip. Jus’… somethin’. She wanted to sink through the floor.

Jeff’s eyes narrowed, not in anger—in recognition. He knew what that accent meant: fear. Stress. Something she was trying to hide. His jaw flexed once.

“You’re lying,” he said, not accusing—just stating the fact like reading a weather report.
“I’m not,” she lied again, horrible at it, voice thin and cracking. “There ain’t—there’s nothing wrong.” Another slip. Worse this time.

His gaze softened for half a second—not warm, not kind—but something like understanding trying to break through the walls he’d bricked himself behind. He didn’t push her. Didn’t reach for her. Didn’t force the notebook away. He just watched. Silent. Waiting. Not believing her. Not calling her out. Just… choosing to let her lie. For now.

He stepped back once, putting a tiny bit of space between them, but keeping her in full view—like she might disappear or break if he looked away for too long.

Finally, he muttered, “…You’re shaking.”
She didn’t know what to say. Her throat closed up.

Jeff’s eyes flicked to the door, then back to her—calculating again, colder this time, but not at her.

“Something happened,” he said quietly. “And you won’t tell me.”
Y/N shook her head too hard, panic bubbling like it was about to spill out.

“It—it wasn’t nothin’, okay! I swear!” Her voice cracked. “I—I didn’t mean to—he—he just came outta the TV!” She gestured weakly toward the spot Ben had been. “He just… came out and I—I freaked, I swear! I didn’t—he didn’t do anythin’! I just—I was scared! I—”

The words tumbled out faster than she could catch them. Her accent slipped more and more as the fear got louder, jagged.

“I didn’t mean to break anything, I swear. He just—he came and I—I couldn’t… I didn’t know what to do!”

She stopped suddenly, chest heaving. Her hands fell limply at her sides. Not hiding them anymore, not thinking about anything except the shaking in her own body. The panic ebbed slightly, spilling some of it into the room.

Jeff didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even exhale. His face didn’t change, but she could feel it—the shift in his eyes as he scanned her. He didn’t push, didn’t press. He didn’t need to. She could tell he believed some of what she had just said, even if it was only half the truth.

For the first time in what felt like hours, she lowered her shoulders. Still shaky, still breathing too fast, but not rigid anymore. Not completely. Not yet.

Jeff’s gaze didn’t soften, didn’t relax, but it lingered—sharp, calculating, watchful. Letting her off the hook for now, but letting nothing slide.

Y/N glanced down at her hands, still trembling, and took a shaky breath. The room felt… slightly less suffocating. Not safe, not warm, but tolerable enough to stay upright without collapsing.
Jeff didn’t say anything. Didn’t reassure her. He just stood there, a cold wall she could lean against but never touch, keeping the tension thick but manageable.

For the first time since Ben came out of that TV, she felt like she might be able to breathe.

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Y/N POV Thursday (Late Evening)

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I come back to myself slowly, like I’m rising through water.
My eyes open to a dim room, the kind that feels gray even with the lights off. My head’s still foggy, my body stiff from lying too still for too long.
There’s a shape in the corner.

It takes me a second to focus enough to recognize the outline—broad shoulders, messy hair, the unmistakable stillness of someone who doesn’t fidget.
Jeff.
He leaned back against the wall near the door, arms crossed, one boot tucked against the baseboard. He’s not staring me down or anything dramatic, just… watching. Quietly. Like he parked himself there and hasn’t moved in a while.

When I shift under the blanket, his gaze sharpens. It’s small—just a flick of his eyes, a tightening in his jaw—but I catch it.
He uncrosses his arms.
Not a rush toward me. No concern flooding his face.
Just a simple movement, like he’s trying to figure out how to talk to a person who might break if he picks the wrong words.

Then, in his low, sandpaper voice:
“…You good enough to walk?”
It doesn’t sound gentle.
But it doesn’t sound cold either.

It sounds like Jeff, trying in the only way he knows how.
I swallow, my throat dry, and push myself a little higher on the pillow. His stance doesn’t change, but I can feel him paying attention now—not hovering, not crowding—just present.

Steady in a way the room isn’t.
I push myself off the bed, muscles stiff and complaining. The air in the room feels heavier than it should, like the quiet has weight, like it’s pressing down on my shoulders. My throat is dry, my stomach hollow, and I realize I haven’t eaten or even taken a sip of water all day.

Jeff notices. Of course he does.
He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. I can feel the faint shift of his weight in the hallway before I even take a step.

He steps aside just enough for me to pass, but not far enough to disappear from my peripheral vision. I can hear his boots scrape lightly against the floor behind me, steady, deliberate, a rhythm that matches my shaky steps. It’s subtle, but the presence is grounding—he’s not touching, not leading, not forcing anything, just… there. Always there.

When we reach the main room, the light feels like it’s too bright for my tired eyes. I squint, blink, and notice the faint dust motes dancing in the late afternoon sun. My legs wobble under me, and my chest tightens from the effort of moving.

Without a word, Jeff disappears into the kitchen. A few seconds later, he returns, holding a glass of water. The condensation drips down the side, cold against my fingers when I take it. I drink slowly, letting the liquid wash the dryness down my throat, and it’s like my body finally remembers it’s alive.

I sink into the chair at the table, feeling the worn wood press against my thighs. Jeff moves behind me, settling his hand lightly on the back of the chair—the same gesture from earlier. Firm, steady, intentional. It’s protective, but not overbearing.

I take in the room as I sip my water: the faint hum of the fridge, the soft creak of the floorboards under his weight, the way the late light stretches shadows across the walls. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. His presence is enough. Calm, controlled, intense in the way he gets when he’s thinking too much—when he’s trying to anticipate something without panicking.

I can feel him there behind me, but it doesn’t make me tense. Instead, it feels like a slow, cautious safety settling into the edges of the room. The quiet isn’t heavy anymore—not completely. With him there, it’s easier to breathe, to remember that I’m not completely alone.

And still, he doesn’t move.
He just waits, quietly, for me to take the next step.

The quiet in the room feels like it’s pressing against my skin. My hands won’t stop moving—twisting the hem of my sleeve, tapping the table, even curling into fists for a second before I relax them again. My chest is tight, and I can feel that constant buzz behind my eyes, the replay of everything I can’t push out of my head.

I force the words out before I can think better of it.
“It hasn’t stopped replaying in my head.”
Jeff doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move. I can’t see his expression clearly from this angle, and that’s fine. I don’t want him to say anything heavy, just… stay there.

After a moment, he does. His voice is low, firm, like a wall I can lean against without collapsing.
“Then we deal with it. Here. You’re not alone.”
That’s it. Simple. Steady.

I let my shoulders drop a fraction, my hands stilling for the first time in what feels like hours. It doesn’t make everything okay, but it’s enough. Enough to take another slow breath. Enough to feel that someone’s not just standing there, watching me—he’s actually here with me.

And that tiny, quiet fact is the first thing in a long time that doesn’t make my chest ache.
I’m halfway through another slow sip of water when movement at the edge of my vision makes me jerk upright.

Ben comes into the room too quickly—normal for him, but my body reacts before my brain can catch up. My shoulders snap back, my stomach drops, and I can feel my pulse in my ears.
He freezes mid-step, arms half-lifted, like he’s just realized he almost knocked me over with his own energy.

“…Okay, noted,” he says, voice loud and absurdly deliberate. “I will now be moving at the speed of a 90-year-old man with bad hips.”
He shuffles across the room in an exaggerated, almost ridiculous slow motion, and I can’t help the tiny laugh that escapes. It’s shaky and small, but it comes out anyway.

Jeff doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. He stays right behind me, just a little closer than before, hand brushing the back of my chair as if to remind me he’s there. I can feel the pressure of it without it touching my skin. His eyes are scanning me—my face, my shoulders, my hands—watching every flicker of tension in case it spikes.
Ben notices I laughed and softens immediately, voice dropping to something quieter, gentler.
“Sorry,” he says, almost normal now. “I’ll announce myself next time.”

I nod, still holding the last of my water, trying to steady the jitter in my chest. Jeff’s hand doesn’t move. His presence presses close, not crowding, just… holding.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, I realize that maybe it’s okay to feel a little safe, even if only for a moment.

Ben glances at Jeff, keeping his voice low. “It’s time to eat. Tim cooked.”
Almost like a switch flipped, people I hadn’t seen before start moving toward the kitchen. ‘I thought no one was here,’ I think, but the thought is interrupted by the growl of my stomach.

I stand, and Jeff’s eyes flick between everyone entering the kitchen and me. I fall in step behind Ben as he leads the way, Jeff right behind me, close enough that I can feel the solid presence of him without it crowding me.

The others are already sitting at the table. I only know Jeff, Ben, and Tim, but I can see how the rest move around each other like this is perfectly normal. A boy with unkempt dark brown hair twitches constantly—shoulder jerking, fingers flicking—and mutters words under his breath between each movement. His plate clatters lightly every time he hits it wrong. I flinch, forcing myself not to show it. My eyes scan him, looking for anything that could be dangerous, and that’s when I notice the two hatchets hanging at his sides.

At the far end of the table, a slim, dark figure sits quietly. His plate is… unsettling. I can’t look too closely, but something dark, raw, almost organic rests on it. He cuts at it with surgical precision, like a ritual I’m not meant to understand. His face stays turned toward the food, motionless otherwise, and the way he moves makes my stomach churn. His dark blue mask, resting on the top half of his face, has slipped slightly out of place, but he doesn’t acknowledge it.

I catch sight of Tim beside a shorter boy wearing a bright yellow hoodie, holding a plate with careful precision. His eyes land on me, and he gets up without a word.
'The same boy I met in the park… here… what the hell is going on?' I think, glancing back at Jeff for any hint of what to do.

Jeff steps up behind me as I move toward the table. The moment I reach my chair, his hand comes down to pull it out. I freeze, half-surprised. He lets go quickly, scowling like he can’t believe he just did something so normal.

Ben raises a brow at the small display. The brown-haired boy twitches again, muttering something incoherent, and the boy in the yellow hoodie glances at Jeff, smirking faintly.

“D-Did he just—?” the brown-haired boy blurts between tics.
Jeff glares sharply in their direction. The whisper stops immediately.

I sit. I don’t even have time to take a full breath before Ben chimes in, his voice carrying across the table. “Well! I don’t quite know your name, but this is Toby, EJ, Brian, and Tim. I’m Ben, and you know Jeff.”

I glance around as he points at each of them. Their greetings are… varied. A stuttery “hello” from one, a small, almost disinterested wave from another, a sideways glance not at me but directly at Jeff, and then another wave—this one less nonchalant, almost deliberate.

Tim sets a plate in front of me. I don’t look at him directly, just note the warmth, the way his hand lingers a little longer than necessary. My stomach twists. I allow myself the smallest glance his way, but he’s already moving, placing a plate in front of Jeff before sliding back to sit next to Brian.

I shift slightly, the chair scraping softly against the floor, but the sounds of the room are overwhelming: the hum of the fridge, Toby’s tics and quiet shouts, Brian muttering something to Tim, and the faint metallic clatter from EJ’s plate. My chest tightens, each sound sharpening my awareness.

Jeff stays close beside me, his hand brushing the back of my chair whenever Ben leans in, trying to pull me into conversations I don’t understand. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t overstep, but his presence is solid, protective—impossible to ignore.

I try to take small bites, letting the food settle in my stomach while the others go about their strange, “normal” routines. Toby twitches mid-chew, muttering under his breath. EJ carefully cuts at something I don’t want to look at, Brian whispers to Tim, and the soft clatter of utensils fills the gaps.

A fork slips from someone’s plate nearby. My body jerks before I can stop it. Instantly, Jeff’s hand lands on the back of my chair again, steady and grounding. I swallow hard, forcing myself to remind my chest that this is… the safest I’ve felt in days.

He’s not hiding it anymore—not the way he watches, not the way he makes sure I’m okay. He’s just there. Solid. Protective. Even in a room that makes me want to crawl under the table.

I take a small, careful bite, letting the smell of the food and the warmth of the kitchen settle in my chest. For the first time tonight, I realize I’m alive, and maybe… maybe I’m not entirely alone. My shoulders loosen, my body gradually relaxing in a way it hasn’t all day.

“Why are you here?” Tim finally mutters, his voice low, directed at me.

My eyes instinctively flick to Jeff—not to imply he’s the reason, but just… looking for something familiar. The shift makes Tim tense up slightly.
“She needed my help,” Jeff says, his voice flat, steady, protective. My body stiffens, but only a little, nowhere near the tight coil of panic from before.

My hands fall into my lap, the conflict twisting in my chest like fire. “I—” I start, but the words die on my tongue.
“Don’t.” Jeff’s raspy whisper slides into my ear. Not a command to be quiet, exactly. More like a warning: don’t give more than you want to.

“Why would you ask something like that?” His voice isn’t really a question. It’s sharper, closer to a demand—or a silent you better shut the fuck up.

Tim’s glare digs into me, chest tightening. I can feel the others’ eyes flick toward the exchange, but no one moves, not even a twitch. Brian’s hands rest still on the table. Toby twitches less than usual, as if sensing the tension. EJ’s maskless gaze shifts slightly toward the floor, hands still over his plate. No one tries to interrupt or speak—they all know.

I set my fork down carefully, the clink loud in my ears, and rise. The group doesn’t react, doesn’t follow, doesn’t speak. It’s quiet, almost respectful, like a fragile bubble surrounds Jeff and me. I slip past the table and into the hallway, letting the warmth and noise of the kitchen fade behind me.

The air in the hallway feels thick, almost heavy against my skin. I take a few deep breaths, scanning everything in my line of sight. From the kitchen, Jeff’s voice cuts through—powerful, low, carrying authority. I can’t catch the words, but the tone isn’t pleasant. I know he’s warning someone… maybe more than warning. Maybe even threatening.

My head spins as I wrap my arms around myself. 'Why do I feel so safe here? Why was Tim so nice at the park but so mean now? Why was that man—EJ—eating an organ?'

Questions whirl through my mind like a storm. My hands rise to my temples, pressing lightly, trying to make sense of it all: a pixelated boy who can crawl through TVs, a twitchy boy no older than seventeen in the middle of the woods, a gray-skinned man cutting at raw organs with precise, ritualistic movements.

It should be too much. It should make my chest seize and my stomach twist. And yet… it doesn’t. Somehow, in all this chaos, in all this wrongness, it isn’t unbearable.

After a minute of silence, I hear the familiar scrape of footsteps approaching. My eyes flick toward the sound, but I don’t move.

Jeff steps into the hallway, careful, keeping just the right distance. One hand rests lightly on the doorframe beside me, fingers twitching slightly as he scans the dim hallway. His eyes drift down to me, and the usual sharpness softens—normally just for a second, but this time it lingers.

He lets his hands fall to his sides, leaning against the wall beside me. He doesn’t pressure me, doesn’t speak. There’s no lecture, no questions—just his presence, solid and steady, grounding me in a way I didn’t know I needed.

I feel the tension in my chest ease, my shoulders finally loosening. A small, tentative smile tugs at my lips, almost without me realizing it. For the first time in a long while, I feel like I can breathe.

I let the silence stretch between us, letting my chest loosen just a fraction. Fear still pulses faintly under my skin, but it’s mixed now with something else—a sense of relief, a fragile thread of safety I haven’t felt in days. My shoulders slowly drop, my hands unclench, and I realize I can actually breathe a little easier, like the tight coil in my chest is loosening.

The hallway feels quieter now. I notice the faint creak of the floorboards beneath our weight, the soft hum of the kitchen behind the closed door, and even the subtle rhythm of Jeff nearby. He leans lightly against the wall, his posture easy but alert, like he’s keeping the space safe without suffocating me. That quiet presence… it’s grounding. I feel a flicker of trust, tiny and fragile, but real.

We stay silent, letting the seconds stretch. I can feel his gaze nearby even if it isn’t fixed on me, and somehow that’s enough. My burning eyes lift slowly, catching him just out of the corner of my vision. My hands slide to my sides, letting go of the tension I’ve been gripping for hours—or maybe days.

I shift my weight, taking a small, cautious step forward, testing the calm. The hallway smells faintly of wood and the lingering warmth from the kitchen, a mix of comfort and strangeness that makes my chest feel lighter.

Jeff doesn’t say anything, doesn’t push me to speak or move faster. He just stays, steady and solid, an unspoken anchor in the middle of everything I don’t understand. For the first time tonight, I feel like I can let my guard down, just a little. Just enough to feel… safe.

I glance down at my hands again, flexing my fingers slowly, noticing the absence of the trembling I had while sitting at dinner. It’s almost unbelievable how small gestures—a hand on a chair, a quiet presence, a pause in the noise—can make the world feel slightly less wrong.

I meet Jeff’s eyes, and for the first time, I let myself imagine that maybe I don’t have to be constantly braced for the next thing to go wrong. Not entirely. Not tonight. And even if it’s only for a moment, that feeling… that fragile, quiet sense of safety… feels like a gift I didn’t think I could have anymore.

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Y/N POV Saturday Morning (~8AM)

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I wake up slowly, my eyes drifting open instead of snapping wide like they usually do. For the past two nights, my body has actually rested — no nightmares ripping me out of sleep, no clawing panic in my chest. Just… silence. I don’t even remember dreaming.
I shift a little, rubbing my eyes, and that’s when I notice him.

Jeff is sitting in the corner of the room, half in the shadows, elbows on his knees. His breathing is steady but heavy, like he just finished doing something he doesn’t want to talk about. The moment he realizes I’m awake, his eyes lift from the floor to meet mine.

He looks exhausted. Not tired-from-sleep exhausted — something deeper. And underneath it, there’s this strange tension in his expression, something he’s trying real hard to bury.

“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice low, rough with sleep.
His eyes flick toward the window, then slide back to me. His posture doesn’t change, but the air around him feels wired.

“Yeah,” he says, too quickly. “Just… needed a breather.”
Something is off. He’s hiding it well, but I can feel it like pressure in the room.
And even with the unease settling in my chest, I still… trust him.

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Jeff POV Saturday Morning (~10AM)

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As soon as Y/N starts moving around, that low buzz begins humming at the base of my skull. My eyes snap to the window—
Nothing.
Good.

I stand, watching her as she runs her fingers through her hair. My gaze drifts over her arms, her neck, then her face. So damn innocent. So unaware. Almost like before.
Almost.

The buzz grows louder, tightening behind my eyes as we step out into the main room. Great. Everyone’s here. Exactly what I don't need right now.

Y/N sinks onto the couch. My hand finds her shoulder before I even think about it, and I lean down to her ear.
“Stay. I’ll be back.”

It comes out rougher than I meant, an order instead of reassurance, but she doesn’t seem bothered. That almost makes it worse.

I slip out the front door. The cold doesn’t bite at me—I can’t feel it—but the air looks sharp enough that my skin would’ve turned red if it could.

I head straight into the woods, shoving my hands into my pockets.
'She’s okay,' I tell myself as I stop at the usual clearing.

The static swells again, louder this time, filling my head completely.

The clearing goes unnaturally still.

No wind.
No bugs.
No sound except the static swelling in my skull, rising from a dull pressure to a serrated roar. It crawls behind my eyes, down my spine—like something hooking itself under my ribs and pulling.

I grit my teeth.
'I hate this part.

A shift in the air, the faintest distortion of shape, and he’s just there—tall, faceless, the world bending wrong around him. He doesn’t walk. He doesn’t appear. He simply exists, and everything else moves out of the way for it.

The static sharpens into a single cold line that digs straight into my mind.
“Come.”

It’s not a word. It’s pressure, the psychic equivalent of a hand closing around the back of my neck.
My fingers curl into fists.

“I’m here,” I bite out. “So say whatever—”

“Your mission, child.”

My jaw clamps tight. He always calls me that. Like I’m some obedient little soldier carved out just for him.
A tendril unfolds from behind him, holding out a paper. A basic assignment sheet. A name. A face. Instructions he already knows I don’t need.

I rip it out of his grasp, the motion sharp enough to sting my palm.
“Don’t,” I snap. “Drop the ‘child’ shit.”

I skim the page. Victim sheet. Long distance. Complicated setup. This isn’t a quick hit — it’s a multi-day track-and-eliminate job. He knows it. He planned it.

“This is going to take days.” My voice is low, dangerous. “You knew that.”
His featureless head tilts slightly — the closest thing he has to a reaction.

“Irrelevant.”

“I can’t leave her like that.” My eyes flick toward the house behind the trees, even though I know he doesn’t need line of sight to know exactly who I mean. “She barely sleeps as it is. She finally got two decent nights and now you want me gone again?”

Nothing. Not a hesitation.
“You will.”

A pulse of pressure goes through my skull, like he’s reminding me who holds the leash. I force myself not to flinch.
“You don’t get it,” I growl. “They don’t watch her. Not really. Tim’s… Tim. Ben’s a damn menace. And she—”

My breath catches, just slightly.
She’s finally looking less scared. Finally trusting me.
“She finally looks like she can breathe,” I finish, voice dropping.

“She stays only because you obey.”

The words slam into my mind with the same cold finality as a door being locked. He doesn’t need to threaten. The rule has always been there.

Y/N gets to stay.
But only if I do everything he sends me to do.
No questions.
No refusals.

I feel something hot coil behind my ribs — anger, fear, something I don’t want to name.
“So that’s it?” I ask, stepping forward, fists shaking. “You screw with her head for weeks, giving her nightmares, and now you let her sleep just so you can yank me around easier? Is that the damn plan?”

Silence.
“Of course it is.”
“Go.”

One command. Final. Non-negotiable. A shove inside my skull.
The static spikes so hard my vision whitens at the edges.

My breath hitches in a growl. “I’m not leaving her unprotected.”
“You already have.”

A cold rush of air hits me — he’s gone. Just vanished. But the static remains, coiling in my mind like a hand tugging me forward.
I stand there for a long moment, shaking with fury I can’t do anything about.
I'm powerless.
And he knows it.

The static fades enough for me to think, but my chest still feels tight. I take a deep breath and force myself back into the house. Not yet ready to leave, not until I know she’s safe.
My hands brush along my hoodie, wiping off the dirt and debris from the woods, quick, careful, like I’m trying to erase any trace of where I’ve been.

Y/N is sitting on the couch, quietly brushing the tangles from her hair. She glances up as I enter.
“Are you okay?” she asks softly, concern threading through her voice.
I force a shrug, muttering, “Yeah. Fine.” My voice comes out tighter than I intend. She studies me, reading between the lines, but doesn’t press. She never does—not now.

I hate lying to her. But I hate the thought of Slenderman anywhere near her even more. Better to carry the weight myself.

I move further into the living space, letting my senses sweep the room. Everyone is here, and it’s subtle, but I can feel their awareness of me shifting.
Ben’s gaze flicks to me, unreadable, like he knows something I don’t want him to. Tim narrows his eyes, suspicion creeping in, trying to catch patterns I don’t want exposed.

Toby sits on the floor, controller in hand, trying to play the game with Ben. His voice stutters over instructions and questions—”D-D-Damn, Wh-What th-th—” and he twitches every time he misses a shot on the game. The sound of it grates on me. I don’t want to yell, but the tension in my head is already snapping.

“Just—Spit it out!” I snap, sharper than I mean, my voice low, clipped. Toby jumps, eyes wide, and freezes, dropping his controller onto his lap. Ben glances at me, confused.
I immediately feel the weight of it—the sudden jump in the room—but I don’t apologize. Can’t. Not now. Not to them. Not ever, really. I don't apologize.

Toby gets up silently, besides his tics, and pulls the facemask up and throws his goggles on before leaving from the house, a small nearly silent sigh escaped my lips.
Y/N notices it, her hand tightening on her hairbrush. She stays quiet, sensing the strain, sensing the unspoken.

I glance back at her, then around the room, forcing myself to breathe.

The room hums with silent tension. And I stand there, caught between keeping my secret and being present for her, knowing that even the smallest slip could undo everything I’m trying to protect.

There isn’t room on the couch at first, but she shifts slightly, making space. I lower myself down, hesitant, unsure, though not unwilling. Her shoulder brushes mine as I settle in, and she glances at me again, trying to read the tension I refuse to show.

I study her in return, watching every small movement. Her fingers twitch, her breathing shifts, but she relaxes slightly against me, even if her eyes remain wide and wary. Protective instincts flare, sharp and raw. I want to tell her everything—the summons, the nightmares, the deal—but I swallow it down. Not now.

I force myself to breathe, to sit still. Calm. Protective. Controlled. All of it. I have to be both for her, even if it’s tearing me apart from the inside.

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Jeff POV Sunday Morning (~1AM)

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The house is quiet. Y/N’s breathing is even, slow, finally peaceful. I glance at her one last time before slipping out the door. The night presses around me, thick and still, like the world itself is holding its breath. The woods are dead quiet—too quiet.

I pause at the edge of the clearing, hands shoved deep in my hoodie pockets, shoulders tight.

I clench my jaw, the memory of the “price” I agreed to burning behind my ribs. Nights like this remind me exactly what it costs to keep her safe. And I hate it. Hate him. Hate that I can’t do anything to fight it.

A curse slips from my lips, low and sharp. I don’t even hear the sound over my own pulse.
And then, silently, I make a promise—one that has no witness but me:
'I’m not letting you touch her.
Even if it kills me.'

I turn back toward the house, each step measured, silent. The floor creaks slightly under my weight, and I pause, listening for any sound from her room. Nothing. Safe. For now.

I kneel beside our bed, letting the shadows swallow me. She shifts slightly in her sleep, but doesn’t wake. I stay there, watching, bone-tired, every muscle coiled, every sense on edge. I refuse to leave her tonight, no matter how heavy the burden on my shoulders.

The night stretches on. I sit, rigid, silent and for the first time in days, the world outside can wait.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Third Person POV Sunday Morning 11 AM

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Y/N, Ben, and Jeff were all in the living space. Jeff wasn’t really watching her—he was watching the windows and doors, that tense perimeter-checking he did when his mind was somewhere dark. Like he was waiting for something to try and take her away.

“I–I'm sorry!” Y/N blurted.
She stared down at the controller in her hands, the joystick snapped clean off. Her fingers trembled. She’d only been trying to play the game with him.

Ben loved that controller. His eyebrows lifted like he wanted to get mad, but he took a slow breath instead—enough that Jeff’s head turned sharply in his direction.

“It’s okay,” Ben muttered, grabbing the broken controller before she could. He drew in another breath and looked up at her with something unreadable in his eyes.
“Well… at least you didn’t snap it in half.”

He said it casually. Too casually. Like it was a normal thing that might’ve happened. Like it was something she’d done before.

Y/N froze. Her breath caught in her throat.
For a moment, she saw the dents in Jeff’s desk—the ones she still didn’t understand how she made. Subtle, but deep. Too deep.

Her eyes flicked to Ben as he walked to the TV stand to grab another controller. He was humming, moving on like nothing strange had been said at all.

Then she looked at Jeff.

He was standing perfectly still.
Not blinking.
Not breathing.
Just watching Ben.

His face was stone—cold and unreadable—but his eyes were different. Sharper. Focused in that way he got when something was wrong.

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

The room went quiet for a heartbeat too long. Ben didn’t notice, still digging through wires, but the tension hung heavy—thick enough that Y/N felt it pressing on her ribs.

“Ben,” Jeff said finally, his voice perfectly flat. “Leave it.”

Two words. Neutral. But there was something underneath—an edge only Y/N caught, and even she didn’t know how to name it.

Ben paused mid-motion, glanced back, then shrugged and set the replacement controller down.
“Sure, man. Whatever.”

He didn’t question it. Didn’t seem to realize he’d said anything strange at all.

But Jeff did.
Y/N wasn’t sure what scared her more—the slip Ben made, or the way Jeff hadn’t looked away from him since.

As soon as Y/N and Ben started to play again and the tension eased Jeff slipped out of the doorway, his steps silent. Something inside him made him need to go check his room.

The desk she got so uneasy with anytime he got too close. The broken chair that he assumed was because Ben knocked it over.

He got to his desk. His jaw tightened, his hands moving before he could think. He moved everything, the last thing being the notebook that she tried so helplessly to use as cover. Something that was so easy for him to find but he didn't.

Jeff stood there, not moving, not breathing just staring at it. His hands reach over and slowly run over the four finger dents that she had left. They were deep. Unnaturally deep.

Jeff's eyebrows furrowed. His hands started to slightly shake. He balled them into a fist and started to pace. His head deep in thought, “what happened? If… If she could do that why didn't she when Joshua…?” Questions spiraling through his mind.

Questions he should have no business wondering about but he still does.

Jeff felt stupid.

He was so mad at himself, ‘How could you be so STUPID?’ he thought to himself
Like he’d been walking around blind while she’d been quietly falling apart right in front of him.
Like she’d been carrying something alone because she didn’t trust him enough to say it.

His pacing slowed, then stopped altogether. His mind churned backward through the past few days, replaying things he hadn’t bothered to look at twice.

'The fork.'
He remembered standing at the sink after dinner, rinsing their plates. He’d picked up her fork without thinking—and the prongs had been bent inward, warped like someone had twisted them in their fist. He’d shrugged it off, assuming it was old.
It wasn’t.

'The way he could feel her grip.'
Jeff couldn’t feel light touches. It took real pressure for him to register anything at all. But when she had grabbed his hoodie earlier—barely tugged—he’d felt it. Felt the pull. He felt the tension.
He ignored that too.

And the doors.
She didn’t slam them out of anger, not once. But they still shook the frame every time she closed one. The walls trembled like she’d put her whole weight into it—even when she was tired, even when she meant to be quiet.

Piece after piece snapped together in his mind, forming a picture he should’ve seen long before now.
Jeff dragged a hand through his messy black hair, fingers digging into his scalp as he stared at the wall, jaw tight.

'How could I have missed it?'

Not just the strength.
Not just the signs.

But the fear behind them.
The way she tried to hide it.
The way she always hid things when she didn’t want to be a burden.

His chest tightened at the realization.
He hadn’t underestimated her strength.
He’d underestimated her pain.

Y/N found him standing in the doorway of their room, staring at the wall like it had personally offended him. His shoulders were rigid, his hands flexing once at his sides before going still again.

“Jeff?” Her voice was careful, soft. “You okay?”

He didn’t look at her at first.
“Fine,” he said—too fast, too sharp. A clipped tone he almost never used on her.

Y/N blinked, taken aback. “Sorry… I just—”

Jeff exhaled once, slowly, and finally turned toward her. The hard edge in his face softened, only a fraction, but enough to ease the sting of his tone. His eyes scanned her face, then drifted lower, checking her posture, her breathing—like he expected to see some sign she was hurt.

But there wasn’t.
She looked normal.
And that’s when it hit him.

'She really didn’t know.'

She had no clue how she’d done that to the desk.
No idea how strong she was becoming.
No understanding of the change she was in the middle of.

Jeff stepped closer, slow, cautious—like any sudden movement might scare her. He didn’t touch her, but it was close, the distance thin enough that she felt the weight of his attention settle on her.

“You feel okay?” he asked quietly. His voice had dropped low—gentle, almost hesitant. “Anything weird? Different?”

Y/N shook her head. “No. I feel fine. Why?”

Jeff didn’t answer immediately.
He just watched her.

He watched the way her eyes stayed confused and open.
He watched how she wasn’t hiding anything—not this time.
Watched the way she genuinely had no idea what he was talking about.

He swallowed once, jaw tightening before he forced it loose again.

“Nothing,” he said finally. “Just asking.”

But it wasn’t nothing.
Not for him.

Y/N stood there for another moment, uncertain, before she stepped back and let him have the space he clearly needed.

Jeff didn’t move until she was out of the room. Then his gaze shifted back to the desk—back to the four deep dents that didn’t belong in the wood. The muscle in his jaw twitched as every thought tangled in his mind tightened into a knot.

He wasn’t angry at her.
He wasn’t afraid of her.
He was afraid for her.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Third Person POV Sunday night 10 PM

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Jeff’s eyes don’t leave Y/N. Every tiny movement—her fingers flexing, her arm shifting, her breath catching—he tracks all of it like he’s waiting for a trap to spring.

The TV glows dim across the room, playing some old VHS tape he’d thrown on just to fill the silence. But he isn’t watching it. He’s pacing. Slow, steady, deliberate steps between the window and the door. Each pass positions him between her and something—glass, hallway, shadows. Anything that might be watching back.

His nerves feel raw. Every time he passes the window his jaw clenches hard enough to ache.

‘What if he already knows.’
‘What if that tall bastard has been waiting—waiting for her to crack, waiting for me to screw up.’ ‘What if all of this is just him grooming her from a distance, letting me break her down first.’
‘What if she changes and he decides she’s useful.’
‘What if he takes her.’
'What if that's why he's allowing her to stay, just to send me away for days'

His stomach twists. His pacing gets sharper for exactly one step before he forces it back to that calm, steady rhythm. She can’t see him panic.
That would make it real.

On the couch, Y/N keeps her hands pinned together in her lap, resting so carefully it looks practiced. She stares at the movie, but her eyes keep sliding back to Jeff every time he changes direction.

Her pulse is thudding in her ears.
‘He’s mad. He has to be mad.’
‘What did I do? Think—think, think—what could’ve set him off this time? I didn’t snap. I didn’t wander. I didn’t do anything wrong today. So why is he—why is he looking at me like that? Why is he avoiding sitting still?’
‘Just breathe. Don’t shake. Don’t make it worse.’

Her head starts to spin with the effort of staying calm. She bites down gently on her lip—an instinct more than a decision—trying to hide it behind the tense scene in the movie.

Jeff catches it.
His eyes flick sharply to her face. Her lip caught between her teeth, her brows narrowed as she tries to focus on the TV like she’s not suffocating under her own thoughts.

‘She’s nervous.’
‘Great. Real fucking great, Jeff. You look like you’re stalking the walls and now she thinks you’re pissed.’
‘Stop pacing. No—don’t stop. If you stop you’ll look cornered. Just—move normal. Pretend you’re fine. Hell, pretend the table’s old, pretend the walls creak, pretend anything that keeps her from figuring out you’re scared.’

He shifts his route, passing closer behind the couch, a quiet attempt to look casual. It doesn’t work. His hand brushes the back of her chair—a brief, restless touch he doesn’t even realize he’s doing—before he steps between her and the hallway again.

Y/N’s breath stutters.
‘Why did he do that? Is he trying to check on me? No—that doesn’t make sense. He’s avoiding me, not checking. God, I wish he’d just say something instead of—whatever this is.’

Jeff keeps moving.
And watching.
And thinking too loudly in the silence.

The movie sputters into its credits, the soft static hum filling the room. Jeff moves before Y/N even has the chance to blink—forward, quick, turning off the VHS player and killing the TV’s glow like he couldn’t stand one more second of distraction.

Y/N stands to stretch. The small movement hooks his attention immediately. His eyes snap to her, tracking her like she’s the only breakable thing in the house.

‘I should just ask.'
'Yeah. What could go wrong with that?'
'Idiot. Everything could go wrong.’

His thoughts ricochet so fast he doesn’t even hear her voice at first.
“…Jeff?”
He doesn’t respond.

Y/N’s stomach drops.
'Oh god, was that stupid? Did I annoy him?’

Only then does he snap back into the moment—his blank stare sharpening into something much harsher, much colder than he intended.
‘Great. What the hell did she even say? Why weren’t you listening, dumbass?’

He straightens and tugs at his hoodie sleeve, a useless attempt to look composed.
“What?” he mutters, gravel scraping through the single word. It comes out too sharp, too raspy, too him.

He regrets it immediately—but his face never shows it.

Y/N’s voice shrinks.
“I just… wanted to go back to the room.”

Her weight shifts, shoulders drawn in, fingers curling tight around her arm like she’s bracing for impact. Jeff exhales a small hum—more like a grunt—before motioning for her to go ahead.

“We should talk anyway.”
It isn’t a suggestion. It lands more like a warning.

Another spike of fear twists inside her.
“O-Okay.”
Her voice trembles.
'I don’t know if I’m scared of him… or scared of what he’s about to say. Did I do something? Am I not doing enough to stay here? Jeff doesn’t let me wander the halls- much less let me clean without him.’
She hesitates at the doorway to his room, her hand clinging to the frame like she needs permission to step through.

Jeff notices, like he always does

'She looks like she’s about to bolt.'
'Great job, Jeff. Terrify the one person you're trying to protect.'
'Get it together before you make this worse.’

He steps close behind her—close enough that she can feel the shift in the air but not close enough to touch. Guarding. Hovering.

Y/N doesn’t even scan the room. She never does anymore — she’s gotten too used to the space, too used to him. She steps inside naturally, unaware of the way Jeff watches every movement. Unaware of the notebook that was moved showing the dents.

Jeff shuts the door behind her. The click is soft, but the tension behind it isn’t.

He opens his mouth, the harsh tug of the remainder of skin on the sides of his mouth, but nothing came out.
Her eyes meet his, unguarded, and something in his brain goes blank.
Just one look from her knocks the words out of him.

She tilts her head slightly, brows pulling in.
‘Is he okay?’
She lets her arms fall to her sides, trying not to fidget.

Jeff’s jaw clenches hard. 'How the hell does she shut me up without even trying?'

He forces himself forward.
“What is that?” he asks.
He means for it to be calm — gentle, even.
But his voice comes out sharp, and he points before he can think.

Straight at the dents.

Y/N’s stomach drops so fast she feels lightheaded.
Her eyes trace the lines of his finger… and land on the four deep grooves in the wood.

Her hands press together instantly, breath catching in her throat.
The thudding in her chest grows loud, then louder.

'He knows.'
'He knows you did that.'
'He knows you’re not normal.'

Her breathing turns thin, broken at the edges. Her shoulders pull inward like she’s trying to make herself smaller, like she thinks shrinking might erase the evidence carved into the table.
“I didn’t— I didn’t mean to do that,” she blurts out, voice trembling even though she’s trying to keep it steady. “I don’t even… I don’t know how it happened.”

Her fingers twist together, knuckles whitening.
The fear hits her all at once — not fear of him, but fear of what he might think of her.

Her voice cracks.
“Jeff… am I—?”
She swallows hard.
“Am I a freak?”

Something snaps in him.
He steps toward her fast — not gentle, not soft, just decisive and trying way too hard to keep his own fear out of the air.

“Stop.”
The word is sharp. Too sharp.
He winces at his own tone but can’t pull it back.

“You’re not a damn freak.”
Another step. His eyes lock onto hers, intense and unblinking.
“You hear me? Don’t say that. Don’t even think it.”

He gestures toward the table, scoffing like he’s offended on her behalf.
“It’s a table. It’s old. Anyone could’ve been the one to do that, it just so happened to be you. It’s nothing.”

He sounds like he’s shutting down a threat, not her fear — like he’s trying to stamp it out before something else can latch onto it.

His voice stays rough, too forceful to be comforting, but every word comes from somewhere deep and terrified.
His hands stay at his sides, tense and ready, as if he’s guarding her from her own thoughts

Y/N’s shoulders shake, barely holding herself up. Her voice is tiny, almost swallowed by the tension in the room:
“But… I didn’t even try. How—?”

Jeff cuts her off, voice rough and clipped, just on the edge of snapping:
“I said the table’s old...”
His words are harsh, but his eyes… they’re watching her, softer than he lets on. He knew he was just saying that to make her feel better, maybe to push down whatever was happening, keep it from exploding.

Y/N swallows, voice trembling:
“Why… why are you acting like this? Did… did someone say something?”

Jeff freezes, jaw tightening. The silence stretches.

Finally, he spits out a half-truth, blunt and impatient:
“No. I just don’t want you losing it over nothing. I saw you tense up when Ben said… whatever he said...” he hesitated before adding "I came up here earlier, i just wanted to make sure nobody else was in here..." this last sentence coming out like a question more than an excuse.

He keeps the rest unsaid. The thing he can’t tell her, the thing that would terrify her more than anything:
'If she keeps changing, Slenderman will notice. And he won’t be there to stop it.'

His chest tightens, hands clenching at his sides, but he doesn’t let it show.
Her panic ebbs just enough that Jeff notices the small tremor in her hands.
Without thinking, without words, he reaches out and steadies her wrist with only his fingers—careful, measured, almost impossibly gentle for him.

His voice is low, clipped, but not sharp:
“You’re fine.”
Y/N hears it and clings to it, a lifeline in the chaos of her own fear.

Jeff doesn’t see it that way. To him, it’s a promise. Against anything—against Slenderman, against the world.
His chest tightens. Every instinct in him sharpens.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Y/N sits on the bathroom floor, her back pressed against the cool wood of the door. Her knees are pulled up, arms wrapped around them, and her head rests lightly against her folded arms. She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak—just breathes shallowly, trying to make herself small, to make the fear inside her shrink.

Her hands shake, fingers curling and uncurling as she thinks about earlier. About Jeff. About the dents in the desk, the way he’d looked at her. Panic burns tight in her chest, twisting her stomach. She whispers to herself, voice barely audible:
“Am I… a freak?”

The thought makes her shiver. Her hair falls forward over her face, and she presses her palms to her eyes to hide the tears she can’t stop. She feels raw, exposed—like she’s become something she can’t control.

Outside the bathroom, in the dim hallway, Jeff moves with careful, deliberate steps. His eyes scan every shadow, every corner, every reflection in the mirrors and windows.
Every instinct he has is on high alert. His shoulders are tense, jaw tight. Fingers flexing at his sides, he mutters under his breath, low enough that only he can hear:
“I won’t let him take you.”

The words carry a weight that could crush, though they’re meant for protection. He moves to check the doors, the locks, the little spaces where someone—or something—might sneak in. His movements are silent, precise, predatory in their quiet.

Y/N feels it even without seeing him. The knowledge that he’s there, just outside, watching, guarding. It presses down on her chest in a mix of relief and fear. She wants to lean on him, but the thought that he might now see her as a burden makes her shrink further against the door.

Eventually, the water in the shower runs. Y/N finally exhales, a shaky, fragile sound. Jeff, still in the hallway, pauses, listening, watching, making sure nothing outside or inside threatens her.

The night continues, tense but still. One inside, one outside. Both aware. Both afraid. Both unwilling to let the other fall.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Y/N’s POV Monday 11 AM

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

My eyes flutter open, and I sit up. I bring my hands to my eyes, rubbing them letting out a soft grumble.
I exhaled sharply before I noticed the unfamiliar feeling of not being watched. It was weird. I looked around the room slowly scanning every shadow looking for the one person who grounds me to reality.

My stomach slightly turned when he was nowhere to be found, I pushed myself off of the bed slowly, I carefully opened his closet door
‘If the table is old maybe i should be careful with the doors too,’I thought to myself as I reached in pulling out a pair of clothes.
I got dressed and walked up to the door of the room. My hand hovered over the door knob for a second,

‘Jeff doesn’t like it when I wander around here, but he can’t get mad if I'm hungry right?’ I thought to myself before letting out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
I walked out of the room in one swift motion, turning the corner to go to the kitchen when I slammed straight into somebody.

Turning the corner toward the kitchen, I slam into somebody. The force nearly sends me to the floor before someone's hands wrap around my arms.
“I—I’m sorry,” I stutter, half-hoping it’s Jeff.
My eyes meet Ben.

“Don’t be sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” he says, helping me steady myself.
I hum softly, glancing down the dark hall. There seem to be more rooms than people here.
“Have you seen Jeff?” I ask softly, looking back at him.
“No, I haven’t,” he answers hesitantly. I nod and start toward the kitchen, his footsteps following—not too close.

‘Jeff never leaves without saying anything to me’ i think as i walk through the kitchen doorway.
I look through the fridge not liking any of my options in there when I notice, ben just standing there, His bright blue eyes flicking to the door before coming back to me.

His stare is nothing like Jeff’s, Jeff already can’t blink so his stare feels natural, almost comforting, but when Ben does it, it makes a chill go down my spine. Like he is looking at something that he isn’t supposed to be.

I shut the fridge doors and turn on my heel going to the living room holding my stomach to make the growling stop, I sit on the couch once again noticing Ben moving into the same room, his eyes not on me anymore but the windows, and the door.

“Ben… are you okay?” i ask looking back at him. He fidgets where he stands and i could see his arm glitch slightly,
‘is he nervous?’ i think looking over his arm then seeing his fingers glitch slightly into an uncomfortable position then back to normal
“fine… Just on watch.” he muttered before looking back to the door.

It seemed like he wanted Jeff home more than I did. I looked at the TV then sighed, I was bored, nothing to do besides stare and be stared at.
I shift on the couch, pulling my knees up just a little, trying to make myself small. Ben keeps flicking his eyes toward the front door like he’s waiting for it to blow open. The tension in the room presses against my skin, heavy and wrong.

After a few seconds, he mutters—barely loud enough for me to hear, like he’s talking to himself more than to me—
“Just… don’t go far, okay?”
My eyes lift at that. “Why?”

His shoulders twitch, and his head tilts in that uncanny way of his. “Jeff said not to let you wander.”
He says it fast, like he didn’t mean to say it at all.

I freeze.
Jeff told him that? I thought he hadn't seen him

My throat tightens, and I look down at my hands in my lap.
‘He didn’t tell me anything.’
‘He didn’t say where he was going.’
‘He didn’t even wake me up.’

A tiny ache blooms in my chest, sharp enough to feel stupid for feeling it.
Ben shifts again, his fingers glitching into a broken, twisted shape before snapping back like nothing happened. His voice comes out flatter than usual.
“He said stay close. So. I’m… staying close.”

There’s a weird sincerity in the awkwardness of it, and somehow that makes the room feel even more empty without Jeff in it.

I swallow and nod, more to myself than to him, then tug the blanket over the couch straighter — something to do, something small, something safe. I smooth the edge of it with my palm twice, breathing slow like that’ll calm the buzzing in my ribs.

Ben stays where he is. Guarding. Waiting. Watching.

But not watching me anymore — watching the door like he’s expecting trouble. Like he’s preparing for something I don’t know about.
My fingers start to tremble, so I curl them into the blanket fabric until they stop.

I try to remind myself I’m fine.
‘I’m safe.’
‘ Jeff wouldn’t leave me if I wasn’t.’
‘ He… wouldn’t... ’

But the seat beside me is empty.
And the silence feels like it’s getting heavier by the second.

Ben’s voice breaks it again, softer this time — almost human:
“He’ll be back. He always comes back.”

I nod but can’t bring myself to answer.
Because the truth crawls across my thoughts, unwelcome and cold:
'Yeah… but he’s never left without telling me before.'

After a while of awkward sentences passed back and forth between me and Ben. He got stiff suddenly, before telling me to “Stay put.”
He walked off at first but poked his head into the room once more making eye contact with me “please” he added then was gone.

I let my eyes wonder around the living room, my body rising as i just slowly started to clean things up,

‘She should see what her mother really is.’
my fathers voice rang through my head, a small hum of static behind each word. I squeeze my hands around the blanket I'm currently refolding.

‘I promise, I'll take good care of you.’
Joshua's voice came flooding in, my heartbeat started to quicken, my eyes slamming open as I glance around the room. Almost making sure the voice was in my head.

My chest rises too fast, too sharp. I swallow hard, trying to force air back down where it belongs.
The house is quiet — too quiet. No footsteps, no low voices, no familiar weight of someone pacing in the hall. Just the hum of old lights and the ticking in my own ears.

I put the blanket down and scrub my palms over my pants, trying to rub away the feeling crawling up my arms.
“It's fine,” I whisper to myself.
Maybe if I say it small enough, it’ll feel true.

But the silence presses back, thick and suffocating.
Without Ben’s weird presence in the corner and without Jeff’s stare pinning me to reality… the room feels bigger. Emptier. Too open.

My fingers twitch, so I grab the next thing I see — a throw pillow — and smooth the fabric over and over, keeping my hands busy, keeping my mind from slipping deeper.

‘Don’t think about it.’
‘Don’t remember.’
‘Don’t—’
My father’s voice cuts through again, sharp as broken glass, like someone was forcing it into my head, the sound of static growing louder.
“And now you’re gonna act just like her—”

My breath catches, and I freeze.
'No. Not here. Not now.'

I blink hard, forcing the room to stay still.
Forcing the walls not to tilt.

‘I’m not there.’
‘ I’m here.’
‘ I’m—’

The couch creaks under my weight when I sit down too quickly, steadying myself. My eyes sting, but I blink the feeling away before it can form into anything.

I glance toward the hallway Ben disappeared down.

‘He’ll be back.’
‘ He said he would.’
‘He told me to stay put.’

But a cold little truth curls into my stomach:
He’s not Jeff.
He’s not the person who can pull me back from my own head.
He can’t anchor me the way Jeff does just by being in the same room.

The silence swells again, pressing at my ribs.
I tuck my knees up just a little, hugging them close without making it look like I’m hugging them. Old habits.

My throat feels tight.
I try to breathe slow.

One inhale.
One exhale.

The door at the end of the hall stays dark, still.

I’m alone. Not unsafe. Just… alone in a way that turns shadows into memories.

My eyes drift toward the doorway—
and that’s when I hear footsteps approaching.

Not Ben’s.
He walks too lightly.
These steps are heavier.
Measured.
Human.

The footsteps stop just outside the room, and I straighten without meaning to, wiping my palms against the couch, and grabbing the blanket again like I’ve been caught doing something wrong.

The doorframe fills with a tall silhouette.
Tim steps inside.
He halts immediately.

His eyes flick from me to the empty corners of the room, then back again. Something in his expression shifts—subtle but sharp.
His brows pull together.
His shoulders go tight.
He stands like he’s bracing for something to jump out at him.

For a second, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks. Scans. Measures the space like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle that doesn’t make sense.

Then, quietly, he asks:
“…Where’s Jeff?”

The air in my throat thins. “I—”
My voice comes out too soft, too unsure.
“I don’t know.”

Tim blinks once, slow.
His jaw works like he’s grinding down a reaction he doesn’t want me to see.

He steps further into the room, boots thudding softly against the floor. He doesn’t sit. He doesn’t relax. He moves just enough to stand between me and the door, like he’s unconsciously positioning himself to block something.

His eyes sweep the room again.
Then they settle on me.

“You’re alone?” he says—not accusing, not angry. More like he’s checking for danger I can’t see.

I nod once.

And whatever tension he was holding clicks tighter across his shoulders, not loosening at all. The whole room shifts with it—quiet, heavy, expectant.

He steps closer. Not close enough to crowd me, but close enough that I can feel the weight of his attention.

There’s something uneasy in his stare.
Something protective.
Something like: This shouldn’t be happening.

Tim doesn’t look away from me.
Not once.

He shifts his weight, then crosses his arms over his chest—shoulders still tight, stance solid. It’s defensive, but not from me. More like he’s trying to hold himself still so he doesn’t pace or snap or do something he’ll regret.

His eyes drag over me, slow and searching.
Not in a rude way.
In a what happened to you way.
Like he’s reading bruises he can’t see.

Finally, he asks—quiet but direct:
“…Why are you really here?”
The question lands heavy in my stomach.

He waits only a breath before the next one follows, lower, rougher:
“What happened to you?”
My fingers curl into my palms.

I look away, down at the blanket in my hands, at the pillow beside me, anywhere that isn’t his face.
Tim steps closer, the floor creaking under his boot. His voice drops to something barely above a whisper, and somehow that makes it worse—makes it feel like he’s poking right where I’m weakest.

“What did he do?”
My breath stutters.
Everything inside me goes still.

I open my mouth—
nothing.
I close it again, throat tightening.
My tongue feels heavy, stuck to the roof of my mouth.

Tim watches this, and something in his expression cracks. Not in anger, but in concern, so raw he can’t hide it.

He uncrosses his arms, letting them fall to his sides like he suddenly realizes how intimidating he looks.

“Hey,” he says softer this time.
Gentler.
Exhausted.

“I’m not— …I’m not trying to scare you.”
A short breath leaves him, shaky in a way I haven’t heard before.
“I just… I need to understand. Something’s wrong. I can see it.”

His voice isn’t sharp anymore.
It’s tired.
Confused.
Worried in a way he doesn’t quite know how to show without messing it up.

“I’m just asking,” he murmurs, eyes lowering a little.

His tone melts from suspicion into something almost protective.
And for the first time, being alone with him doesn’t feel threatening.
It feels like he’s trying to keep me from breaking apart.

Tim lowers himself slowly so he’s at eye level, careful not to crowd me. His presence is steady, grounding, and for a moment, I want to shrink into nothing.
I clutch the blanket tighter, twisting a corner between my fingers without thinking. My voice trembles as I start speaking, quiet at first, almost a whisper.

“I… I was scared,” I admit. My words feel small, fragile.
He doesn’t say anything, just waits, patient. That makes the next words come faster, before I can stop them. “Not of… him. Not Jeff. He didn’t—he didn’t hurt me.”

I swallow hard, blinking against the sting in my eyes. My hands fidget with the blanket again, twisting it tighter, needing something to hold onto while the words spill out.
“I just…,” I continued, my voice trembling, “I did something bad… something I shouldn't have done… but… I-I couldn' help it,” my accent slipping out as my eyes slowly start to dissociate, but stayed on his. “It felt–... it…”

A soft, almost embarrassed laugh escapes me, and I don’t bother hiding the way my Louisiana accent slips into a word, sharp and stressed:
“Made me feel like I could breathe again.”

My fingers grip the blanket a little too tightly. A sharp rip sounds, and I freeze. One corner of the fabric tears under my hands. My chest tightens as I stare at it, like the sound somehow made me more exposed than I already feel.

Tim notices instantly. His eyes flick to the torn blanket, then back to me. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t make a move. But something in the way he watches me shifts—softer, more careful, like he understands this isn’t just about fabric.

I force myself to keep talking, voice low but steadying. “I didn’t think I had anywhere else to go… didn’t think anyone would care if I—” My words falter, but I manage to finish the thought in a whisper, “…ended up dead, but Jeff… he saved me.”

Tim leans forward slightly, hands on his knees, voice quiet and gentle:
“You’re safe here. You hear me? Whatever you came from… you’re not there anymore.”

The words cut through the tension in the room, and for the first time since Jeff left, I feel a little weight lift—just enough that my hands unclench the torn blanket, holding it loosely in my lap. I may not have gotten everything off my chest or even told the full story, but… I almost feel better.

The room goes quiet after I finish speaking, the torn corner of the blanket still clutched loosely in my lap. Tim’s gaze lingers on me, heavy and unreadable.
Then I see it—his jaw tightens, his eyes flinch just a little. He recoils, not from me, but from what he’s realizing. From what he is starting to see.

He didn’t want me to cry. He didn’t want me to shake or falter like this.
His hand goes up to the back of his neck, rubbing in a nervous, almost invisible motion. He clears his throat, looks away, then back again, searching for the words that won’t come easily.

“I… I shouldn’t have pushed,” he mutters finally, low and awkward.
“Forget I asked,” he adds quickly, like he’s trying to take back every word that came before.

The words are clumsy, but sincere. I feel… safer. Even with the tension still in my chest, even with the fear still there, I trust him a little more.
He shifts slightly, hands in his pockets, glancing down at the blanket in my lap. He doesn’t reach for it. He doesn’t make it about the rip.

“You’re safe here… you know that, right?” he says finally, voice soft, almost uneven. Not perfect, not practiced. Just… genuine.

I nod slowly, letting the weight in my chest ease, just a fraction.
He watches me for another long moment, still tense, still uneasy, but not pressing.
And for the first time since Ben left, the room feels less hollow.

The quiet settles between us, heavy and thick, but no longer sharp.
We understand each other without needing more words.
I tuck the torn corner of the blanket into my lap, careful this time, and just breathe.
For the first time in hours, maybe even days, I feel… okay.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Y/N POV Tuesday 10 AM

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

I step out of my room slowly, still half-asleep, padding toward the living room in my pajamas. My hair’s a mess, shoved into a loose bun, and my hand stays pressed to my eye as I rub at the leftover grogginess.

As expected, Ben is planted on the floor way too close to the TV, completely absorbed in whatever game he’s playing.
Then my gaze shifts — and lands on Tim.

He’s on the couch, a sheet of paper in hand, posture relaxed in that way that looks practiced. His eyes flick up when he notices me, and his spine straightens just barely before he lets out a low hum.

“Look who finally decided to wake up.”
His tone is soft but plays at being casual. I hum back, giving a small wave as I cross the room and sink into the opposite end of the couch. My eyes drift to the front door before I can stop myself.

‘Where’s Jeff…?’
The thought curls tight in my chest — until Tim speaks again, pulling me back.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks, folding the paper once, twice, then tucking it into his pocket before looking at me fully.

“Fine…” I murmur. My hands fold in my lap, thumb rubbing slowly over the side of my index finger — a familiar nervous habit.
‘Would've been better if I wasn’t so worried about Jeff.’

Tim’s eyes flick down to my hands for a second. Then he eases back into the couch, shoulders loosening like he’s trying not to look like he’s paying too much attention.

Something about him softening makes a bit of the tightness in me ease, too.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

After a few minutes of easy small talk, Tim wanders into the kitchen, rummaging through cabinets in search of food. I trail after him, leaning lightly against the counter. It’s quiet — the kind of quiet that feels almost normal.

Then heavy footsteps hit the porch.
Before I can process it, the front door swings open and slams shut with a dull thud.

Jeff.

My head snaps toward the living room so fast my neck aches. My heart slams painfully against my ribs, heat surging up my throat.
Any other time he comes home, he’s just tired… maybe annoyed…'
I swallow hard. 'Don’t look eager. Don’t crowd him.'

Tim steps out of the kitchen first, freezing mid-stride as if something unseen slammed into him. I edge around his shoulder to see—
And my stomach drops.

Jeff stands just inside the doorway, barely upright.
His black hair is matted and tangled, sticking to his skin. His carved smile drips sluggish trails of dark red, mixing with spit as it slides along his chin. His eyes — always wide, always unblinking — are fixed on the floor, refusing to lift.

He’s holding his side with one arm, fingers pressed hard into the fabric like he’s trying to keep something inside. His breaths come in short, rough pulls, each one hitching like it hurts.

The room goes dead silent.
Tim doesn’t speak.
Ben’s game noise fades as he slowly realizes something is wrong.

And I—
I can’t move.
I can’t breathe.

Jeff stays completely still, shoulders rigid, jaw clenched. He’s trying to act like he just walked in normally. Like nothing happened.
But the blood is already starting to drip onto the floorboards.

I slip out from behind Tim, my feet moving before my brain catches up. My hand lifts automatically, reaching toward Jeff—toward the blood, the shaking, the way he’s barely holding himself upright.
But I stop.

His eyes drag up to mine, slow and heavy, and the look in them freezes me mid-step. Blood trails from his carved smile, but it’s the red soaking through the side of his hoodie that steals the air right out of my chest. A single drop hits the floor with a soft tap.
Jeff doesn’t speak.

He just straightens, or tries to, forcing his spine upright like that alone could hide the pain ripping through him. His jaw clenches so tight I hear something click. He swallows once — hard — pretending it helps.

“J-Jeff…”
My voice cracks on his name. I clear my throat, straighten, try again.
“Are you okay?”
It comes out soft, barely above a whisper — scared, careful, like I’m afraid even the sound might hurt him.

His answer is flat and strained.
“Fine.”
A lie so obvious it hurts to hear.

He drops his gaze immediately, refusing to hold mine, and shifts to take a step forward. The movement sends fresh blood sliding down his side, soaking deeper into the already stained white fabric. He glances at Tim for half a second — a warning, or maybe a check to see if he’s being watched.
I inch closer.

Jeff snaps his eyes to me sharply, a silent stop, and for a second I do. But then something in his expression flickers — the edge softening, just barely. Just enough that it feels like permission.
'Why does he look at me like that?'
The question swings through my mind, fast and dizzying.

I cut a glance toward Tim.

He hasn’t moved an inch.
He stands completely still, a unreadable, stone-cold expression locked on Jeff — no fear, no anger, no surprise. Just… watching.

It sends a ripple of unease through the room.
And Jeff’s blood keeps dripping.

Ben barely glances away from the TV.
“Damn, dude,” he mutters, still clicking furiously at his controller before going right back to his game, completely unfazed.

Tim, though—
Tim reacts too fast.

His shoulders jerk, eyes widening before he can stop himself. For a blink, the mask cracks: real worry flashes across his face, sharp and unguarded. His jaw tightens as he looks Jeff over, taking in every bruise, every wobble in his stance, every breath that sounds like it hurts.
Then he forces it all back down.

His voice comes out sharper than it should, frustration covering something else.

“What the hell happened to you…?”
Jeff doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look at him.

Tim scoffs under his breath and tries again, softer but with an edge he can’t hide:
“Rough night?”

Jeff ignores him a second time.

The silence stretches—thick and choking.

Tim shifts his weight, irritation rising, but it’s the kind that hides something deeper:
worry he won’t admit,
annoyance that Jeff came home like this,
and the bitterness of his rare quiet moment with Y/N being shattered.

He tries to swallow it all.
He fails.

His next words slip out raw, honest, unfiltered:
“You weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow.”
Everything stops.

My head snaps toward him.
Jeff’s entire body goes rigid, freezing in place like Tim just pulled a weapon.

Tim blinks once—slow, delayed—realizing exactly what he said.
His face pales.

“…shit.”

The room goes dead quiet.

Jeff’s head turns toward him slowly—too slow—like every muscle is deciding whether it should snap or collapse.

Tim swallows hard and tries to fix it, forcing a casual tone that absolutely does not land.

“I just meant— you, uh— you said it might take a couple days, right?”
The words stumble out of him, too fast, too patched-together, too obviously wrong.

Y/N’s brows knit together.
“Couple days…?”
Her confusion leaks into her voice, soft and sharp at the same time.

Tim doesn’t dare look at her.

He goes for another sloppy cover-up, voice tight and straining:
“Yeah, I mean— that job wasn’t supposed to be a one-day thing. You usually take longer. So… I just— I just meant you rushed it.”

Ben finally pauses his game.

The controller clicks fall silent as he turns his head just slightly, eyes flicking between Tim and Jeff, picking up on the temperature drop in the room.
Jeff’s stare is locked onto Tim like a blade.

No blinking.
No movement.
Just cold, heavy, pinning silence.

Y/N feels something shift in the air—like pressure, like the walls just tightened an inch.

Tim forces a smile that looks more like a flinch.
“See? I’m just— I’m saying you worked fast. That’s all.”

But his voice is flat, too thin, too defensive.
The damage is already done.

Jeff’s jaw ticks once, the muscle jumping under bruised skin.
He doesn’t say a single word.

Jeff doesn’t yell.
He doesn’t even look angry.
He just… stops.

Every inch of him goes still — that dangerous kind of stillness I’ve learned to recognize, the one that feels like the whole room is holding its breath with him. My chest tightens, heat crawling up my spine.

Then he turns his head slightly toward Tim.
His voice is so quiet it makes my stomach flip.
“Say that again.”

Tim freezes.
Ben mumbles a tiny “uh oh” behind me, barely lifting his eyes from the TV.

Something cold sinks deep into my stomach. My feet move on their own, carrying me a step closer to Jeff — not touching him, not daring to, but close enough that I could grab him if he swayed again. I don’t even know why I do it, just that I can’t stand still when he’s like this.
Tim swallows hard, trying to sound casual, failing miserably.

“I—I meant you rushed it. That’s all.”
Jeff just stares at him.

No breathing.
No expression.

Just that empty, stillness that makes my heart beat too fast.

The air feels thick around us, heavy enough that I have to remind myself to breathe. Even Ben lowers the volume on his game without looking away, pretending he’s not listening even though he definitely is.

Tim shifts back a little, not enough to look scared, just enough to show he knows he said something he shouldn’t have.

Jeff’s jaw ticks once, the smallest movement.
Tim clenches his hands into fists.
I feel like I’m standing between two storms — one sharp, one silent — and neither one is willing to hit yet.

Then, finally, Jeff turns away from him.
Slowly.
Like moving hurts.

Tim doesn’t apologize.
Jeff doesn’t explain.
Ben doesn’t ask.

I’m just left standing there with my pulse hammering, watching the tension settle like dust that won’t quite fall. The whole room feels tight, unsettled, wrong in a way I can’t name.

I don’t know what Tim meant.
I don’t know why Jeff reacted like that.
And I don’t know which question I’m supposed to ask first.

The only thing I do know is that something slipped — something big — and nobody wants to talk about it.

The silence that follows is worse than any shouting could have been.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Y/N POV Tuesday 3 PM

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

I sit on the edge of the couch. I’m watching Ben play his game, quietly pointing things out to him, trying to help. Tim is sitting on the other side of the couch, silently watching me try to help Ben. His jaw keeps clenching and unclenching, deep in thought. His face holds no emotion, but at the same time carries almost all of them, like everything is tucked just beneath the surface.

There are heavy footsteps coming from the hallway, making me turn my head. Tim’s breathing slows damn near to a stop as the three of us look toward the tall, stiff figure moving down the hall toward us.

My eyes fall on the hoodie Jeff is wearing—one he got for me. It’s slightly too short, so when he moves his arm the right way, the bandages wrapped around his torso peek out from under the hem.

Jeff’s movements are stiff, careful, his cut smile cleaned up along with his hair. My eyes scan over him slowly, like I’m watching an endangered animal that might get spooked if I speak too soon.

Jeff stiffly makes his way to the side of the couch, placing his hand against the back of it, fingers slightly brushing against my back as he leans into it. Jeff’s eyes flick to me for a second, then to Tim.

Tim’s eyes haven’t moved from Jeff. He shifts in his seat slightly, forces himself to look at the TV, then snaps his gaze right back to Jeff. It’s like he’s trying to analyze him, figure out exactly what Jeff is thinking beneath all that quiet.

As I watch over Jeff’s features, I notice Tim shift again, his hands resting on his thighs.
“How are you feeling?” I whisper to Jeff, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

His eyes fall back on me, softening just slightly but nowhere near as much as normal.
“I’m fine, Y/N.”
His voice is raspy, strong, and tense. I give him a gentle nod, realizing he doesn’t want to speak on it. I look back toward the TV.

Jeff shifts slightly, a small wince slipping out of his throat as he stretches his arm to push the hoodie sleeves up his arms. Tim’s body tenses at the sound, his eyes snapping straight to Jeff the moment he moves.

The tension in the room is so thick you could cut it with a knife. I steal a look at Jeff, my hands clasped tight together in my lap. I face forward again and clear my throat lightly.
‘He was messed up pretty bad earlier… I hope he’s okay.’
The thought echoes, my eyes drifting back toward him once more.

This time Jeff is looking at Tim—who is looking at me. Ben looking between the three of us doesn’t help the tension one bit. I tighten my hands until my knuckles turn white, swallowing hard as the sound of gunshots from Ben’s game fills my ears. I jump slightly at the sudden noise but relax again when Jeff moves his hand, shifting his weight.

The silence snaps when Tim speaks.
“You… you doing okay?”

I tear my eyes away from Jeff, trying to figure out who he’s talking to.
It’s me?

I shake my head slightly, eyes running over Tim’s features before locking onto his.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” I admit quietly.
As soon as I answer, I hear Jeff’s jaw clench—another sharp click of anger.

I glance at Jeff. He isn’t looking at either of us anymore, just staring off into the distance, listening without meeting anyone’s eyes.

There’s a long pause between all of us before Tim tries again, this time sounding more awkward and more nervous than before—like he was fine talking to me earlier, but not with Jeff right there.
“Have you eaten today?”

I look back at him. I open my mouth to answer, but Jeff’s words cut out faster than mine ever could.
“If you’re that worried, go do something useful.”

Tim’s whole body stiffens, his eyes darkening just slightly at the comment. I freeze, my gaze sliding upward to Tim’s face, trying to track all the mixed emotions flickering there. Ben glances back at us and reaches over to mute the TV in one swift motion—pretending he’s not listening, even though he absolutely is.

Tim shakes his head, looking straight forward again, clearly trying not to start anything, but it’s like he can’t hold it in any longer.

I look between the two of them. My arms wrap around my torso instinctively, fingers gripping into my sides like I’m trying to hold myself still. Tim stands up the second Jeff finishes speaking, tension running through his whole frame.

“I am doing something useful. I’m keeping things from falling apart while you’re—”
He cuts himself off too fast, the words choking in his throat.

I stare at Tim as he talks, heart thudding.
‘While he what?’
I don’t mean to think it—don’t mean to want the answer—but the question still hits hard.

Jeff’s eyes darken immediately, the shift is sharp and unmistakable. His hand clamps down on the back of the couch, knuckles whitening, and he takes one stiff step forward. His whole body moves like it hurts, but the danger in his stance makes every slow inch of movement feel worse. His boots drag across the floor—loud, deliberate.
My breath catches in my throat.

My eyes shoot to Tim. He’s gone stiff, face pale, jaw locked like he knows he shouldn’t have said that, shouldn’t have let anything slip. His hands twitch at his sides, like he’s ready to defend himself or ready to back down—he just hasn’t decided which.

Ben pauses his game entirely, saving it with quick, practiced clicks. Then he turns fully toward us, sitting frozen but alert. He’s staying out of it… but he’s watching every second, waiting to see what blows up first.

The whole room feels like it’s holding its breath. Jeff. Tim. Me. Even Ben.
One wrong word, one wrong breath, and everything will break.

Jeff stands about three feet from the couch, his unblinking eyes locked on Tim and not moving an inch.

“You shut your mouth.”
His words come out cold, harsh, but disturbingly quiet—like the calm right before something snaps.

Jeff knows exactly what Tim almost said, he knows exactly what Tim is hinting at. And from the look spreading across Tim’s face, Tim knows he’s crossed a line too. There isn’t even a full breath between Jeff’s demand and Tim standing straighter, eyebrows knitting into one sharp line.

“You have no right to tell me to be quiet,” Tim fires back, the words rolling off his tongue like venom he’s been holding for too long. “Not when you leave Y/N alone—wondering where the hell you are—and then you show up injured. Bleeding all over the place making her worry even more.”

“Jeff…” I mutter softly, barely more than a breath, hoping he hears me before it gets worse.
He doesn’t.

“Shut your fucking mouth. You know what you’re doing.”
Jeff’s voice cuts through the living room like a blade, the echo ringing off the walls, too loud for how low he keeps it.

My whole body goes stiff, rooted to the spot like I can’t trust my legs to move. Ben slowly shifts out from behind the two of them, inching toward the arm of the couch beside me. His hand rests there—not behind me like Jeff’s earlier, but right next to me—close enough to be grounding, without touching me unless I lean into it. He’s doing his best to comfort me without drawing attention to it.

Tim and Jeff don’t notice him.
They don’t notice anything anymore.

All that tension that’s been simmering under the surface—fear, worry, jealousy, secrets, exhaustion—is finally ripping open, and neither of them is listening to me, or themselves, or the danger in each other’s voice.

There was no space left between the two of them. The tension had climbed past simmering and gone straight to a full, rolling boil.

“If you rush another ‘Jo’—”
“Don’t.”

Jeff cuts him off instantly, the word sharp enough to sting.

And that—that—is what finally makes Tim snap.

His face twists, not into rage exactly, but into something heavier. Darker. His whole posture shifts like he’s been holding too much for too long, and the weight finally cracks something open.
“YOU’RE NOT INVINCIBLE, JEFFREY. IF YOU DIE—”
“Why would YOU care?!”
Jeff fires back, both of them yelling now, their voices slamming into each other like fists.

Tim’s eyes snap straight to me—instantly—then drop again, as if he wishes he could take the look back. His mouth opens like he was going to say something.
That one hesitation freezes the whole room.

“She deserves someone better than you.”
Tim’s words hit the air like poison.

My stomach plummets.

Jeff’s entire expression shifts. Tightens. Sharpens. His jaw locks, shoulders coil, and a cold, calculating stillness floods his features. The air changes—heavy, oxygen thinning like the room is holding its breath with him.

He isn’t just angry now.
He understands something.

Ben moves before anyone else does.

His hand clamps gently but urgently around my arm, pulling me up from the couch and behind it. Not rough—just instinct. Like he’s done this before. Like he knows exactly what’s about to happen.

And then it happens.

In the space of a heartbeat, Jeff swings.

It’s messy. Wild. A punch thrown by someone hurting everywhere—physically, mentally—and I can tell instantly that it isn’t just anger driving it. It’s frustration. Fear. Jealousy. All of it, you can see the bandages come loose, from around his torso as the hoodie lifted with his arm.

My voice rips out of me before I can think.
“Jeff! Tim!”

Tim crashes back into the couch so hard it skids across the floor—straight toward me. I flinch, bracing—
—but Ben steps in front of me without hesitation, planting himself firmly, catching the couch with his hands and hip, keeping it from slamming into me.

Tim is already scrambling back up, grabbing Jeff by the hoodie. Neither of them looks at me. Or Ben. Or anything else.
They’re both too far gone—into whatever they’ve been swallowing down for too long.

The second Tim grabs the front of Jeff’s hoodie, everything inside Jeff snaps.
He doesn’t hesitate—doesn’t think.
Adrenaline drowns out the pain, the fresh stitches, the warning twist in his ribs.
The shift was instant.
Jeff threw the punch, landing directly against Tim’s nose.

The sound—God, the sound—was inhumane. A crunch caught between fury and something deeper, uglier. His fist slammed straight into Tim and they crashed into the coffee table, sending the controller skidding across the floor.
“Jeff—!” I choked on the word.
He didn’t hear me.

Tim’s back hit the hardwood with a thud that shook the whole room. Jeff was already on top of him, fists swinging wild and fast, every punch spilling out every emotion:
‘Why do you look at her like that?’
‘Why does she look back?’

Tim got an arm up, blocking the worst of it, but he was slower than usual—tired, hurt, caught off guard by the one person who should’ve been at least predictable.

Jeff’s stitches tore with the force of his movements. I saw the dark red blooming through the fabric and my stomach twisted.
“Jeff, stop—STOP!” I begged stepping towards them, my hand reached out.

Ben tried—he grabbed Jeff’s upper arm, but Jeff shoved him back with one violent jerk, sending him stumbling into the wall. Ben froze after that, eyes huge, hands up, ready to step in only if someone was about to die.

Tim finally managed to twist his hips and flip them, but Jeff clung to him like he wanted to drag him into the ground.
“Get OFF!” Tim barked, shoving an elbow into Jeff’s ribs—desperately.

But Jeff just laughed—sharp, breathless, terrifying—and grabbed Tim by the collar, yanking him close enough that their foreheads nearly smashed together.

“You care about her that much?” Jeff growled, voice guttural. “Enough to expose her only chance at having a place to stay?”
Tim gritted his teeth, blood dripping from his broken nose. “This isn’t about—"
Jeff punched him again before he could finish.

The couch slammed into my back as I tried to press myself out of the way, hands shaking, heart climbing up my throat.
Their breathing got harsher—Jeff’s ragged and furious, Tim’s strained and defensive. Every hit sounded wet, heavy.

Tim was fighting to survive.
Jeff was fighting to win.

Jeff’s jealousy made him savage, unthinking—aiming for vulnerable spots, throat, jaw, ribs—like he wanted to end the argument by ending Tim. And Tim, even furious, fought like a man who’d learned to stay alive in spite of people like Jeff.

They hit the bookshelf, knocking half of it over, books thudding against the floor. Tim shoved Jeff back, but Jeff only stumbled for a second before charging again.

The lamp shattered. A chair tipped over. Tim’s breath hitching; Jeff’s stitches tearing again. The room became nothing but fists, bodies colliding, and the sickening crack of bone hitting bone.

I stood there in paralyzed horror, my nails digging into my palms, helpless while the two people I cared about tried to tear each other apart for reasons neither of them would say out loud.
And then—

Jeff got both hands around Tim’s throat.

Tim grabbed his wrist, muscles straining, his eyes wild but focused—calculating, not panicked.
He twisted, trying to break Jeff’s grip, get leverage, anything to keep this from turning into something irreversible.

But Jeff…
Jeff looked like he’d already gone somewhere too far to see reason. Jeff’s eyes were so dark, you couldn’t see the usual blue hue. The sound of Tim’s breath choking out, mixed with his blood dripping from his side hitting the floor fueling every action.

I don’t remember moving.
One second Jeff had Tim by the throat, dragging him to the floor—
and the next I was between them, hands out, voice exploding out of me without permission.

“STOP!”

It wasn’t just a scream.
It felt like something tearing out of my chest.

Jeff froze—not because he listened, but because he saw me. His hand moved immediately, reaching for my arm—not to hurt me, but to pull me back, get me away from the danger he had created.

Tim moved too—his hand lifting as if to stop Jeff from grabbing me, to keep him from dragging me into the violence again.

Their hands hit my arms at the same time.
And the world went wrong.

There was heat first—rushing under my skin like my blood boiled for a single heartbeat. Then the air thickened, pressure pushing against my ears. Something in my chest clenched tight and then—

released.
A pulse slammed outward.

Not light.
Not fire.
Not anything visible.

Just force.
Like the air itself snapped outward in a ring.

Jeff went flying backward, crashing into the bookshelf.
Tim hit the wall hard enough that the frame beside him cracked.
Both of them choked on impact, like something had punched the breath out of their lungs.

The living room window shattered, glass exploding outward as if sucked into the night.
The air rippled around me, pressure waves bending the shadows, rattling the cabinet doors.

My knees buckled.

I hit the floor so fast the room tilted sideways. Everything sounded muffled, like my ears were under water. A white-hot headache stabbed behind my eyes. I tried to breathe, the sting moving into my kneecaps.

The boys weren’t moving.

For a second, I thought—
'God, I thought I’d killed them.'

Jeff was the first to stir, dragging himself up on shaking arms, eyes wide with something I had never seen in him:
fear.
Real fear.

Tim stared at me like he was trying to calculate something impossible. He looked dazed, breath trembling, chest rising too fast. Blood from his split nose dripped down his chin, forgotten.

And Ben…
Ben was still crouched behind the couch, peeking over the armrest like a kid watching the world end.

He exhaled one breath, barely audible.
“…holy shit.”
Nobody else spoke.
Nobody else could.

The room that had been full of violence seconds ago was suddenly dead silent—a vacuum of shock and disbelief.

All three of them stared at me like I wasn’t someone they knew anymore.
Like something had just ripped open the truth:
I wasn’t harmless.
I wasn’t normal.
And whatever I was—
—I wasn’t in control of it.

The room still felt warped.
Like the air hadn’t settled back into the right shape yet.

I forced my eyes up, but the world kept tilting, vision blurring at the edges. My hands were shaking—tiny tremors I couldn’t stop. I stood back to my feet, wobbly, dark shadows creeping at the corner of my eyes.

Jeff moved first.
Slow. Careful. His boots scraped the floor as he pushed himself off the bookshelf, one hand pressed to his side where the stitches had torn open. He was breathing too shallowly. He was hurting.

But all he did was look at me.
Not angry.
Not even confused.
Just… scared.

“Y/N—” His voice cracked halfway through my name.

Tim was only a second behind him, pushing himself off the wall with a groan. His nose was bleeding, cheek already darkening into a bruise, but he didn’t look at Jeff.

He looked at me like he knew exactly what had happened—even if I didn’t.
They approached at the same time.

Jeff reached first, fingers trembling when he lifted his hand like he meant to touch my fore-arm. Tim reached too, quieter, gentler—toward my other arm, like he wanted to steady me in case I fell again.
They both froze.

Not because they were afraid of me.
Because they were afraid of hurting me.
And neither wanted the other to pull me the wrong way.

The room is quiet.
But nothing feels safe anymore.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Third person POV Friday 12 PM

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

The house has been quiet for days.

Quiet enough that the memory of Jeff stumbling home bleeding feels like it happened in another lifetime.

Long enough that the floorboards have been scrubbed clean, the windows replaced, and EJ forced Jeff and Tim to patch everything they broke.

Long enough that Jeff’s breathing doesn’t hitch when he stands.
Long enough that everyone — without discussing it — has chosen silence instead of questions.
But the quiet isn’t peace.
It’s pressure.

Ben sits cross-legged in front of the TV with his headphones on. He doesn’t speak, but every so often he pauses his game, glancing toward the hallway whenever footsteps pass through it. He’s listening too closely.

Tim moves from room to room like he’s trying to blend into the walls — the couch, the kitchen, the window corner. He talks even less than usual. Every time you enter, his eyes flick up before he can stop himself, then drop away quickly. There’s something tight in his expression. Something restrained.

Jeff doesn’t hover over you. He doesn’t crowd you. He barely speaks.
But you feel him.

Every time he walks into a room, the air shifts. Static threads across your skin. Your spine straightens before you can think.
You keep telling yourself 'I'm fine.'

You make breakfast.
You fold blankets.
You clean a counter that’s already clean.
You keep your hands busy so your thoughts don’t spiral.

Still, your jaw aches from clenching.
Your fingers twitch with a restless rhythm.
And sometimes you simply… stop.

You catch yourself staring at a wall, at a door, at nothing at all — blinking slowly, like you forgot where you were.
You don’t know why.

Only that something under your skin feels too tight.
Like you’re bracing for a sound you haven’t heard yet.

You zone out again — standing over the sink, hands idle, water running. When you finally blink back into yourself, Tim is in the doorway.

Arms crossed.
Watching you.

He doesn’t speak.
But his stare is searching.

You force a breath. Shake out your hands, turn the water off, tuck your hair behind your ear like nothing happened.

“Everything’s fine,” you whisper.

It doesn’t help.
The air still feels wrong.
Heavy.
Waiting.

There's a strange static in the back of your head.

It starts small then.

A heartbeat skipping.
A breath catching.
A heat that flashes under your skin, then vanishes.

You tell yourself it’s nerves. Leftover fear. Lingering tension.
But the last few days won’t leave your mind.

The first incident happened on Wednesday.

You’re at the table, doodling. Ben’s controller drops in the other room — a tiny plastic clack.
Your entire body jolts.

Your heart slams against your ribs.
Your pencil snaps clean in your hand.

You stare at the broken pieces, breath coming too fast.
You close your fist around the fragments just as Jeff’s gaze slides toward you from the couch.

Not surprised.
Not alarmed.
Just… noticing.

His eyes flick to your closed hand, then your stiff shoulders, then he looks away like he never saw anything at all.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

The second incident happened later the same day.

You open a bag of chips.
The crinkle is barely a whisper.

That flash of adrenaline hits again — sudden, sharp, wrong.
Your grip tightens too hard.

The bag splits open down the side. Chips spill everywhere, a sad little avalanche across the counter.

You drop to your knees, scooping them back in with shaking hands.

Tim walks in.
He doesn’t speak.
He just watches — eyebrows drawing together for a heartbeat.

The look knots your stomach.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

The final moment or at least the one that sticks out.

A spoon slips off the counter.
Just a spoon.

It barely clinks against the tile before your hand shoots out — fast, way too fast — catching it mid-air.

Tim stops mid-step.
Jeff stops stirring the pot.
Ben doesn’t look up, but even he pauses his game.

You set the spoon down slowly.
Your hands tremble.

No one speaks.

But Jeff watches you with that same sharp focus — studying every twitch you try to hide.

You feel his eyes on you.
And something deep inside — something you don’t recognize — likes that he’s watching.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

You stand at the sink for a few minutes longer, unable to break out of your own thoughts.
It feels like your mind is locked in place — like even if you wanted to think about something else, you couldn’t.

A shadow shifts at the edge of your view.

Jeff steps into the doorway after noticing Tim walk off with that tight, concerned look.

“Y/N?”
His voice comes out low, rough.

You blink quickly, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. When you turn your head toward him, your eyes meet his. A small smile pulls at your lips — you’ve always liked when he checks on you, even if he pretends he isn’t.

You finish rinsing your plate and put it away.
“Sorry. I was washin’ my plate,” you say, not noticing your accent slipping out.

Jeff gives a small hum in response and turns back toward the living room. You nod to yourself, unsure how to feel around him anymore. He usually keeps to himself, but this feels different.

You follow him into the living room and drop into a chair, propping your feet up with a dramatic huff like you just worked a fifteen-hour shift. Jeff steps behind you, his hand resting on the back of the couch while he watches Ben’s game.

Ben glances over and snorts.
“Is one plate hard work?”

Normally you’d tease him back, but something switches inside you.

Your eyes darken.
Your muscles tighten.
Just for a split second.

Ben doesn’t notice.
Jeff does.

You force a small smile and let out a weak laugh.

Jeff’s gaze stays on you.
He pretends he’s focused on the game, but you feel his attention tracking every twitch in your body. You know he’s watching and something you don’t recognize in yourself likes that he doesn’t know you know.

You stand to head back to the kitchen, but your foot catches on the bottom of the chair.
You gasp, hands shooting out for balance.

Jeff reacts instantly. His arm comes out to catch you.
Your hand closes around his wrist too fast, too hard.

Your fingers clench down.
A sharp crack snaps beneath your grip.

Jeff winces, just barely, but swallows it down immediately. He steadies you with his other hand, curling the injured wrist into a fist to hide the tremor.

Ben’s eyes flick back and forth between you both, wide, waiting — like he expects another blast of force to rip through the room.

Your gaze drops to your own hand.
You pull it back quickly, like you touched fire.

Red marks are already rising across Jeff’s pale skin.
He tugs his sleeve down, covering them. Then his eyes lift to yours steady, but cold.

“What did you need?”
His voice is soft. Softer than normal. Like he’s afraid a rough tone might make you shatter.

“I didn’t…” Your voice cracks. Your eyes sting.
You felt the bone pop under your grip. You felt something shift under his skin.

And the worst part —
you’re not sad that you hurt him.
You’re terrified because you liked it.

“What did you need?” he repeats, firmer this time.

You stare at him, breath shaking.

“…A drink.”

Jeff turns on his heel and walks into the kitchen without another word.

As soon as Jeff disappears around the corner, you sink back into the chair, arms wrapped around your torso to hold in the shaking.

Around the corner, Jeff moves fast.
A cup hits the counter louder than necessary, like he wants it to sound mundane.

Then his mask slips.
His sleeve snaps up.

His wrist is already darkening.
Finger-shaped.
Your fingers.

He stares at the marks in silence.

No fear on his face.
No real pain, either.

Only a narrowed focus — cold, unreadable.

Something else coils under it. Something hotter.
Pride.

The corner of his mouth twitches a sharp pull against the scars carved into his cheeks. His blue eyes sharpen into something darker. Hungrier.

Curiosity.
Then something deeper. Not obsession, but...
possession.

How could you, a girl who once had no strength at all, grip him hard enough to bruise?
Hell, hard enough to pop his wrist out of place?

He presses his wrist between his knees and pops the bone back into place with a practiced twist. His fingers flex. Once. Twice.

His gaze lowers again to the imprint of your hand.
His heartbeat quickens — not tender, not soft.
Primal.

He wants to know what else you can do.
How far that strength goes.
How far he can push you before you snap.

A memory flashes, his head filling with static, the feeling he knows all to well,
you standing in your living room, your father’s blood on your face and hands, shaking but powerful.

He liked you like that.
He liked seeing that version of you.

And now, staring at the bruises you left on him, another thought rises —

He wants more.

He breathes once, steadies his expression, pulls his sleeve down, and picks up the cup like nothing happened.

But inside him —

something shifts.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Third person POV Friday 6 AM

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

You don’t remember falling asleep.

One second you’re staring at the TV, trying to ignore the echo of Ben’s videogame on the TV.

The next

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Woods.

Not the memory of woods.

Not a place you’ve ever been.

Just trees.

Endless, repetitive, wrong.

Their trunks stretch up farther than they should, like they’re growing as you look at them.
The air is cold in a way that doesn’t feel like temperature — more like the atmosphere forgot how to feel warm.

You turn.
The shadows move a half-second after the trees do.

Not wind.
Not animals.
Just… delay.

Like something is lagging behind reality.
Your breath fogs.
Except you’re not breathing.
You try to inhale — nothing.

Chest tight, lungs locked, like your body isn’t part of the dream anymore.
Somewhere behind you, a branch cracks.

You don’t whip around.
You just… know something is standing there.

Tall.
Too tall.

A shape that stretches up and up until it blends with the tree tops.

You can’t see a face.
You can’t see anything at all, really — just the outline of absence, a silhouette made of void.

The shadows crawl toward you.

Slow.
Intentional.

You take a step back and the ground doesn’t move.

Your legs respond but the world stays still, like the forest refuses to let you leave its center.

Then—
A whisper.
Except it isn’t sound.

It vibrates through your spine, your ribs, the inside of your skull — gentle, almost soft, but carrying no shape of voice.

No breath.
No origin.
Just pressure.

Words you feel, not hear:
Wake up.

The forest bends inward, collapsing like paper folding around you...

and your body lurches like you’ve been dropped.

You gasp.

Air finally punches back into your lungs, sharp and too loud in the darkness of the living room. Your eyes snap open.

For a second, the world is doubled, the towering silhouette from the dream bleeding over the dim outline of the ceiling.
The room takes a moment to settle back into itself.

Your heart is still running.
Your fingers curl reflexively in the blanket.

And then you notice him.
Jeff is already awake.

Not “just woke up,” not “stirred when you gasped.”
Awake-awake.
Sitting on the couch like he never slept at all.

He’s leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on you with a focus that feels too sharp for the low light. Not alarmed. Not worried.

Alert. Watching.
Like something had told him to stay up.

There’s a tension around him that doesn’t match the quiet room — the same tension that lives in the split-second before a blade flashes.
Not threatening you.
Directed outward at something he can’t see but fully expects.

He doesn’t move.
He doesn’t speak yet.

Just keeps his gaze on you, unblinking, trying to read every tremor in your breathing.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

You don’t remember falling back asleep.
You only remember Jeff’s eyes on you in the dark.

By the time morning light finally drips through the blinds, it feels too bright—like daylight should’ve burned away the heaviness you woke to, but didn’t.

You push yourself upright on the chair, the blanket sliding off your legs. For a moment, you expect Jeff to still be watching you the way he was hours ago.

He isn’t.
But he’s close.

Standing in the kitchen, back half-turned, shoulders tight. Not cooking. Not moving around. Just… standing there, like he’s listening to something you can’t hear.

He turns before you speak.

Not fast.
Not startled.
Just… aware.

His eyes flick over you, your posture, your breathing, the way your fingers dig slightly into the seat cushion. As if he’s collecting data.

You open your mouth to say 'good morning.'
Nothing comes out.

And you don’t even consider mentioning the dream.

Something about the leftover cold at the base of your spine warns you not to.
Not yet.

Jeff breaks eye contact first, but only barely. He moves around the kitchen silently, with a strange deliberateness. Like every movement is planned around something you can’t see.

He’s… watchful.

The daylight doesn’t soften him. Doesn't humanize him. It just reveals the edges of last night’s tension, still clinging to him like static.

At one point he pauses mid-step, head tilting a fraction toward the hallway.
You follow his gaze.
There’s nothing there.

But you feel watched anyway.

The same pressure from the dream, not as strong, not as cold,
but present.

And then—
Footsteps.

Tim appears in the doorway, rubbing sleep from his face.
The second he steps into the room, he freezes.

Not dramatically.
Just… stops.

Like he walked into a temperature drop.

His eyes flick from you, then to Jeff. Something unsettles him instantly. You can see it in the way his shoulders tense, the way his hand slowly drops from his face.

He opens his mouth to ask something.
Closes it again.

Jeff doesn’t even turn to acknowledge him—just shifts his stance slightly, a quiet, territorial angle to his posture.

Tim stands there, staring, trying to identify the wrongness he can feel but can’t name.

The silence presses in around all three of you.

It happens in the smallest moment.

Jeff reaches up to grab a mug from the top shelf. His sleeve slides back.

Tim’s eyes sharpen immediately.

You see it in the way his breath stutters—not loud, not obvious—but enough.

Because the bruises are visible.
Dark.
Finger-shaped.

Recognizable.

Tim’s gaze flicks to you.
You look away.

When he looks back at Jeff, Jeff is already watching him.

Their eyes lock.
Jeff’s expression doesn’t change.
He doesn’t hide the bruises.
Doesn’t tug the sleeve back down.
He lets Tim see them, allows the realization to settle.

The look he gives Tim is silent, steady, absolute:
'Don’t. Say. A word.'

Tim swallows hard.
Not fear for Jeff.
Fear for you.

And for the first time, he looks genuinely unsure of what he’s supposed to do next.
The tension between them crackles, sharp and electric, ready to snap.

Tim lowers his gaze.
Take a step back.

The silence that follows feels like the room holding its breath.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

The house settles into its nighttime silence
not peaceful, just… emptied of sound.

Everyone’s exhausted in their own way.

You retreat to your room, shutting the door gently, trying to breathe past the faint static still clinging to your skin. You don’t hear what happens outside.

But you feel something.
A shift.
Like the air is waiting.

Across the hallway, Tim stands in the dark kitchen, leaning against the counter with both hands braced on the edge. His head is down. Shoulders heavy.

He’s been quiet all evening.
Too quiet.

Jeff walks past him on his way to the living room, steps soft but purposeful.

Tim watches him move, expression pulled tight with conflict. He lets out a slow exhale, barely audible.

And then he says it.

Not to Jeff.
Not loudly.
Just a tired, defeated whisper meant only for himself, scraped out of a place that’s been hurting all day:

“You know he’s going to want her.”

The words aren’t meant to travel.
But Jeff hears him.

He stops instantly.
Dead still.
Not turning.
Not breathing.
His heartbeat even slowing down a bit.

Tim’s eyes widened a fraction. He didn’t expect the reaction. Didn’t plan for this to be heard. But the truth is out now, hanging thick between them.

Jeff turns his head slightly—not enough to look at Tim fully, but enough that Tim can feel the weight of that gaze. Heavy. Knowing. Dangerous.

Something unspoken passes through the hallway air.
A warning.
A promise.
A realization neither of them wanted.

Down the hall, in your shared room, you shift in bed.
You didn’t hear the words.

But you feel it—
that subtle, wrong pressure at the base of your skull,
the sense of something turning its attention toward you—

like a spotlight from a place you can’t name.
A cold prickle crawls up your spine.

Jeff slowly resumes walking, but the air he leaves behind is different.
Sharper.
Thinner.
Charged.

Tim stays frozen, breath caught in his throat, staring at the shadowed hallway where Jeff disappeared.

He looks toward your closed door.

Worried.
Defeated.
And suddenly aware that whatever is coming…
he might already be too late to stop it.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Third person POV Saturday 10 AM

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Morning doesn’t feel like morning.

It presses down on me the second I wake up, heavy and thick, like the air has weight. I stay still, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the feeling to fade.

It doesn’t.

There’s a faint ringing behind my eyes. Not painful. Just constant. A low static humming through my skull, sinking into my bones.

It’s just nerves, I tell myself. The fight. The adrenaline. My body is doing things it shouldn’t have. That kind of thing doesn’t go away cleanly.
My hands are already clenched.

When I sit up, my vision blurs for a moment, like an old screen losing signal, before snapping back. The noise hasn’t stopped. It’s settled.

The hallway looks the same as always when I step out. Dim. Familiar.
Still, something makes me slow down.

The shadows stretch too far across the floor. Too tall. Too thin. One of them leans along the wall in a way that makes my chest tighten for no clear reason.
It’s just light.

I take another step—and almost run into Jeff.

He’s standing near the kitchen, completely still. His eyes flick over me like he’s been watching for a while.

“You’re up early,” he says.
“I couldn’t sleep.” I hesitate, then add, quieter, “Sorry.”
“For what.”

I glance down at his hands. “For… before. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He looks at his wrist like he’d forgotten about it. Flexes his fingers once.

“It’s fine.”
The way he says it makes my stomach sink.
“I should’ve been more careful.”

He studies me for a second too long. There’s something tight in his expression, something I don’t recognize.

“You stopped,” he says.
“What?”
“When you grabbed me,” he says. “You stopped.”

My throat tightens. “I didn’t want to— I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

He doesn’t step back. If anything, he stands a little closer, head tilted slightly eyes unreadable.
I rub my hands against my jeans. “I feel weird.”

“I noticed,” he says.

His eyes flick past me, toward the hallway. The shadows haven’t moved. That somehow makes it worse.

He doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t explain.

He just stays near me, stiff and alert, like he’s listening for something I can’t hear.

The static hums louder, crawling up my spine.

And I get the sudden, awful certainty that whatever’s wrong isn’t inside me at all.

It’s somewhere else.

Watching.

I try to act normal.

I move through the house the way I always do—quiet steps, familiar paths, hands finding light switches without looking. I tell myself that if I keep moving, if I don’t linger, the feeling will fade.

It doesn’t.

The static follows me. Not louder. Just closer. Like it’s settled deeper, threading itself through my thoughts instead of sitting behind my eyes.

I turn a corner toward the back hallway.

It’s longer than it should be.

I slow, frowning, counting doors that don’t seem to end where they’re supposed to. The walls feel closer together, the air thicker, like the house is breathing around me.

'That’s not right.'
I stop walking.

For a split second, panic flares, sharp and cold, because I’m not sure where I am.

'I know this house. I know this house.' I start to panic, my thoughts spiraling.

Then I blink.
The hallway is normal again. Short. Familiar.

My heart doesn’t slow.

I turn another corner, then another, each one stretching just a little too far, each one making my sense of direction slip. It feels like walking through a place that’s pretending to be my home.
Then—

'Y/N.'

The sound doesn’t come from the air.

It slides through the back of my skull, soft and intimate, like a memory that isn’t mine.
I freeze.

Every muscle locks at once. My breath catches halfway in.
I look around, pulse roaring in my ears. The house is quiet. Too quiet. No movement. No shadows shifting. No proof that anything happened at all.

'You imagined it.'

I force myself to breathe.
I don’t realize Jeff is there until I see him in my peripheral vision.

He’s watching me. Not casually. Not confused.

His jaw tightens, teeth pressing together hard enough that I hear it click. His eyes flick from my face to the hallway behind me, then back again.

“You okay?” he asks.
I nod too fast. “Yeah.”
The lie feels thin.

He doesn’t ask again. Doesn’t tell me what he’s thinking. He just steps closer, positioning himself between me and the hallway like it’s instinct instead of intention.

I want to ask if he heard it.
I want to ask if he felt it too.

But something in his silence stops me. The way he went still. The way his attention feels sharpened, dangerous.

So I don’t ask.

And the static hums on, patient and waiting, like it knows I will eventually stop pretending nothing’s wrong.

I tell myself I’m going to the kitchen.
I don’t make it there.

I’m just suddenly walking.

The floor creaks under my feet, soft but loud in the wrong way, like the house is paying attention now. The air feels thicker the closer I get to the door, like it’s resisting me, like it knows something I don’t.

My head still hums. Static behind my eyes. That faint ringing that never quite fades.
I tell myself I just need air.

The door opens with a quiet complaint, and the woods spill into view.

The cold hits my face immediately, sharp enough to make me suck in a breath. It should feel good. It doesn’t. It feels alert. Like the air itself is awake.

I step outside anyway.

The trees stand too still. No wind. No birds. Every branch feels angled toward me, not moving, just listening. I have the overwhelming sense that if I say something it’ll carry farther than it should.

Something presses into me from the inside, right behind my ribs. Not pain, but pressure. Slow. Deliberate. Like fingers testing where to push. I hug my arms around myself, but it doesn’t help. The feeling isn’t on my skin. It’s deeper than that.

The woods breathe.
Not like lungs. Like a held breath, waiting.

I take another step forward, heart thudding, and the pressure tightens.

The flicker catches my eye before I understand what it is.

White.
Too white to belong there.

It slides between the trees, just at the edge of my vision, and when I turn my head, there’s nothing there. My pulse jumps anyway. The static in my skull surges, a sharp crackle that makes my teeth ache.

'Come here.'

The whisper isn’t sound. It doesn’t touch my ears. It blooms directly behind my eyes, intimate and wrong, like it already knows where to sit inside my head.

My breath stutters. I suck in air and it feels thin, useless.
I know I shouldn’t move.
But I do.

My feet carry me forward without asking. Each step feels lighter than the last, like the ground is loosening its hold on me. The pressure behind my ribs eases, replaced by something colder, something expectant.

The trees open up as I reach the tree-line.

The world narrows. The house behind me feels distant, unreal, like a memory I’m already forgetting. All I can see is the white between the trunks now, brighter, closer. The static is so loud it nearly drowns out my own thoughts.

'Come here.'

I reach the first tree and grab it, fingers digging into the bark like I can anchor myself if I hold on tight enough.

Too tight.

The bark gives way with a sharp crack. Splinters bite into my palm, but I barely feel it. My hand doesn’t shake. It doesn’t hurt. It just holds, crushing wood like it’s brittle paper.

That’s when everything snaps.
Hands wrap around my arm and yank.

I gasp, the world lurching violently as I’m dragged backward. The white vanishes instantly, like it was never there at all. The static shrieks once, then fractures.
“Hey—!”

I don’t even finish the word before I’m stumbling, pulled hard toward the house. Jeff doesn’t slow down. He doesn’t soften the grip. His hold is iron, urgent in a way that makes my stomach drop.

He doesn’t look at me.
Not once.

He hauls me inside and slams the door shut behind us, the sound echoing through the house like a gunshot. Only then does he let go. I sway, disoriented, heart hammering like it’s trying to escape my chest.

Jeff stands rigid, back to me, shoulders tight.
When he finally speaks, his voice is low. Controlled. Not angry—but close to something worse.

“Don’t go into the woods,” he says.
A pause.
“Not alone... Never alone."

And the way he still won’t turn around tells me he’s not just warning me.
He’s afraid of what would’ve happened if he hadn’t found me.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Third person POV Saturday 11 PM

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Night comes too fast.

I lie in bed with the lights off, staring at the ceiling, counting breaths that don’t feel like they belong to me. The pressure in my chest hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s sharper now—focused. Like something pressing a thumb into my sternum, testing how much it can apply before I break.

I roll onto my side. Then my back. Then my side again.

Nothing helps.

The house won’t settle. Wood pops and groans in slow, uneven rhythms, not the normal cooling sounds—these feel deliberate. Like footsteps taken carefully. Like something shifting its weight inside the walls.
I hold my breath and listen.

The static is back, thrumming under my skin, not loud enough to hear but strong enough to feel. My fingers tingle. My scalp prickles. Every nerve feels tuned too tight, vibrating at the slightest thought.
I squeeze my eyes shut.

Sleep feels close but unreachable, like hovering just beyond the edge of a cliff. Every time I start to drift, the pressure in my chest tightens, dragging me back, reminding me I’m still here.
Still noticed.

The house creaks again, long and slow, right above me.
My eyes snap open.

‘You’re almost ready.’

The whisper is right there.
Not in the room.
In me.

And I know, deep in my bones, that whatever’s been watching isn’t waiting anymore.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Y/N’s POV Sunday 10 AM

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

I wake up knowing I’m not alone.

There’s no sound to mark it. No movement. Just certainty, heavy and immediate, settling into my chest before my eyes even open. The air feels wrong, thick like it’s been stirred. The static behind my eyes isn’t scattered anymore. It’s focused. Pointed.
Pulling.

I stare at the ceiling for a long moment, breathing shallow, counting the cracks like that might anchor me here. My heart is already racing, already aware before I let myself be. Whatever was watching before isn’t just watching now.
It’s calling.
Tempting me.

The static shifts when I sit up. Not louder, just clearer. Like a thread tightening inside my skull, tugging gently but insistently in one direction. Toward the woods.

“No,” I whisper, even as my feet touch the floor.
The word feels small. Useless.

My body moves before I decide to let it. Every step is wrong, like walking while half-asleep, like my limbs belong to someone else and I’m just being carried along for the ride. I try to stop at the bedroom door. I really do. My hand curls into a fist, nails biting into my palm, pain blooming sharp and grounding.
It doesn’t matter.

The door is open. The house stretches around me, familiar and suddenly distant, like a memory instead of a place. The static hums approval as I move through it. Down the hall. Past rooms that feel hollow now, emptied of meaning. I don’t look back.
Outside, the air is heavier.

The yard feels longer than it should be. Each step toward the tree line presses against me, the world thickening like I’m wading through something unseen. Sound bends first. The night insects fade into a dull, warped murmur, stretched thin until it snaps into silence.

I stop and turn.
The house should be right there.
It isn’t.

There’s nothing behind me but darkness and trees that weren’t there a second ago, their trunks too straight, too close together. My breath stutters, sharp and loud in the quiet, and it echoes, once, twice, inside my own head instead of the air.

“Okay,” I say, but my voice comes back wrong, flattened and distant, like it doesn’t belong to me anymore.

The static blooms, filling every corner of my skull. My thoughts start to repeat themselves, looping, overlapping, each one a little quieter than the last.
'Don’t go. Turn around. You shouldn’t be here.'

They all blur together until I can’t tell which ones are mine.
Then something else slips in.
Not loud. Not sudden.
Close.

‘Don’t fear what you already are.’

The voice isn’t in the air. It doesn’t come from the trees or the dark ahead of me. It settles directly into the space behind my eyes, calm and certain, like it’s always been there and I’m only just noticing it now.

My blood hums in response.

I swallow hard, throat tight, pulse hammering everywhere at once. The woods ahead feel endless, watching, waiting.

A man in outdoor gear, backpack slung over one shoulder, boots muddy like he’s been walking for miles. A hiker. Normal. Harmless. My brain reaches for that explanation immediately, desperate for it.

He’s standing in the clearing like he belongs there.

But my chest locks up anyway.
Because I don’t see a hiker.
I see him.

The world bends—not visually at first, but internally, like my eyes are being told what to report instead of what they’re seeing. The man’s face shifts, stretching wrong for a split second before settling into something familiar enough to make my stomach drop out of my body.
Joshua.

My breath punches out of me. My hands start shaking so hard my fingers ache. Every instinct screams that this is wrong, that this isn’t possible, that he shouldn’t be here—but my body doesn’t listen. It never did.

He opens his mouth.
The voice that comes out isn’t human.

It skips, stutters, loops—words dragged out of old memories and shoved back into the present. Threats I haven’t heard in months but never stopped remembering. They come out flat and distorted, like a tape chewed up and played anyway, each sentence bleeding into the next.

“You don’t get to say no.”
“No one will believe you.”
“This is what you’re for.”

My head fills with static so loud it hurts. It’s not background noise anymore—it’s a roar, tearing through my thoughts, drowning out everything but fear. My eyes pounding so hard it feels like they're fixing to pop out of my skull. I stagger back a step, hands flying up like I can shield myself from a voice that isn’t even really there.

“Stop,” I choke out. “Stop it!”

He steps closer.
The world snaps.

Something breaks open inside me.

I don’t remember deciding to move. I just remember the impact—my body slamming into his, force exploding outward like it’s been trapped in my bones all along. My fist connects with his face and there’s a sound that doesn’t feel real, too sharp, too final.

He goes down hard.

I’m on him before I understand that I’m touching him, hitting him, my hands moving with a strength that doesn’t feel like mine. Bone gives under my grip. I feel it and the sensation barely registers before it’s replaced by another surge of panic-fueled motion.

He screams.
But it isn’t his scream.

It’s Joshua’s voice, warped and dragged through static, crying out in pain that isn’t happening the way I’m seeing it. The sound claws at my brain, turns my vision white at the edges. I hit harder. Faster. Anything to make it stop.

My heart is a jackhammer. My breathing is broken, ragged, animal. I can’t tell where one movement ends and the next begins. There’s only instinct—blind, terrified, relentless.

Then—nothing.
The sound cuts off like a switch flipped.
The static dies with it.

It all snaps back at once.

Not gently. Not gradually.

The world slams into place like a bone resetting wrong.

The face beneath me is not Joshua.
It never was.

My vision clears in a way that makes my stomach lurch, and suddenly I’m staring at a stranger—a man I don’t know, eyes glassy and unfocused, body twisted at an angle that makes my throat tighten. A hiker. Just a hiker.

Blood coats my hands. Not smeared, soaked. It’s warm enough that the realization hits a second too late, heat blooming against my skin as if my body is still catching up to what I’ve done.

I make a sound that barely qualifies as a breath.

My chest locks. My lungs refuse to work. I try to inhale and nothing happens, like the air has decided I don’t deserve it anymore. Dizziness crashes over me in waves, sharp and disorienting.

I look up.
It stands at the edge of the clearing.
Tall. Still. Impossible.

A tall, faceless being, stands there, it doesn’t move closer. It doesn’t need to. The presence presses in from every direction, heavy and absolute, the static now quiet, seemingly satisfied. There’s no face to read, no expression to see, but I feel it anyway.

Approval.
Something inside me fractures completely.

My legs give out and I sink to the ground hard, knees slamming into dirt I barely register. My whole body shakes, violent and uncontrollable, like I’m coming apart from the inside. My hands curl toward my chest, fingers smearing red across my sleeves, my skin, my neck.

“I didn’t—” The words tangle up and die in my throat. I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t stop seeing it—feeling it—the moment everything broke loose inside me.

The woods are silent.
Then—

A crack.
And another.

Branches snap somewhere to my left, sharp and sudden, tearing through the stillness. I flinch so hard my shoulders jerk, heart slamming painfully against my ribs.

“Y/N!”

Jeff bursts through the trees like a storm given shape.
He skids to a stop the second he sees me.

I watch his face change in real time—the confusion, the alarm, the sudden, awful understanding. His eyes drop to the ground behind me. The body. The blood.
Then back to me.

My hands are still shaking, held out in front of me, I don’t recognize them anymore. Like they belong to someone else. I stare at them, numb and horrified, fingers trembling so badly they blur.

Jeff doesn’t say my name again.
He just stands there, frozen, staring at what I’ve done—and whatever he sees on my face makes his chest hitch like he’s been punched.

I open my mouth to explain.

Nothing comes out.

My eyes shot out to where the being was before, nothing was in its place. Like he just disappeared.

Jeff stares at me like he’s seeing a ghost.

No, worse.

Horror hits him first. It flashes raw and unfiltered across his face, eyes wide, jaw tight, breath catching like he didn’t brace himself in time. His gaze flicks again to the body, to the blood, back to me. I can see the moment his brain tries to reject it.

Then something else slips in underneath.

Quieter. Sharper.

It’s subtle enough that I almost miss it—but I don’t. I recognize it because I felt it myself, just moments ago, before the world snapped back into place.

Hunger.
Possession.
Pride.

His eyes darken, not with anger, not with fear—but with understanding. Like a puzzle piece clicking into place in his head whether he wants it to or not.

He moves toward me slowly, deliberately, like he’s afraid a sudden motion might break whatever fragile state I’m stuck in. When he kneels in front of me, the ground crunches softly beneath his boots. He’s close enough now that I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curl and unclench like he’s holding something back.

His voice drops when he speaks.

“What did he make you do?”

The words land gently, but they tear straight through me.

I try to answer.
My mouth opens. My throat tightens. Nothing comes out but a broken sound that doesn’t resemble language. My chest burns as I suck in a shallow breath that doesn’t feel like enough. My hands are still shaking, still red, still wrong.

Before I can force the words out—

The static stirs one last time.

Not loud. Not overwhelming.
Intimate.

It slides through my thoughts like a hand along my spine, cold and assured, carrying a message that settles deep in my bones.

You passed.

My vision dims at the edges.

Jeff’s face blurs. The woods fade. The blood, the body, the weight of it all presses down until there’s nothing left to hold onto.

And then—
Black.