Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Two Time twisted the dagger deeper into his stomach, their eyes holding little to no remorse. All he saw in those eyes was pure determination, a maniacal smile curving their lips. Yet, he didn’t see a monster. He saw the most beautiful person in his life.

The grass around them was stained a dark red, a heavy puddle of blood spreading beneath his beloved Azure. Their hands spun the dagger again, cruel and deliberate, Azure barely able to move, the agony entrancing him. Not a cry for help escaped his throat, not even the smallest effort to fight back. Instead, he lay there, each limb spasming from the unbearable pain, his cloak drenched and heavy with blood.

He turned his gaze upward, the burning sky painted by a dying sunset. The nightshade flowers gleamed and sparkled in the sunlight. The scenery, almost as beautiful as Two Time.


𝓘𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝓷𝓭 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓶𝓮, Azure thought, unafraid, 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓘’𝓭 𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓲𝓽 𝓫𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝔂𝓸𝓾.

Though tears streamed loosely down his face, his lips stayed sealed. Each stab shattered bone, each plunge tore through lung and heart. His hands trembled violently, but he used the last scraps of strength he had. He endured every strike—
But at what cost?

Despite the burning pain in his heart, he held their hand and smiled.

"𝙄 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪."

One more twist.

And the world faded away from his grasp.

Chapter Text

"I do care, I just don't show it," Elliot insisted, back turned away and arms crossed. He didn't dare to look at 007n7. "It's just not my love language."

007n7 had a look of guilt, scratching his arm. "So you do agree."

The atmosphere was silent, neither of them were in the place to say anything. For a fact, Elliot hated talking to this guy—who lives so oblivious that they let their son destroy a workplace? Elliot only stood there, facing away from 007n7. No matter how hard 007n7 would put in effort to reach out to him—he remained silent. He would only keep his calm and attempt to be polite.

"I don't agree with you," Elliot dropped, biting back any harsh words that almost came out, "you don't deserve to be agreed with."

007n7 was caught by surprise—the kind of surprise that hurts. If Elliot really believed that, what good could he even get from this conversation itself?

His hopeless voice wavered. "I only wish for you to forgive me—I'm different now. That was long ago."

He didn't react at all. Elliot's face was only filled with annoyance. "You wish it looked like I cared, don't you?" He turned around, raising his voice. "You wish I could forgive you so easily. You expect me to forgive someone, even if I can't forgive myself for my own actions?! Is that what you want from me?!"

"Well, I believe you have the ability to forgive yourself—!"

"AND I DON'T. I DON'T BELIEVE IN YOU, MYSELF, THE WORLD, OR ANY OTHER POSSIBLE PERSON BREATHING. WHAT ELSE COULD YOU POSSIBLY WANT THAT THE WORLD HASN'T TAKEN FROM ME?!"

007n7 took a step back, the only sound was Elliot's heavy breathing. It was quiet for once. Elliot's eyes were narrowed, staring at 007n7 in expectation for a response. 007n7's heart pounded—it also felt like it was breaking from his empathy for Elliot.

"It was too easy to kill myself. I expected to be torn away from my problems, only to be met with new ones." Elliot softened. "The only good I have is knowing the reason why I killed myself is here. That he's . . . somehow still in my life."

Both of them shared something in common—suicide because they lost someone. But Elliot would never know that.

The world felt still. Elliot's gaze remained on the floor. "It's Chance, isn't it?"

He nodded, looking up at 007n7. " . . . My only friend."

"But . . . there's so many people here that—"

"That see me as a support. Elliot, the pizza guy. The weak twink whose only job is to heal players. It's always, 'Elliot, aim better!' 'Elliot, I was lowest!' 'Elliot, where were you?!' and I don't get a single thank you. I just get scolded." His voice broke at the last part, his shoulders relaxing.

007n7 shared sympathy. "I think you do good. You're at least helping others . . . " He pulled out his c00lgui, referencing towards it. "At least you're doing something."

Elliot didn't want his pity. But maybe . . .

"You were talking about the world, right? Well, this is another world, so maybe give it a chance. Maybe it doesn't expect you to help others even if you can't help yourself. God himself only knows what you'll find," 007n7 chuckled, a bit awkwardly, even if he was still a bit startled after Elliot's yelling session. "There's always things to learn. To look after." He closed his gui, looking back at Elliot with a small smile.

Elliot grimaced. "Who are you to tell me to give the world a shot?"

"Yeah, fun fact? I'm absolutely nobody. I doubt anyone cares about me anymore." 007n7 joked, though he was absolutely serious. "None of us deserve the short end of the stick. None of us deserve to be here. After all, we both did good and bad."

Elliot hated the fact he was right. Hated how he was letting 007n7 talk to him, letting him soft-talk him. Hated how he was smiling at him with such kindness, like kindness still existed. 007n7 opened his arms, expecting a hug. Elliot stared at him.

"Now you're expecting me to—"

"C'mon. Just do it. Not for yourself, just for me." 007n7 prompted. "I put effort into cooling you down."

Elliot grumbled, then stepped forwards. He paused for a moment, then reluctantly let 007n7 hug him. He didn't return the hug.

"This doesn't mean we're on good terms, by the way," Elliot warned, a bit muffled. 007n7 nodded. Elliot pulled away. "I still don't believe you."

It didn't sound that harsh like before. "Okay, whatever you say."

Elliot headed back inside the cabin, waiting for the next round.

Chapter Text

That’s the feeling.

The sinking feeling.

The feeling that someone is watching your every move–hence, maybe you could call it someone stalking you.

That’s what I was going through.

Shedletsky slammed his palms on the table. “We just lost—three times in a row to be exact—and not a single one of us has the bare idea of the killer’s weaknesses. The only weaknesses we know are Chance’s weakness—who is one coin flip away from getting all of us killed, and we aren’t winning the next round until we figure out how to beat 1x . . . uh . . . something, something!”

“You’re not even an admin anymore. You’re just another guy who can’t swing their sword correctly when the killer is in front of them.” 007n7 mumbled, still trying to remember more commands on his GUI, tapping futilely on the screen.

“Ha-ha, very funny, 007n7. You’re the adoptive dad of c00lkidd, now tell me what his weaknesses are.” growled Shedletsky in a defensive manner, leaving an undertone of tension in the room. 

007n7 stood up from his chair, his chair scraping against the wood loudly. “Don’t talk about my son like that. He can still be saved.” 007n7 paused, half-contemplating. “I’m sure of it.”

“Are you now?” Shedletsky leaned, fists clenched. “You’re sure you can save a brainwashed, monster of a killer. You’re sure of that, 7n7?” he challenged.

“He’s anything but a monster,” bit back 007n7, “it’s not him who’s doing it.”

“You’ll just stand there? With your GUI and the last few commands you know? While the rest of us basically fight to survive?” he gestured to the rest of us with his hand.

“You don’t speak of Noob in that way!” spoke 007n7 without hesitation.

“Yeah? Well maybe cause he’s not the problem, because he can actually, to the minimum, stay alive–” Noob flinched, backing up in an attempt to not get involved in the situation. “--and maybe, just maybe, if you could comprehend on actually not giving up when you're the last man standing? We could get a win!”

“Oh, so that’s what you care about! Getting a win, am I right?” laughed 007n7 without amusement. Everyone stayed silent, eyes darting left and right from the argument. I leaned back on my chair as I watched. He shoved Shedletsky, although lightly on the shoulder. 

Shedletsky simply glared. “You’re such a–”

007n7 rolled his eyes. “You’re a sentinel. With heals. You can stop taking Elliot’s pizzas. You don’t need it–”

Shedletsky drew out his sword from his belt loop. “And you know what you can do? You can keep your mouth shut and stop trying to argue with me.”

Builderman looked at both of them frantically, only to get ignored. “Uhm, guys, we can really . . . ”

I watched as 007n7 stood his ground. Did I care? Yes, but also no.

“Your job is to protect others who can’t protect themselves.” 007n7 defiantly said. “Are you seriously going to hurt me in spite of yourself?”

“You can shut up now.” 

007n7 scoffed, his guard never dropping. They had a staredown, none of them backing out. Shedletsky gripped his sword while he fixated his eyes on 007n7. 

Elliot stood up. “Can you guys stop?! We both know fighting won’t give us any progress, and we also both know the only thing it will do is separate us from the whole aspect of the game!” he spoke up, even if his voice had a slight tremble to it. 

“Yeah, staying quiet won’t get us anywhere either,” I muttered, but Elliot heard me. I nudged him. “Kidding.”

“Sure, Elliot. What’s your ‘aspect’ of the game, exactly?” Dusekkar asked. “To give pizzas with your horrible aim and get all of us killed reactively?"

“I-I don’t have that bad of aim, I really try, you know I–”

“You could try harder.” Builderman snapped quickly, which got Elliot to sit down.

They all turned their heads to a gunshot on the wall nearby Dusekkar. “Would any of you guys volunteer to be a human meat shield on accident—or on purpose, dare say? I’m not picky.” I announced, twirling my flintlock pistol in hand. I looked around expectedly. “No need to lash out on someone that actually puts effort into their work.”

“Chance, it was very unnecessary to half-threaten Dusekkar by almost shooting him.” Guest 1337 sighed. “It’s also very unnecessary for all of you to be dawdling during this critical moment.” 

He was right, but what was there to do? Recently, I’ve been missing every single reloaded shot. It takes me forty seconds—almost a minute, mind you—to fully reload my flintlock. You only have one shot. And imagine missing it. Is it bad that I get the instinct to flip my coin and likely stack weaknesses during a chase? No. Is it bad that I’ll still shoot, even with one-hundred weakness? No. And if you disagree, you can leave me alone. 

Two Time grinned. “I say–”

“No, Two Time. Shut up. Don’t say anything. I don’t need any more of your psychotic, disturbing ideas.” interrupted Shedletsky. Two Time grunted.

“🍔➕🍗, ⚔️? ✋.” Taph asked.

007n7 let out an exhausted sigh. “No, Taph. We’re not going to fight, and I’m not gonna ask why you said you were invested into us fighting.”

Looking at the timer, the round was about to start in five seconds. Builderman picked up his hammer. “Welcome to Roblox. Where you go through a living hell everyday.” 

And just there, the round started.

The killer is . . .

Jason

During this situation, I could only think of two words.

Kill me.

Two possibilities. The killer would be really bad, or they’d be a literal professional and abuse the fact they could reach me within a one mile radius. The map was Horror Hotel, so I kept an eye on every single doorway opening. I took in the familiar scene—the peeling wallpapers, the unnecessarily loud floor boards, the toxic-smelling air. I pulled out my coin from my pocket. 72 health points. Don’t mess up, Chance.

Flip. Weakness. Flip. A charge. Flip. Freaking more weakness, but it’s not that bad. Flip. Another weakness stack, and I was close to throwing myself into the Zombie Arms right at the exit. Flip, repeat, flip, repeat, get Weakness XI, get at least three charges. 

Perfect.

I walked down the hall towards the kitchen to find Noob, in all their glory, doing the generator. I joined them, getting a finger coiled in the wires as well.

“So . . . “ I started while I deftly connected the broken wires. “Spotted the killer yet?”

Noob bit their lip and hesitantly spoke, too nervous to look at me. “N-no.”

I turned my head to them. “Hey, man. No worries. No pressure in it. Just wondering.”

“Right. . . ” 

We worked in silence until the generator was halfway through. I nimbly poked around at the wires, testing different paths and techniques to finish each puzzle-like complex. It didn’t take too long until I heard a slash and a yelp, which was coming from right next to me. Noob got slashed across the shoulder by Jason, beginning to limp around when they ran away. They rushed to get a Bloxy Cola open, almost snapping the pull tab. Helping would mean guaranteed death for both me and them, right? So I fled, running away while Noob was probably getting gashed. 

When I turned the corner, I was met with Taph. He tapped on my shoulder, making me turn my attention towards him. He gestured as he spoke, trying to make sense of his cryptic words—or, emojis?—though the way he moved felt almost sinister, like something bad was about to happen. 

“ 👊💀, 🍗👄🐔!” Taph told me. I almost had a stroke trying to figure out what he said, but I settled to the conclusion that he said: Guest 1337 is dead, and Shedletsky ate all his chicken.

“I’m guessing the killer is a milestone?” I said, scratching my head.

Taph shook his head. “❌.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” I flipped my flintlock pistol, keeping it in my hand in case. “Don’t stay outside. Might be too open.” 

Taph nodded, getting a tripwire ready. He went to the halls, and I went to the left halls. I started to flip my coin in a silent prayer for a charge, only to end up with Weakness II. I sighed, testing my luck to the limits and flipping my coin again. Finally, I settled on two charges. It wasn’t the best, but it would do good for the round. I heard a subspace tripmine go off, indicating that Jason was nearby Taph. I peeked around the corner. Inevitably, we’d all die from the range of Jason himself, since there were no other manageable counters that could secure a win. The dim light in the hall made it nearly impossible to see, but I caught a faint view of Taph running out of the hall, heading outside. 

Who was, of course, followed by the glowering Jason, eye red and targeting Taph with a raging pace. Taph made an effort to confuse the killer, running in zig-zags and recklessly turning corners, trying to keep at least a wall between him and the killer outside.

It would’ve been the perfect chance to shoot the killer—if Taph wasn’t standing in the way. I couldn’t risk my shot now. I mean, what if it misses, his cooldown is now at zero, and he decides to do that combination combo with that stupid machete of his. That would leave me at 20 health points.

Taph turned around while running in the open area tripmine ready. He backed up and raised his arm to aim at Jason, almost throwing the tripmine too far. I continued to observe from the corner, seeing Taph able to handle everything by himself. 

I should just leave, I thought, lifting up my shades. That was, until I saw that machete combo.

Taph was now at 50 health points, clutching his stomach. He would’ve gotten slashed again—but Dusekkar came right in time, casting a plasma beam to slow the killer.

Chapter Text

I felt everyone’s heads turn towards me, expecting me to speak. I cleared my throat.
“Uh . . . maybe the best way to survive Jason’s range is by staying in more . . . maze-like places?” I suggested, shrugging. Dusekar blinked at me like I said the stupidest thing in his entire existence. “What? All of you are expecting me to say something. What am I supposed to say?”

Guest 1337 smirked. “Right, Chance. What are you going to say next, ‘Stamina management is key’?”

The sentinels snickered, I caught Elliot in the corner of my eye almost smiling. I nudged his elbow, feigning annoyance. “Okay, it wasn’t that stupid of an idea.”

It kind of was, Taph signed, drawing a smiley face on the paper. So everyone was amused about my idea. That’s a bit embarrassing.

“We don’t get another round until tomorrow morning,” 007n7 concluded, stacking the folders in a pile, “so we shouldn’t worry as much. It’s best if we get good sleep, wake up early and get a plan.”

Builderman shrugged. “Pretty good idea if you ask me.”

Noob nodded, giving a small thumbs up. Everyone else seemed like they agreed, and Elliot’s hand brushed against mine under the table. I looked at him, but he seemed occupied with watching Taph doodle on paper. Some of the survivors already left for the cabins, meanwhile, I sat there, fixing my flintlock shotgun barrel, which, news flash? It exploded.

Two Time tilted their head, watching me hit my gun onto the edge of the table. I looked up at them. “Stuck,” I told Two Time, putting the shotgun down. They offered out a hand.

“Let me try.” I tossed the gun at them, watching them inspect the flintlock with a mild amount of interest, holding it mid-air to hit the handle of the gun against the table. “In the name of the Spawn.”

Clink.

Two Time smiled, presenting the gun back to me. I pretended I didn’t hear that muttered prayer, and I just took the shotgun. “Oh . . . thanks, Two Time.” I checked the barrel to see it in place, no longer jammed.

After that, they left as well, some more survivors were done speaking to each other and also left. Taph almost fell asleep, still drawing on the paper, so Dusekkar had to remind him to head back to the cabins. I stood up to leave, only to remember Elliot being there.

“You’re not going to . . . you know, leave?” I turned around to ask. Elliot scratched the back of his neck.

“ . . . Not yet.”

“I . . . well . . . “ I shuffled awkwardly, more awkward than I should’ve been. I was usually comfortable and easy-going around Elliot. My heart thumped in my chest. “I admit it, kid—or, er, Elliot. I . . . regret a lot of stuff.”

Elliot looked away, covering half of his face with his hand. “It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it.”

“I didn’t mean to leave you.”

He froze, his foot stopped tapping in that second. “I didn’t do that because of you, Chance, I promise—I didn’t—”

“Woah, woah, what are you talking about?” I cut him off, taking on a more reassuring tone. “Whatever you’re talking about, I’m lost. I just . . . I’m sorry I had to . . . leave first.” I said, feeling my face heat up for no reason. I sat back down next to him, giving him some space.

Elliot looked around, as if he was avoiding me. “Right.”

I could hear him breathing, the night being that quiet. I wanted to see his face, but I was too scared to do anything. “ . . . I wish I had more time,” I exhaled, clutching the hem of my blazer lightly. “I wish you had more time.”

Elliot stayed quiet, his head facing away from me. I hesitantly reached out a hand to his wrist, gently wrapping my fingers around. It caught his attention at least.

“I feel like you hate me,” I chuckled bitterly, which hurt my stomach. “After everything that has happened between the survivors. I don’t feel like I get to be your friend, huh?”

He turned his head towards me. “No, no, that’s not it—I’m just . . . feeling . . . ”

I waited for him to finish his sentence, not saying anything. While I waited, I was able to stare at his eyes, just like how I remembered them from last time. Bright yellow, reflecting every light source. Almost a golden-yellow color.

“Feeling empty.” he ended off with. I intertwined my hand with his, bringing his hand down. Luckily, he didn’t seem too bothered by this, nor did he flinch like how he usually does around people.

He was right. Everything has been empty since forever. Even before the Spectre itself. It was the stubborn truth. “I know.”

Almost every light seemed to cooperate with his features, his hair, his eyelashes, his eyes, perhaps even his lips. I didn’t have any right to get any closer to him.

It was just then I remembered how I felt about him the first time he visited me. After I gave him his so-called first shot, the way he looked at me was . . . mesmerizing, almost. It was so easy to remember, the way he hugged my blazer tighter, the way his eyelashes reflected light when he would blink.

Time, of course, consumes everything. Never ending, almost impossible to estimate. Who knows if this might be my last moment again with him?

I brought up my hand to his face lightly, almost barely touching him. I always thought about how pretty he looked, how he seemed to change me so—maybe even too—easily. I could see his face, like so many times, become flustered. I took my hand away, not wanting to trigger him.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized to him, keeping my hands to myself. “I didn’t mean to—”

Elliot took my hand back, holding it in his again. I had some sort of fluttery feeling. Sickening, to describe it more. I wanted to lean in like how I almost did that one night, I wanted to fix myself at the same time—I wanted to hear his own words, his own thoughts. The fear of being selfish overwhelmed me.

I brought a hand to his chin, not touching him so I wouldn’t startle him so easily. What if I did lean in like that one night, what if I did do something that wasn’t a hug for a thank you. What if he let me.

The feeling of my heart thumping loudly almost cursed my ears, almost building the illusion he could probably hear that too. It was just now I noticed how close I was to him. Sure, I’ve been closer, but not for this long, not with this feeling of mine.

I held his chin in my hand, tilting his head more upwards. I cupped his face in my hands—just like what I did on that one round.

Except, this time, I was more careful.

It felt like I was aware of everything around me, but at the same time, I was hyper fixated on one important person.

Elliot.

I swallowed, looking at his eyes again. I’ve always had trouble looking at people in the eyes. Not him. He was different. He had that effect, and gosh, I hated it. His fingers slid off my shades, letting me see his eyes better. He looked so much more beautiful when he was not desaturated looking and monochromatic. His lashes still sparkled in the light, like always.

My hand trailed to touch his hair that was currently in his usual ponytail. He seemed to be following every movement my hand would make or go to. How did I even end up here? My chest ached in a comfortable, warm way. His eyes, though. His eyes were so beautiful. His eyes were like droplets of the sun itself. My eyes followed down his face slowly to his lips.

I looked back at him, though.

I didn’t want him for his looks. He was just perfect in his own way to me. In reality, I don’t care what his body looks like, what his eyes could be shaped like, his eye color, his lips, his hair. I couldn’t care less. I wanted him for how he affected me, how he speaks to me, how he listens to me.

I couldn’t care less if he was rich or poor, a pizza worker or not. I didn’t care if he wasn’t perfect. I didn’t care if he doesn’t have that many friends.

I could feel his breath against my face, my nose almost touching with his.

I left it all to his control. It would be his choice.

He leaned in closer, so did I. I gently met his lips, watching his eyes flutter shut. I smiled to myself, a thought running across my head.

Strawberries.

Elliot tasted like strawberries.

It was weird—being in the middle of a kiss and wanting to laugh at the same time. I rested my hands on his waist, feeling his arms wrap around my neck. The fuzzy, warm, soft feeling came back.

I always hear people say how they wish moments like these could last forever.

I didn’t.

I just wished that he wouldn’t leave me.

I ran my hands up and down his waist barely, wanting to show him I did care in at least some way. I parted from him for a second, letting him breathe. After all, I didn’t want to suffocate him.

Elliot’s forehead rested against mine, his eyes still closed. It was hard to tell if he was tired or just closing his eyes.

"You should go to sleep." I told him quietly, brushing his cheek with my thumb.

He took a shaky breath, then looked up at me. "I . . . sure."

I gave him a slight smile, giving more distance between us. He stood up, looking nervous, looked flushed.

I held his hand. "Please, Elliot. Don't be scared to ask for help."

"I . . . I'll try." he agreed, which satisfied me enough.

I gave him a kiss on his hand, then he left. It was quiet in the lobby cabin. Unlike anything I've heard before.

Chapter Text

“If I wanted Chance dead, I would’ve done that ages ago,” Mafioso held iTrapped’s wrist tightly, not planning to let him go anytime soon. “If he’s dead, I don’t get anything from him. Got that?”

iTrapped backed away. “It was just a plan,” he defended, trying to get his hand free, “I never meant for you to get so defensive,”

“He owes me, you know. And I’m making sure I get paid back.” Mafioso threw iTrapped wrist downwards, making him stumble to the floor. He kneeled down in front of iTrapped, tilting his chin upwards. “You’re not planning to interfere with that. Do you understand?”

iTrapped scoffed, swatting Mafioso’s hand off, but he wouldn’t budge. “You seem to care so much about him. For someone who claims they hate him until they die?” He turned his head in attempt to get his hand off. “Just so you know, Chance is my little plaything, which is why you’re not getting anything from him.”

“I have every opportunity to kill you, here and now. But I’m not, so don’t take it for granted, pretty boy.” Mafioso gripped his chin tighter, standing up. “Do something to him, you’ll suffer something worse than your typical consequence.”

“No need to be so protective.” iTrapped bit back sharply, every word accented. “Your darling Chance isn’t going anywhere.”

He tilted his chin higher. “If you expect to work with me, don’t expect me to turn down killing people I know,” he warned, his voice having a slight growl to it. “My profession is not based off your entertainment or your own wants. It’s based off what I get off of it, what I earn from it.” He clenched his jaw, looking at iTrapped sharply. iTrapped wasn’t feeling scared, at least not that much. He would’ve gotten up if it wasn’t for the amount of pressure Mafioso was putting on him. So, he remained on his knees, willing to fight him if he had to.

iTrapped smirked sarcastically. “I bet you like what you see, huh? Masochist much?”

Mafioso furrowed his eyebrows. “What I see?”

“If you want to see me on my knees, just say it,” he shrugged, tugging at his own collar. “It’s never rude to ask, darling.”

“If you’re saying that to get out of this situation, I’ve experienced this exact scenario over a hundred times in my lifetime. Don’t try me.”

“I want to try you.”

Mafioso rolled his eyes. “People like you disgust me.”

iTrapped smiled, raising one of his eyebrows. “It’s okay, you look fun. I’d definitely—“

“You’re free to go, iTrapped.” Mafioso let go of him, shaking his head. “I hope you get help, and know your strategy did do efforts.”

iTrapped’s smile widened, getting up and brushing himself off. “Without making out with you—?”

“Leave."

“Fine.” He began to walk away, then stopped. “Just know, I’m getting closer to what I want from Chance.”

iTrapped left, walking down the alleyway like nothing happened.

THIS ONE IS NOT LIKE STUFF I USUALLY WRITE. IT IS LESS SFW SO IF YOU'RE SENSITIVE PLEASE DO NOT READ IT. IT IS BASICALLY SA. SOME MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE TOO.  

He pinned me to the wall, sword ready to slice my throat open. I kept my shotgun facing under his chin, him looking skeptical.

“Come on, Chance. Do it.” iTrapped leaned closer to me, prompting my gun with his hand by lifting it closer to his chin. My hand was shaking, my mind rushing with too many thoughts at once. iTrapped stroked my hand, waiting for me to do something—anything. I dropped the gun, letting it slip from my hand.

“I can’t,”

“YOU IDIOT!” iTrapped yelled, pushing me to the ground by pulling my headphone, making me slide across the gravel floor. His sword grazed above my cheekbone, forming a deep cut. Blood seeped from the top of my head, the burning sensation I haven’t felt in so long. “When people like you don’t help themselves when they need it the most. When loyalty is that important to them.” His voice shook in a held-in laughter, his fist twitching as he held his sword tightly.

I felt the drop of blood run down my forehead, staining my finger with red after wiping. I maintained to breathe, almost all of my limbs aching from the push. iTrapped had a grin on his face.

He took the front of my hair, lifting my head up. “Comply, comply, obey. That’s all people like you do.” he said, face full of disgust. “Never realizing how truly useless you are. Just trying to make good use.”

My voice shook, my throat feeling cut though he didn’t even touch my throat. “What . . . what did I do?”

“You might as well die in curiosity,” iTrapped chuckled, shoulders shaking. He tugged at my hair upwards. "Stand up.”

My head hurt from all the pulling and throwing, my eyes blurry and almost dazed. iTrapped smiled, spinning me around to catch me in a gentle headlock. I couldn’t do anything. It was one of the few times in my life I felt Lady Luck wouldn’t be on my side, one of the few times I felt weak.

His head was right above my shoulder, his mouth close to my ear. “I wish you were dead. You useless, helpless imbecile.” iTrapped leaned in to kiss my jaw, tracing my collarbones underneath my collar. “I want you dead. I wish you were never alive. A mistake in the making.”

iTrapped stroked my stomach, leaning his head on my shoulder. I stood still, too confused and scared to move. His words hurt, but I felt confused. I was going to speak, but then I felt him sucking on my neck once before moving back, wiping his mouth with his hand. I coughed, feeling where he bit me with my hand. I limped, turning around to face him.

“I hate you. I did love your money, though.” He pulled out his sword once more, leaning closer to me. iTrapped forced me to meet with his lips, gently biting my bottom lip. He was making these small ‘ugh’ sounds, like he was actually engaged into doing what he was doing to me—then pushed his sword into my shoulder. I would’ve screamed—I couldn’t, though. He pulled me closer to him, only muffling my scream. I tried to push him away from me, wanting to help my bloodied arm.

The pain. My breathing felt labored, my arm oozing with blood. Tears automatically formed in my eyes, my eyes wide, but I was unable to do anything. My vision was a bit blurry from the tears, I could feel myself internally sobbing. He forced my mouth to move with his, running a finger down my chest, then leading his finger back up to my chin. He finally broke apart with me, and I took a deep breath, my heart beating fast in my chest.

“Why,” I trembled, tears streaming down my face, “why, why, why,” I wanted to repeat again and again, closing my eyes so I didn’t have to look at him. “Why, iTrapped, WHY WOULD YO—“

I gagged, feeling a sharp pain in my throat mid-sentence.

My breath hitched, it felt like I couldn’t speak anymore, what I was saying was cut off for no reason. I felt the same feeling that I felt on when he stabbed my arm, just on my throat.

I opened my eyes, my vision doubling and going side-to-side.

My throat.

A large, deep cut, dripping with blood that went down to my chest.

I can’t speak.

Help me.

SOMEBODY HELP ME?!

iTrapped started laughing, licking his gloved thumb that had my blood on it. My knees felt weak, but he grabbed me, his hand clutching on my waist. “It’s best when you don’t talk, darling.” He kissed my cheek, and I was unable to call for help. "I want less of you. I want nothing of you." I coughed without noise, tasting my own bitter blood in my mouth, gagging it out. Maybe I’d die from the blood loss itself. I was crying uncontrollably, my face covered in blood and tears.

Stop it.

Make it stop.

He caressed my hip-line, holding me tightly to stand up. I could feel myself having to carry my own weight, my eyes feeling like they were trying to roll back to my head and just die right there. He brought his hand lower, and I brought up my weak hand to pull him away.

“Idiot.”

iTrapped kneed me to the floor, and I could feel myself resting in some way on the ground. My arm stung, my throat wasn’t any better. The taste of his saliva was stuck in my mouth, I could even taste some of my own blood. How did I feel so numb still? Was it the thought of being betrayed by my own friend?

He thrusted his sword into my stomach, making me stay still.

I couldn’t even feel the pain anymore in my body. My eyes were half-lidded, blood below my head. He smiled.

“What’s wrong, Chance? Too tired already?” iTrapped teased, taking the sword out of me, the blade of the sword now a deep red. He wiped the blood of with the back of his hand. “Come on, Chance. Get back up. Show me the winner you are.” he laughed, combing his hair backwards. His voice had a sort of glitch to it, these effects around him. Almost like he had two voices.

I felt my eyes slowly closing out of my control, hearing his laugh. It started almost quiet, then only got louder.

I blacked out.

Was I alone?

Chapter Text

Imagine this (or don't, save yourself sanity); the same person that acts like they want to kill you asks you out on a date.

No, I bet you can't imagine that. No one would ask you on a date.

. . . 

I'm joking, please don't come after me.

The drive to the pizza place was horrible, traffic at every light, almost crashing into several cars. Horns blared, people rolled down their windows to yell, and I could practically feel their judgment piercing through my windshield. Not that I'm a bad driver, I'm just a bit . . . different from others at driving. My version of ‘switching lanes’ probably looks like a road rage request to most people.

Normally, my mom would call someone to drive me wherever, but she was out of town, and my step-dad would definitely not appreciate my . . . choices. I sat in the car, not daring, not even considering stepping outside until I received any text message or something. My phone screen lit up with random notifications—emails, spam, some dumb game app begging me to come back—but not his name.

What if he calls up his mafia group and just decides to jump me? Because who on earth with money like him would decide to go to a pizza place—a pizza place for a date, out of all places. Like, come on, there are fancy gourmet restaurants and five-star steakhouses, but no, we’re talking about greasy, unkept tables and the maximum of two, minimum wage workers. Not that I'm complaining about it, it's just kind of strange to me.

I tapped my foot impatiently, eyes darting around every corner. Every car that slowed down made my heart beat faster because it could be him—or worse, not him. I mean, I could just leave. Right now. But I'm feeling generous.

Why did I even accept to go on a date with him? I don't even talk to him that much—do I? Yes? No? Maybe? Shut up, I don't care about your opinion. Maybe I could cancel the date, say I got sick last second. Tell him I'm lactose intolerant, even. No, I could tell him I got into a car accident. All of them are great options! Each excuse sounded more believable in my head than the last.

Or, I could just get out of the car . . . and . . . 

I turned the handle to step out of my car, instantly hit with the scorching hot morning sun. The gravel beneath my feet crunched, which was a terrible sound to my ears, by the way. While adjusting my headphones, I walked towards the pizzeria.

I opened the glass doors, the building smelling of cheese and smoke. I was met with a familiar face. Which, no, gladly wasn't Mafioso. It was Elliot, one of my few friends.

Frick, I thought, scratching the back of my head, He's gonna find out I'm on a date with that guy . . . 

"Hey, Chance! How are you doing?" he smiled, waving. I came closer to the register.

I had somewhat of a smile, but it probably looked more sheepish than anticipated, my lips quivering like I couldn’t decide what expression to use. "Good. Uh, er—Elliot. I'm—I'm waiting for someone today," I tried to explain, silently praying he wouldn't ask further.

He paused for a second, looking away in thought, then back at me with a smirk, leaning in. "Really? Who?" 

I hope you die in a fire, Elliot.

"No one." 

Though, he still looked skeptical and expectant. "You sure?"

The wall seemed more interesting than him, so I looked outside the window. "Someone."

He hummed in thought, then straightened up, the sharpness in his smirk softening. "Fine, I won't push it. Just order when that person of yours comes." He winked, dismissing me like it was nothing, like I wasn’t completely disintegrating inside. I sat down at a nearby table, watching my hands tremble. To be honest, I've never been on a date ever. What do people even do on dates? 

I tapped my finger on my phone, holding it in my hand idly. 

Ring!

I immediately tensed, biting my tongue. I slowly turned my head to where the entrance door was to see—some geeky-looking guy with a black shirt? 

He passed by, his phone pressed up to his ear. "No, like, he's weird. I'm not even joking. Sure, he pays the taxes more than I can manage, but he's still weird."

It wasn't my job to be nosy, anyways. Every passing second felt dreadful, the sun was starting to dip below the horizon, casting a red to yellow hue throughout the sky. I looked back down at my phone. 

Where are you? I typed, sounding a bit more desperate than I intended. You know, I've been waiting for a good—

Ring!

I stopped typing mid-way, peeking over the seats to get a glimpse of who came in. For some reason, I was kind of hoping it was him.

Yeah, no doubt that was him. His shadow is way too distinguishable—fedora, cloak, and suit. He had some sort of reeking aura, the kind that makes you want to freeze. I know that because that was the exact state I was in—not moving a singular limb, only staring. 

I wanted to melt into my seat and dissolve into ashes. I felt like I was shrinking into my own seat, nervously stomping on my foot compulsively. I mean, it was kind of a good thing he didn’t decide to wear anything fancy? He was wearing his regular outfit was . . .  quite refreshing. He looked good in his outfit. I didn’t mean that in a romantic way, obviously. 

Mafioso noticed me right after taking a step inside the pizzeria, almost expressionless, not exactly a frown, just stern overall. It was too awkward to hold eye-contact with him or even look away. He slid into the seat across from me, arms crossed, head tilted slightly, like he was analyzing me. Thankfully, my shades were on, so I doubt he could see my eyes. 

Still looks like he’s going to kill me.

“So . . . uh . . . you like pizza?” I managed to squeak out, trying to make myself not sound like I was panicking. 

“I eat it.” 

That’s when I should leave! But no, I decide to stay like the idiot I am. “Why’d you ask me on a date?” I asked quickly, wanting to get the question out fast. 

Mafioso raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “You seem like an interesting person, I suppose.” He paused, then spoke up again, “Why’d you go on ‘the date’?” 

Yeah, Chance, why’d you go on the freaking date, huh? I told myself, grabbing onto the hem of my blazer. 

“Because . . . I wanted to be here with you?” I cringed, stomach churning progressively. 

He looked me up and down disdainfully. “That’s so corny.” Mafioso said flatly. “What do you want to order?”

“Sausage pizza,”—though I don’t even eat sausage pizza, it’s to get this over with—”that’s all.” Without a word, he stood up, walking over to the counter. 

This was going to be one heck of a date.

From the window next to me, I heard whispers and muffled laughter from what sounded like multiple, or more, people. I scooted closer to the window to look outside, but saw nothing. Just the sun setting still, faint light against the water and clouds drifting softly in the sky. 

Once he finished ordering, he sat back down, staring at me intensely. “You’re more quiet than I thought you would be.”

“Well—well—I—“

“Save it. I don’t want you to combust.” Mafioso rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “You should do something I’d like.”

I let myself take a deep breath, preparing to respond. “Like what?”

“Amuse me.” Thankfully, he sounded like he was being sarcastic. 

I winced. “That’s not funny.”

Elliot walked over to our table, dropping off a pizza box, nothing more. He looked at me smugly, looking back at me and Mafioso. 

I still hope he dies in a fire.

“Medium sausage pizza,” he gestured, looking straight at me, “for you and your . . . ‘someone’.”

I glared at him because he knew what he was doing. Mafioso gave a small nod, almost like a bow, and even a small smile. “Thank you, Elliot.”

No way. No way he gives Elliot a small smile while I’m here in front of him and sweating in my seat. He likes people with minimum effort and minimum wage? Obviously he does. Not like I care, why would I? I don’t care about what he likes and what he doesn’t like. Not at all. In fact, I hate him. For putting me in debt, yes. For putting me in debt.

“Chance, are you okay?” he asked with a terrible amount of empathy. 

“Yes! Yes, I am.” I said, hating how I reacted to him saying my name without the intention to kill me. 

 More mumbles and giggles came from outside, rustling of the grass and thuds against the wall. 

No, let me see!

You’re so fat, Soldier, move out of the way! 

I’m not even that fat? Might as well call Eunoia fat,

I can’t get a good view! Stop!

I wasn’t going crazy because Mafioso’s eyes also trailed towards the window, meaning I wasn’t turning insane. He looked back at me as if he was waiting for me to say something.

“Ignore them. They’re mine.” he sighed, shaking his head. 

“What—you brought them here?!” I blurted, trying not to freak out. He only smirked.

“I didn’t bring them here.” Mafioso leaned in, as if he knew they could hear, “they brought themselves here.”

I blinked rapidly, fidgeting with my sleeves. “Well, tell them to . . . go away, or something.”

“Yeah, they’re not doing that so easily.”

What did he mean ‘not doing that so easily’? Can’t he just tell them to leave? He caught them, anyway. Just tell them to go! I didn’t need more eyes on me or him! 

“Come here,” he waved his hand for me to lean forward. My throat closed as I obeyed, and before I could think, he reached his hand out to my hair, sliding off my hat. Heck no, I have breathing rights, and my lungs won’t agree with me. “Keep still,” he murmured, covering the side of our faces with my own hat, his nose brushing against mine. Maybe from the side it would look like a kiss.

I wanted to pull back. I didn’t even get time to react to what was happening, and he’s getting close to me like he knows me well. But I couldn’t move. Not when he was looking at me like that. It was like I couldn’t see or hear anything else, the squeals from outside of the window muffled. Did I want him this close? No, I barely know him. But he was so close to me, I could just . . . 

Mafioso pushed me away, throwing my hat back onto my head with a shove. I blinked, relieved, but also not very relieved. The whole world came back to my view, suddenly existing again. I could hear shuffling and laughter from the distance, meaning those little guys ran off already. 

But my heart felt tight. I kind of wished he did get even a bit closer to me. 

No, scrap that. I absolutely did wish that.

And I was going to get that, one way or another.

I rested my chin on my hand, looking up at him with sudden confidence. “You didn’t have to fake it, you know. Could’ve just asked.”

Mafioso grit his teeth. “Like you’re worth any kind of affection.”

“No, no, seriously. There’s no harm in doing so,” I smiled, placing a finger on his hand. Oh, come on, Mafioso. Do something. Anything.

If he seriously thought I’d just sulk there and let him make quick assumptions of me, two can play one game.

He clicked his tongue, yanking his hand away from the table, bringing it to flip open the untouched pizza box. “Don’t play games you can’t win.” 

I grinned, slamming a hand to shut the pizza box, eyes fixated on him. “Thing is, Mickey. I always win. Like how I won that rigged—“

“I will and can add to your debt. Would you like that, Chance?” Mafioso glared at me, swiping the pizza box away from my hand. I wrapped my fingers around his wrist, stopping him from moving, even if he could easily move away. 

He held onto my own wrist, barely pulling me over the table, making me lean all the way across. “You’re forgetting what you owe us.” Mafioso let go, allowing me to sit back down. “I’m only warning you this once.”

“A threat? That’s cute of you.” I let go of his wrist hesitantly. “There’s other ways to get me to shut up than threats.”

Mafioso smiled, something I kind of liked seeing. “Try it. I dare you.”

I swiftly grabbed his tie, bending over to at least get closer to him and then—

Click.

Right next to my head was my own shotgun, his finger wrapped around the trigger, placed flat against my own head. 

I patted my pockets, only to find it empty. I couldn’t move. I just couldn’t. “W—what—“ I could hear my own pulse drumming in my ears, but I didn’t want to pull back still. The thought of leaning closer made my heart feel both heavy and light. “Y-you’re insane,”

“And you came to the date anyways,” Mafioso put the gun down, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t have a reason to hurt you. Yet. Now sit back down before I change my mind.”

I sank back into my chair disappointedly, mumbling random stuff. I could still clearly think back to how close I actually got to him earlier. I wanted that to happen again. I took my shotgun he threw onto the table, securing back into my pocket. 

“Surprisingly, for someone who I want to kill so badly . . . you’re . . . “ he stopped, like he was trying to find the correct term. “Pretty. Don’t take that as an advantage.”

“I thought I was the one being called corny,” Even if I secretly enjoyed the compliment, I wanted to push him a bit more. “Is ‘pretty’ all you can really think of?”

His arched glare lingered on me for a second longer. “You’re milking this.” Mafioso opened the pizza box, turning it around towards me. “Grab one.”

By the time we were outside the restaurant, the sky was a dark blue, the moonlight making the water shimmer. 

The date, overall, or whatever I could call it at this point, was not as bad as I believed it would end up. I actually got him to laugh. He didn’t really laugh, more like chuckled, but I deserve credit for that still.

He basically blended into the night shadows, like he belonged there. I squinted at him, then glanced up at the dozens of stars, scattered and bright, and back at him again. 

“Shooting star. Make a wish.”

“I wish I get to stab you in the stomach and get the debt you owe my family.”

“Kill yourself.”

Mafioso sat against the tree, picking at the grass. I sat down next to him, looking at him. Throughout the day, his gaze has grown softer. Perhaps he was getting tired. But I liked how soft he was. Made him feel more . . . human. He tilted his fedora to his side, hiding his face.

But I wanted to see his face.

I tilted his fedora back upwards, a bit too high, to the point I could see his eyes.

I’m not saying some corny stuff like ‘I could get lost in them forever’, ‘The world felt like it was revolving around him’—

The world seemed to revolve around him and only him, his eyes nothing like I’ve seen before—

Okay, okay, I’ll stop.

“Before my parents, my great, great grandparents had this urge to run a casino.” he said while looking at the vast ocean, deep in thought. “The other side of my family wanted to run something that would give them money fair and square.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re trying to small-talk me?”

“I’m telling you a story.”

“Same thing.”

“So, the other side of my family trained to become hitmen. Didn’t last long. Family lost the legacy. Insane taxes spiked.” he continued, exhaling. “Those little boys tried to rob us. I only saw potential in them. And I was right.”

I leaned to my side, yawning. “So, you saw some minors doing a crime and your first thought was, ‘Damn, I can exploit this,’ and did?”

He huffed. “That’s different.” I saw him smile faintly, however. “It started when they showed a singular robot piece to me. Some fancy android piece. Something they claimed they ‘found from the dumps.’” 

Mafioso paused, looking back at me. 

“You seem tired.”

I closed my eyes, trying not to doze off. “Thanks, Sherlock. Glad you can help.”

“Lean on me.”

“Over my dead body—“

“I know you want to.”

Maybe he was right. Maybe I did want to get just a bit closer to him. I leaned my head on his shoulder, taking off my headphones. The night seemed so quiet. The sounds of frogs croaking, crickets chirping. Birds from above the tree perched, their eyes closed peacefully and resting. 

Mafioso wrapped both his arms around me, not on his lap because ew, cooties. He felt warm, contrary to how cold this night felt. He turned my head around to look at him.

“Are you allowing me to kiss you now?” I grinned, glad how close I was to him. 

Mafioso groaned, looking away. “Go ahead.”

I grabbed the side of his face, thumb below his jaw. I saw him look down at me for a split second before slowly closing. I didn’t know how I got this far from one date. Someone who wants to kill me, I was going to kiss, right then and there. I fell for him too quickly—more than I’d even expect out of myself. I felt a lump in my throat, the type of nervousness that makes you excited.

The best part? He didn’t move away. I took that as a yes.

I felt myself press against him, the night sky gaining more color than before. Something shifted inside of me, I couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. I couldn’t question myself if I actually wanted this or not, because all I saw was him, all I knew was him, all I felt was him. I didn’t need to question myself. All I needed was him.

I couldn’t want more in this world. I felt like my whole perspective of the world would change after this—like everything would be different now, in such a good, sweet way. I was regretting things I would’ve never regretted before—how I didn’t do this sooner, how I should’ve done this sooner. 

He pulled back, a hand on my mouth. “That’s all you’re getting. You’re lucky I’m even letting you do this.” he murmured teasingly. “I’ll let you do this again if you go on a second date.”

I almost choked, pulling his hand away from me. “What—? You—“

“Second date. Same place, same time.”

“But—“

“Offer’s over soon,” 

I sighed, also smiling. 

“I’ll go on a second date with you.”

the end :) ♡

Chapter Text

By ‘moving across Robloxia,’ I was surprised that it meant literally.

I sat in the back of the taxi, the highway exhaustive and the sun already half-way up in the sky. I had just come back from the airport, which . . . wasn’t how I wanted it to go. The conversations basically went by the lines of—

OH GOD, THE PLANE’S GOING TO CRASH!
WE’RE GOING TO DIE!

Yeah, no. I just gave the plane some slight turbulence. Just slight. Believe it or not. 

Slight turbulence means: setting a fire in the aft, making the first-class seats unanchor from the floor, and forcing the plane to go through two emergency landings.

Slight turbulence, I know.

Once the taxi passed multiple neighborhood entries and gated communities, further downtown were more gas stations and convenience or round-the-clock stores, I was met with the drier, less appealing side of the town. There were less, maybe none at all, trees, just sad beige buildings and cracked pavement. I doubted any of the houses around the block were two stories or had living plants. There was nothing to do during the drive, so I grabbed my phone. 

The group chat has been growing more active recently, though most of the group chat was made of people I, myself, barely knew personally. Ever since the majority of us applied to other colleges, we’ve been more distant physically.

And those people I moved away from were the only people I truly knew, which were 118o8 and 226w6. The rest of the people in the group chat were all online friends that I’ve never actually met before. Ellernate, who seemed to only get on the group-chat to pester iTrapped or Caleb244, which was unironically entertaining. iTrapped seemed like a nice guy, though he always seemed to limit himself from oversharing. To be straightforward, I always pitied him. He had this sort of money-spending problem, even if he wasn’t rich, although Caleb244 always tries to make himself available to aid iTrapped. I always had a gut-feeling they must’ve been younger since they were more immature than me—which is borderline impossible. No one is ever more immature than me.

Meanwhile, a newer member, tubers93, was someone I met online. He wasn’t much for talking, unlike the rest of the group. He barely said a word—only spoke when we begged him for tips on abusing our admin powers. But he at least talked, unlike greg. Dignity and Pheedy appeared to have known each other. 

I’m almost at the dorms. Text you guys when I’m there. Even if I sent the message to the whole group, it still meant I targeted the message more at 118o8 and 226w6.

Whoever ends up being my roommate in the future—I pray they won’t be too troublesome. I’d have to hide my panel and hacking set-up, which will be painful. I turned my eyes towards the driver, who was only looking forward with his grumpy expression. He tilted his black cap with the big R on it, looking up at the rearview mirror.

“This side of the city is barely accessible,” he started, gesturing towards the random pieces of litter on the floor—bloxy colas, gravity coil particles, bloxiade cans, witch’s brew, and mountain blox. 

Well, it’s not the best part of the city, but hopefully also not the worst?

‘Well,’ it kinda is.

He turned the car around to drive towards some sort of circle, where the houses at least looked a bit better. Once he parked near the curb, he kicked me out, and I stepped out of the car. The dry air caught up with my eyes faster than I could even look at the house, and what I thought must’ve been fog was smoke. 

Oh boy.

Dragging up my suitcase from the back trunk, I walked up the driveway, the dorm room building lined up with windows and stairs, the trees looking a bit too fake. Possibly plastic.

Though, the paint didn’t peel off as much, the gutters seemed in good shape, and the grass wasn't turning yellow. It wasn’t the biggest door room building, but not the smallest, either. Not many people were inside their dorms already since most of them, like me, weren’t from here. That’s why most of us are in our door rooms a month early. 

I climbed up the stairs, having to lift my suitcase with every step. My backpack was slung onto my shoulder which was killing my shoulders, which made the trip to the second level way harder than it should’ve been. 

025, 026 . . . 

Right there! 026. That was so easy. Taking one hour to find my dorm and climb up and down stairs is such a breeze.

I had the urge to barge in, but who knows who my roommate might be? I surrendered the thought and knocked instead. 

No response.

I leaned against the wall, pulling out my phone again. 

iTrapped had texted, I don’t care. I have homework, so stop texting me.

Wow. Imagine getting extra homework because you got detention. Ellernate replied, going offline right after. 

7n7, did you make it there yet? 226w6 asked in the group chat. I scoffed, typing,

Yeah, but whoever’s there probably shot themselves in the head or something because–

“Tell me you’re lost.” 

I jumped back, nearly falling off the railing of the balcony because both me and myself know I didn’t hear a singular thing. I was holding onto my backpack tightly, my glasses holding onto my nose uselessly. Slowly, I convinced myself it was safe to look up.

There, right in front of me stood a guy, leaned against the doorframe with his hand clenched as if gripping something—some sort of crown on his head while he wore a simple black-and-purple hoodie. 

He tilted his head, squinting at me like if he looked hard enough he could read my mind. “Let me rephrase. Lost folk usually strive to hide that they’re lost. You? I can scarcely tell if you are truly lost, or not.”

I unconsciously hugged my backpack tighter, my teeth clenched shut. “Geez, man, you scared me,” I said, still shook. Maybe next time he could speak less . . . suddenly?

“So, are you wandered?” I could hear him raising his voice, trying to catch my attention. 

I gripped onto the handle of my suitcase, fidgeting with the button. “No?” I stared at him in confusion. “Also, who the heck says ‘are you wandered—’”

He stopped for a moment, just squinting at me, which I thankfully took as a warning to shut up, then opened the door for me to come in. “Don’t become a burden,” I heard him mutter as I stepped inside the room. He threw something under his bed that he was supposedly holding in his hand, but I never got a good look at it.

The room looked simple—two beds on either side of the corners and a singular table awkwardly near the wall. One bathroom at the end of the room, two dressers in front of both of the beds, and one overhead light that illuminated most of the room.

This? Would be interesting.

—

It wasn’t until near lunch time when I actually spoke a word to him other than what happened when I first entered. The conversation went; 

You’re built like a pancreas.

And I left to order lunch from some random fast food restaurant. Overall, he was not that amused by my own antics, but maybe he’s just a natural sore thumb. We’ve compromised on delivering curtains to separate the two of us in the room, and maybe he had felt that sensation of awkwardness too. Unless he was that mentally ill and couldn’t see the obvious. 

So, throughout the hours of the day, we never really got to know a singular thing about each other. Not that I planned to afterall. I couldn’t find a good spot to keep my c00lgui, so I decided to just keep it in my backpack, including the rest of my set-up. I had to be meticulous about almost everything he did. Afterall, I was hyper-aware of all the insidious kids, reviewed in the past as ‘defenestrating little scamps that are here because they have less than a 3.0 GPA,’ which, sadly, might’ve been true about me. 

Wrong claim. I meant, who would have under a 3.0 GPA?

Heh.

I’m not going to deny I was actually curious about who that guy is, and why he’s the off-brand version of a quiet kid. I kind of hated being in the same room as him. Why? Because I couldn’t even look anywhere without feeling uncomfortable. It was to the point I taught myself not to look anywhere where he might look at me. It was also to the point where I forgot what he looked like. I couldn’t believe he was going to be my roommate for the rest of the semester—or maybe even the whole school year.

“Are you just going to s̷̢̨̩͇̞̱̳̫̀̇͝it there and convince yourself I don’t exist?” the guy pointed out, back against the wall while he sat on his bed. I pulled out my phone, even if I wasn’t doing anything on it.

“Yes.”

“You called me a pancreas.”

“You’re going insane.”

I received a notification from the groupchat, opening my lockscreen. It was 118o8, who was trying to check up on me again. It read—

Knock knock knock!

My roommate looked up at me expectantly, signaling it was my door to answer to. I got up to open the door, not even being able to check what 118o8 sent yet. I twisted the doorknob open, some blonde guy who clearly hasn’t gone through a proper growth spurt holding a box of pizza out. His motorbike skidded across the asphalt, completely fallen over, his black pants stained with dust and dirt. 

He presented the box to me, catching his breath. “Mini pizza with . . . extra pepperoni? What in the ungodly—”

“Look, don’t even judge, I’m the customer.” I snatched the box from him, huffing. I wanted to ask what happened to him, but it was none of my business. 

He raised an eyebrow at me, unimpressed. “Okay . . . “

I shut the door, sitting back on the edge of my bed. I looked at my roommate who was looking back at me.

“What?”

“You ordered extra pepperoni.” he scowled. 

I nodded, opening the pizza box. “So?”

“With a mini pizza.”

“ . . . And?”

“What the F̷̘̗̖̩̖̬̼̻̬̕͜F̸̡̜̩̟͍͍̲͇̝̊͂̏͂́̋̈͐F̶̳̜̖͖̊͑́͑̕͘F̴̣̪̫̱͐̒̎̈́̑͋͊͝F̶̡̬̯͎̓̀̊͛̋̈́̀̑̌͘F̶̡̧̻̞̲͖̼̗̽̈́͛F̷̞̞̣͎̪͎̦̣̹̳̂̈́̏͑̇͋͑̚̚̕F̸̧̤͇̝̔̌̐̐̌̊̎͝F̸̪̂F̶̨̛̗̲̞̥̀̒̆͝͝F̸̢̠͔̮͕͙̄̒F̴̡̹͕͎̲̣̫͌͋̋̇̇̇͌͜͝F̶̲͌F̵̮̦͉̭̠̽F̷̧̼̼̞̥̟͌͝F̷̢͉̒̉̊̈́F̵̧̈́̐̓̄͝F̶̢͚͖̣͔̙̠̣̊̈̈̿͜F̶̘͖͔͙̪̞̮̻̂̄̚F̵̡̨́̂̈́̄̏F̷̻̺̜̔F̷̡̙̘͚̮̰́̀̍̕͝F̸̟̻̹̦̦̥̹͌̆͗͒F̴̧͙̼̲̑̓͂̈̋̑̓͘͠F̵̡̧͕̞̖̥̱̩̊̔̈̈́̅͜ͅF̶̢͔͔̿̿̀̃̈́̚F̶̲͉̦̗̤̥̿̍̃ͅF̶̞̈́́́͐͘F̷̧̰͚̪̞͒͂̈́̇̑̑̓F̵̱̟̫͍̰̰̮̎̄̿̋̐͌F̸̢̬̘̺̤̠͇͖̣͑́͆͠F̸̢̨̨̛͙̼̮̤̘̄́F̷̭̻͇̣̙̳̦̯̼̃̀̀̉̕̕ͅḞ̴̣̩̃̍͜͠F̶̢̙̲͖͈̞̑̀̃̾̈́͝F̸̼̤̮̍F̴̫͕̮̅͂̈̄͛̆̄͝F̶̢͓͇͍͈̰̄͆̓̓̒̄̇̚F̷̛͆̀́̎̂͊̽̃̚͜F̸̧͈͆F̴̛̘̭̣͙̬̻̏̓̎̑̍F̷̜̰̞͉̙͒̀̈͑̚F̷̧̨͍͕͂̍̒̋͝—” he coughed, a hand on his throat to stabalize himself. 

. . . Did my brain just stop functioning or is it my pizza? I blinked. “Uh… you good there?” I asked, slowly setting the box down.

“I’m fine. Must be the smell of your . . . extra pepperoni,” he defended, his voice sharp. “Choking me out.”

My pizza? Choking him out? “Really now?”

“Choking me out,” he concluded, nodding. He looked embarrassed from what his ‘choked out’ voice crack sounded like. 

I looked at him carefully. “I didn’t know pizza could manipulate vocal usage.”

He covered his mouth, turning his head away from my view. “Don’t mock me,” he tugged his hood on from the side, “my voice just . . . does that sometimes.”

I kind of felt bad for him. So, I dropped the topic, setting the pizza box on my lap again and opening my phone. 226w6 was trying to reach out to both me and 118o8, their simple text message isolated in the group chat saying;

Hey, guys. I’m still in the motel, my college is so far away. I feel so lonely right now. 118o8, are you still at home? And 007n7, how’s your dorm room going? 

Of course, I wanted to respond back. I texted back, Yeah, it’s fine. My roommate’s just a bit odd, but not too bad, I guess.

118o8 didn’t respond at all, but it’s not like I really wanted to bother her right now. I peered above my phone back at him, only to see him just sit there and stare at the floor. I looked back at the group-chat. No other responses. I shut off my phone, tossing it to the side of my desk. 

Guess I’d stick to eating pizza for the day.

–

5:34 AM

“And they told me I’d have to pay extra to get in,” I explained, leaning on the headboard. “Because of my ‘low GPA.’”

Even if he was clearly thinking about something else, he commented, “Interesting.” 

The second I looked away?

Poof.

Gone.

“Huh—hello?” I squinted at where he was just sitting, eyes darting around the room.

No sign of him.

I turned back to the bed, and there he was. Sitting cross-legged, hood pulled low over his face, like he’d never moved at all.

“ . . . Did you just . . . vanish?” I asked, my phone halfway into my hand with the urge to text the group-chat.

“Of course not,” he said casually. “I merely . . . shifted perspectives.”

I rubbed my eyes. “Right. Sure.”

I would’ve questioned him further if it wasn’t so awkward in the room. Instead, he brought out a laptop from a nearby drawer. That was the first time I saw someone struggle to open a laptop.

I watched him nimbly pick at the laptop like a cat, his eyes examining. 

He scoffed. “What is this.”

I blinked. Has he never used a laptop before? “It’s upside-down. Flip it over.”

He looked at me, dead serious. “That’s stupid.” 

“Well. Life will be stupid.”

I was going to spend an entire semester with a guy who didn’t even know how to open a laptop.

While he was on his laptop, I couldn’t help but notice something illuminating from underneath his bed frame. It glowed a bright white, even if the bottom of the bed was dark. His legs that dangled above the floor kicked the light beneath the bed further, rolling under until I couldn’t see it anymore.

I leaned forwards, unsure. “Are—are you keeping a–”

“What?” He impatiently waited for me to continue, standing up in defense.

“Are you keeping a disco ball under your bed?”

“A . . . disco ball?” He had this dumb-founded expression on his face, looking at me in such disbelief. 

I nodded. “No shame in it.”

The light from whatever was underneath his bed pulsated, him placing his foot right in front of his bed. “Do not mock what you cannot comprehend.”

“Okay sir, I won’t ‘mock what you cannot comprehend,’” I said in a purposely bad mocking tone. He wasn’t so fond about that. There was practically nothing to do in this hell-hole of a dorm room. Just stare at the peeling walls and depressing carpet floors. 

I opened my phone to check the group-chat. 118o8 and 226w6 were arguing with Pheedy and Dignity for no apparent reason. 

But you’re not even that successful as a hacker, Pheedy had teased, Dignity backing him up.

So sad you tried to hack ‘Work at a Pizza Place’ and failed, Dignity teased. I could see greg online in the corner.

Pheedy added, As if you could cause havoc. A main event event, less likely. 

I’m doing homework. You guys should shut up. iTrapped replied in the group chat. Ellernate, Caleb 244, Pheedy, and Dignity all typed “BAHAHAHA” or “IMAGINE LOL” followed by iTrapped, in all caps and I quote, “SHUT UP OR I’M GOING TO #########”

He got tagged, which was probably for the best because the lord above shall know what he was trying to type. I sent in the group-chat,

My roommate’s acting up again,

226w6 had sent back, Stop being so cryptic. Who’s your roommate? All of us need to know.

Not all of us, Pheedy argued back. 

I looked back up at my roommate. I still don't know who he is.

Sev, could you fix my admin panel? I got kicked out of several games. I thought you added a new script so it’s undetectable. 118o8 replied to the group-chat, If you don’t mind.

I tapped my chin, contemplating (about absolutely nothing.) I’ll have to find somewhere I can hide my c00lgui from my roommate. He at least looked pre-occupied with his laptop. Maybe once it gets darker. I don’t want to get reported right now.

Works with me, 118o8 commented last, then I closed my phone.

—

9:12 AM 

I love myself.

I don’t, but let’s pretend I do.

I pulled my backpack from underneath my bed, making sure my roommate would stay in his place. It was dark on his side—but I was guessing he was asleep. I took out my c00lgui from the main pocket, turning it on and watching it increase to its regular size. 

Even if the faint glow of the screen reflected against the walls, a bit obvious, I angled it towards me, typing in the admin login, holding my breath—which you can consider as a prayer—as if it would make the tapping noises quieter. The different buttons on the panel popped up, my hand hovering over the different script shortcuts.

All I needed was a few seconds. 

Just a few.

I could hear his steady breathing, which I took as a sign he was still sleeping. I didn’t dare to glance over, it didn’t feel safe to. I scrolled down the list of shortcuts before finding a connection to 118o8’s panel. I clicked on it, not able to find the command I was looking for.

Huh.

I went to the bar that allowed me to add more scripts, typing the first few letters; #include < . . .

A hand wrapped around my wrist, making me freeze in place.

My throat emptied dry, the screen dimming. 

I could feel someone breathing behind me, my hand frozen in place, my eyes locked onto the screen like if I looked behind me, the world would end—because it probably would.

“You’re typing in the wrong command,” a familiar voice spoke, looming over my shoulder.

T-the wrong command?

I saw the familiar purple hoodie sleeve, my heart beating too loud. He leaned forwards, inspecting my c00lgui. “No parentheses. That’s why the commands don’t run.”

My fingers flinched against the screen, but he didn’t budge. “How—why—are you going to—”

“I’m not reporting you.” he said, not an ounce of care into what I was doing, just guiding my hand to the parentheses, prompting me to add them to my command. “Just get it right next time.”

After that, he calmly walked back to his bed. I looked behind me, feeling his eyes still on my c00lgui. I thought of words. Words to say. 

“If–if you report me, I’m going to . . . uh . . . “ I looked under his bed, still seeing the faint emit light. “I’ll eat your disco ball,”

And from then on, he knew I was a hacker. And happens to be a better coder than me, which I don’t like.

My fate was pretty much in his hands.

And I don’t even know who he is.

–

8:23 AM

Forgetting what happened yesterday was hard. Nearly impossible. 

What reassured me the most was that we had curtains now installed—woohoo? I don’t know if that’s even something to celebrate about. Whatever. It gives me a decent amount of privacy.

Good news, I texted 118o8, a genius fixed your panel.

Which 118o8 was delighted to read, probably already working on a bigger hacking plan than what iTrapped and his friends are planning to do, which she never actually does. I never told her that the genius wasn’t me, even if it should be.

I needed to find out who this guy is.

I looked at my roommate who was on his laptop again. I’m guessing it’s because he doesn’t have anything better to do. Other than that, he seemed to be less tense around me. Like he was almost relieved I was a hacker, but I doubt he is one. 

I cleared my throat to grab his attention. “Speaking of which, what should I call you? I never got your . . . name.”

He looked at me in a way that made me feel stupid, answering, “I inquire, why?” 

“Because . . . I–forget it.” I waved my hand dismissively, going back on my phone. It seemed like no one was texting at this hour. 

I thought about how many days until college would start. What the people would be like. Would there be more hackers? Would they be as weird as my roommate?

“Noli.” he abruptly said randomly. 

I raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that Latin—”

“No, it’s what you can address me as.” he quipped. I nodded my head slowly. I wonder what depressing, non-existent parent would think of the name ‘Noli.’ Not that it was that bad of a name. Just sounded a bit weird. “You asked, whatsoever.”

Later that day, I couldn’t get the thought of last night in my head. Him being so calm about seeing me hack, like a teacher casually correcting a student’s essay instead of acting like he caught me red-handed. Or the way he just went back to bed like it was nothing. Normal roommates—normal Robloxians would probably freak out or scream. A singular hacker is so feared amongst Robloxia, it’s pretty crazy. Not like the moderation is any better—don’t get me started on that. It’s not like us hackers do anything that bad. 

But not him. Noli, or whatever he wants me to call him.

Honestly, who even picks a name like that? A cult-looking Latin word that sounded edgy? I doubt it even originates from Latin. Whoever he came from just found four words in the alphabet they thought looked cool together and thought ‘Noli.’ 

And what unsettled me the most was that he knew more than me. Or, he seemed to. I’m actually such a good hacker. Shut up if you think otherwise.

Half an hour of pure thoughts passed, the little gremlins and 226w6 as well as 118o8 online. Ellernate and iTrapped were already arguing about some homework problem, Caleb244 apparently on ‘academic probation,’ and tubers93 complaining once how he might ‘get arrested.’ 

It’s basic algebra, Ellernate had retorted, so easy.

Okay, so why don’t you try finishing the problem yourself? iTrapped sent. 

I typed, I found out who my roommate is, 

Cool. I don’t care. Caleb244 replied. 

I don’t think anyone does, Pheedy added before going offline again.

226w6 at least said, Who is it?

Noli. 

Everyone who was previously offline got online instantly, all spamming messages at once. I scratched the back of my neck, waiting for them to calm down. I couldn’t even read half of the sent messages, all of them sending in a blur. 

The last message was sent by greg, who had been quiet for some time now. Maybe my heart stopped and I'd go into cardiac arrest. Maybe I wasn’t real. Maybe both.

That’s a cult leader.

Not your typical college roommate.

Chapter Text

What scares you more than yourself?

Maybe it’s the parts of yourself you can’t control.

My hands trembled, having nowhere to rest but the cold floor of my house, or that’s where I ended up after running away, at least. I finally looked above my knees, staring down at the shattered glass of the frame. I huddled closer to the corner, not wanting to look at anything.

Finally, my eyes trailed to the photo of me and—and someone I don’t recognize anymore. Sometimes I feel guilty of even holding onto that one photo. Why would I do this to myself?

Is everyone gone?

I reluctantly reached out amidst the pool of reflective shattered glass, picking up the frame by the corner. Excess glass fell out of the frame, the photo crinkled up. I threw it on the desk, not wanting to even interact with it again. 

I really don’t know him anymore.

And that’s the only thing I’ve ever been confident about.

I abandoned the glass shards on the wooden floor, almost pacing around my room until I decided to go outside. Hopefully I wouldn’t see anyone I recognized. I knelt where the grass was, but it was as if I could see his shadow next to me. I looked away, deciding to just walk. I don’t know where I would be walking, but I was praying it would help. With a sigh, I stood up with a stretch, walking towards the small trail, underneath the canopy of trees that made a forest. 

It’s painful to have this much guilt inside your heart. 

I kept walking, hands in my pockets. I could probably walk until I faint. Push myself to my own limits, if I have any. 

But hidden somewhere in the forest was a small susurrus, like someone following. Was it my head again? Like where everything usually comes from? 

“You look repentant.”

I yelped, falling to my side and hitting my arm on the floor. I turned to see that one cultist—no other than Two Time themselves. “U-uh, I was—”

“I recognize that look. Too much like me, are you now?” they squinted, focusing on me like they were examining me. I covered half of my face with my hands, not wanting to look them in the eyes.

“I–I’m sorry . . . ?” I weakly stuttered out, my arm stinging with pain. I really wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone right now. “I’ll get—I’ll get going now, Two Ti—”

“You should tell me about it.”

Me? Tell the psychopathic Two Time? That would never happen—I barely even know them. “T-thanks, Two Time. But I-I’m fine!” 

Two Time cocked their head to the side, looking at me in dubiety. “How sure are you?”

I felt the pulling need to be honest, but at the same time—cultist. Psychopath, maniac. “I’m sure.”

“Come on.” they said, reaching out a hand to support me up. “I request a stroll or whatnot.”

“A stroll.” I repeated, and they waited for a response. A stroll. A stroll. Hey, guess what, Noob? You can do that, right? Trust this person? I snapped out of my thoughts and looked back at them.  I took their hand, letting them help me up. “I– . . . s-sure.”

Past the shade of the looming trees was the bright sun, shining against the vast lake. Two Time seemed to be watching everything I did. I tried to act perfect, or what they might find perfect.

“You are tense. Want to explain why?” Two Time stopped in front of me, their dark eyes carrying what could easily be seen as no emotion.

I shook my head. “I’m . . .  oka-okay.” 

They turned around, expecting me to follow as always. I nervously shuffled my feet, not liking how peacefully quiet it was. Deeper into the forest was a small glade, sunlight reaching to the grass. They seemed to be focused on one area, almost rushing towards it before kneeling down.

But they didn’t do anything.

I took a step forward, sitting next to them, which I immediately regretted after seeing the look they gave. Two Time had this intense stare that I could never tell if it was dismay or simply just regular maniacal behavior.

They fiddled with the grass, ripping it from the ground and waiting for something to happen. Nothing did.

“This place,” they started with, looking up at the surrounding trees, “it used to be where me and my—” They stopped, taking a deep breath. “Someone dear to me used to hang out.”

Great. Now I feel more guilty. Feeling pitiful—for Two Time? Two Time. 

The answer was always yes.

“I had someone special to me too.” I softly muttered, bringing my knees closer to my chest, unsure of why they brought me here. 

“I’m not over it sometimes.”

I looked at them, feeling a sense of comfort. “Me too.”

They looked at me, scratching their arm. “You too, you say?”

I felt a smile overcome my face. “M- . . . Me too.”

They ran their fingers through the grass before picking up what looked like a vibrant purple flower, each petal shaped beautifully. They took my chin between their fingers to place it in my hair, then quickly turned their back at me.

Maybe there is more to Two Time than just being a psychopathic cultist.

I felt the flower that was tucked in my ear, the smell sweet. But they were faced away still for some reason, refusing to face back at me.

I chose not to push them. I looked at the same area Two Time found those flowers in, searching for more.

If I told them more about who was important to me, what would happen? Would it make me closer to them or would I lose their trust quicker?

I picked the same flowers that they put on my ear, precisely placing each one in their hair. They probably felt my hands on their hair, alarmed at first.

“W-what’s that?” they whispered, freezing. I pulled my hands away, some of those same purple flowers in their hair now.

I immediately apologized, pulling my hands away. “I-I’m sorry, I just th-thought the—the flowers would—”

“I don’t mind.” they calmly commented, regaining their composure. I silenced myself, taking the moment of serenity to thread more flowers into their hair.

They leaned back a bit, giving me more access to their hair. But not their face—I was too scared to look at them.

“M-my friend. Someone special to me too.” I started, trying to lower my voice so I wouldn’t sound too vulnerable. “He was . . . nice. Temperamental sometimes. But he was . . . “

Two Time fidgeted with their hands, and I could tell they were still paying attention. “I sometimes wish I could save the past. But fate forces us to savor the past rather than save.”

“That’s not—”

“Not human nature.”

“And you’re human?”

“Am I?” Two Time looked at their own hands, turning towards me again. “Do you look at me and think I’m human?”

I relaxed my shoulders, looking at him. “I look at you and think you’re . . . “

Wind swirled past, the tree leaves swaying gently. I wanted to be honest, but not brutally honest. Never brutally honest. I looked at how their hair shone in the light. I looked at how they had little to no light in their eyes.

“Different.”

They seemed to smile—hopefully a positive one. Two Time crossed their arms, breathing in and out slowly. I realized how they haven’t mentioned the Spawn once, unlike usual. I hope they never would.

“A-and you must t-think I’m? . . . “ I scratched the back of my neck, smiling awkwardly. Their gaze softened.

“Perhaps I don’t know you yet.”

I listened to everything around us. But it was quiet now. Peaceful now.

“I messed up with–with the person I-I . . . loved.” I admitted, silently wanting some sort of reassurance. They looked at the flower in my hair then back at me.

“You did not.” Two Time brought their hand up to the top of my head where my hair was, like they were looking for something that wasn’t there. “I did.”

Two Time looked back at me.

“Ponder the question. If the past is the past as said, why are people so reflective about it?” I didn’t want to ponder the question. But for some reason the sudden gleam in their eyes made me smile more, then giggle. They looked at me, confused. “What?”

The smile went from a giggle to laughing. What was I laughing about, exactly? I just felt happy in that moment. Something I haven’t felt in so long. They furrowed their eyebrows, reaching out a hand to my wrist. “What—”

I held their face in place and leaned in to kiss them, not sure what came into me that moment, Their grip on my wrist loosened, and I realized what I just did.

My eyes widened, quickly pushing them away from me. “I-I’m s-sorry! I—I don’t know what I’m doing, I-I’m sorry—!”

I felt like running away. I stood up quickly, wanting to get out of there before they might kill me or something.

Instead, Two Time called out for me.

“Please—don’t,”

I stopped, feeling them tug on my finger. I looked down to where they were sitting.

“I d-didn’t mean to, I swear—”

Two Time pulled me back to sit on the grass, having those stupid pleading, almost begging eyes.

“ . . . I’ll let you.” I smiled, allowing them to land their lips on mine. 

There was nothing else I wanted to do than kiss them back.

Why though?

Because it felt right.

And that was the second thing I’ve ever been confident in.

They leaned in more, my back flat against the ground. One of their hands was on the side of my face, the other one covering my stomach like they were afraid of something.

I had both of my arms looped around their neck, kissing them back with no hesitation. 

Two Time pulled away to catch their breath, falling down on the grass next to me. They started to laugh, but it wasn’t maniacally, putting their hands over their face.

Was that the first time I heard them laugh without sounding crazy?

Two Time pulled me in close to them, their nose almost touching mine. They seemed to be memorizing my face or something.

Without warning, they placed a hand on my jaw and kissed me one more time. I got to actually feel what was happening this time, all of the adrenaline from earlier fading.

They were soft.

Maybe even gentle.

That was all I could comment on what they were like.

Once we broke apart again, instead of huddling to myself like usual, I got closer to them, wanting to only be closer to them.

Two Time.

Cultist.

Maniac.

Psychopath.

I giggled.

My psychopath now.