Chapter Text
ENDING 04 - BLISSFUL LOVE LIFE.
Screams are silent in the rain. Unheard and mistaken. It’s a cold death. Lying on the wet concrete, drenched in a mixture of rainwater and blood. However, it’s a peaceful final moment. At least, that’s what you think. The scent of petrichor permeates the wet air, bringing a sense of tranquility to whirl over you. The drums of the rain, droplets thundering against the solid ground and the threats of the thunder above were your accomplice. A loyal servant to your whims, sheltering the crime you commit to those nosy witnesses. The bright crimson was everywhere but soon would be nowhere. The rain will cover up the mess, as it often does for anything spilled.
Humans are not supposed to be chopped up in this manner. Which is why it’s difficult to go through the meat, issue, and bone. However, you found a way to slice your sharp blade through the muscle like a cake fresh out of the oven. A learned skill through time. Countless errors and failures but it had become second nature. After all, a baby predator doesn’t catch its first prey with milk canines. They practice before they are established hunters. It’s similar to those humans who choose to betray humanity. Like you. The sound of crime, the squelch of flesh being torn, and the sickening crack of bone being severed were white noise in your head of restless thoughts. Only audible to you since you stood within the distance. The thunder that rumbled beyond the heavy blanketed clouds covered up the wails of sin.
Your chest heaves with a sigh that leaves your nose. Taking the black plastic bag hidden in the pockets of your raincoat, you stuffed the goods into it and tied the flimsy plastic tightly into a knot. You place the bag down to the side and uncurl from your hunched position on the wet ground. Your crimson-stained hands grasped the ankle of the deceased and you tugged harshly. A strained grunt escapes from your throat as your muscles protest but you still pull, despite the dead weight of the body. It took more effort than you would like, however, this was a fault that you needed to reap the consequences. Going after targets far larger your size comes at a strenuous price, unfortunately.
The rose snail left a bright trail on the gravel. The rain will wash it away so you won’t worried about it. Soon the rough gravel began to smooth out and pure white payment replaced the rocky path. Droplets stopped hammering on your raincoat as you ducked underneath a roof while hauling the rose snail with you. Beads of sweat formed at your brow, blending with the orbs of rainwater that dotted your face. You let go of the ankles and the legs drop with a wet thump on the unnaturally white ground. Tilting your head up, you took a moment to take in the familiar ghastly surroundings. The Ghost Apartment. It’s idiotic to be back here again after what happened last time.
However, killing is an addiction that has no rehabilitation. Not without giving up your freedom at the price.
The Ghost Apartment is very accepting as well. Whatever you drop into it, it will be taken. You knew the real reason why and sometimes you feed into his delusions for being such a sweetheart in helping you clean up. This was much easier than going to prison to forgo murder altogether. It’s convenient. However, you were in no position to play around any longer. A puppy is waiting for you to get home and he gets hangry when you’re late even for a minute. High-maintenance puppies take a lot of work and attention.
You shouldn’t keep yours waiting any longer.
**🩸**
It doesn’t matter how quietly you enter the apartment, he always hears you and is already waiting for you at the entrance. “Home! Home! You!” Mr. Crawling chirps out, his wide smile stretching up to his cheeks as he scoots towards you. He was already on you before the door properly closed. Mr. Crawling wraps his long arms around your knees and he places his left cheek on your lower abdomen while facing you, “Home! Home!” He continues to say, clearly happy that you’re home after a long day of being out.
You heave a sigh and place your free hand on his head, sinking your stained fingers into his long black hair and lightly scratching his head with your blood-caked fingernails, “Home.” You reply, calmly observing how Mr. Crawling immediately leans into your touch. His devotion borders on obsession…or rather, worship. You meet another creature from the other world who is obsessed with you and he behaves differently than Mr. Crawling. Your lover worships you and he respects any decision that you make, even if it excludes him. Your heart may be rotten and infested with maggots but still, you didn’t have it in you to leave him behind in the other world. Clearly, despite the decay, your heart still bumps some blood and it’s all for this man who rested his head on you.
“Hungry? You?” You ask him, already knowing the answer. You lifted your right hand and shook the plastic black bag you held.
Mr. Crawling lets out a little noise, similar to a high-pitched hum, “Hungry!” He replies, moving his head off your pelvis. You gave him a small nod. With the tip line of your right rain boot, you stepped on the sole of the other one, pulling your socked foot out from it. Your boots were muddy with wet dirt and a small trance of blood so bringing them further than the foyer is a big no-no. Mr. Crawling has a habit of licking anything that has blood in it off the ground so you had to be careful.
You moved from the foyer and stepped further into your cozy home. There was an unfinished 10,000 puzzle on the coffee table and a few random picture books left on the ground. Without you home, Mr. Crawling doesn’t have much to do. He’s more than content waiting for you to come back but you felt bad that he had nothing to entertain himself with during your absence. So for the past few weeks of living together, you have been experimenting. You have been finding some activities for Mr. Crawling to do while you are gone. You found out that he enjoys puzzles and it keeps him distracted. Any puzzle game, really. Rubik's Cubes and brain teasers. You never liked these sorts of activities—they gave you a headache but if he liked them, you had no problem buying every single one you come across.
Mr. Crawling also likes to learn about things about your world but he’s more of a visual learner (Might be because he’s yet to understand your language outside of one-letter words) so you got him plenty of books with pictures inside. You try to leave the TV on for him as well but if an animal documentary is not playing on the screen, he’ll unplug it.
Mr. Crawling is high maintenance and has picky tastes, clearly.
Placing the plastic bag on the kitchen counter, you fumbled with the knot for a few seconds before you ultimately decided to tear the flimsy material open. You dug your hand inside and pulled out the severed forearm. Mr. Crawling eager to help in any way possible opens a drawer on the side of the counter and rummages inside for the cutting board. Finally, he plucks out the familiar wooden cutting board and places it on the counter. Giving him a small smile, you place the forearm down and grabbed a knife from the holder, holding the blade over the fingers of the hand.
Mr. Crawling moves onto his knees and sits back on his heels while peeking over the counter. He scoots a little closer to you, watching silently as you cut off the pieces he doesn’t like. His nose twitches, the strong particles of blood floating into his senses. His mouth watered and his stomach clenched in hunger but he was patient. He waited until his meal was properly done. However, there was another scent that he picked up among the strong metallic aroma of his dinner. It smelled like blood but it was different somehow. It was coming from you. Mr. Crawling looked at you. Though it didn’t show on his face, confusion took hold of him. Perhaps it was the dried remnants from your raincoat.
You plated the remains of the forearm in a bowl and you brought it towards the living room. Mr. Crawling liked his dinner raw, you were irked by it at first but if that’s his preference then you weren’t going to fight it. Hell, you aren’t the one eating it. “Consume,” You tell him, pointing to the bowl as you place it on an empty spot on the coffee table. Mr. Crawling creeps from the kitchen and into the living area. When he shuffles past you, he gets that scent again and it distracts him enough that he pauses slightly from his mission to devour his food like he has never eaten before. It’s definitely blood, yet the metallic scent is much stronger than it should be. Mr. Crawling has a really good sense of smell, he can tell that blood is still oozing. From where is the real question that needs to be solved.
“Me bath, you consume,” You tell Mr. Crawling, your fingers already unbuttoning the first button of your raincoat. Stepping away from the living room and going down the hall, you left him to his devices so you could clean yourself up for bed. You have a feeling it’s gonna be a knock-out night. You felt utterly exhausted and drained of all energy. Hopefully, Mr. Crawling won’t be too needy for attention tonight.
**🩸**
The apartment was comfortably silent. The living room was illuminated by a single candle by the TV, creating a warm cozy atmosphere over the area. Mr. Crawling was hunched over the coffee table, his empty and lick-cleaned bowl sat neatly on the ground next to him. With careful and gentle precision, he fiddled with the cardboard puzzle pieces. They were already quite small but whenever he held them between his fingers, they drastically dwarfed. However, like all the tiny objects he encounters, he is gentle with them. The puzzle pieces were made from such fragile material and he feared that if he treated them carelessly they would tear. Mr. Crawling didn’t want that.
Laid out on the table in front of him, the puzzle was almost complete. There was just one more piece to be added. Mr. Crawling held the last piece between his index and middle finger and he gently placed it into the one empty spot in the dead center. Finally, the image of the puzzle came to life as it was completed. It was some kind of landscape that Mr. Crawling didn’t know. But it was pretty. Raising his head, he looks around the living room to spot Y/n so he can show her his finished puzzle. It was now that he realized that it was dark outside.
”They…rest,” Mr. Crawling mumbles to himself, remembering that most humans go to rest when it is dark outside. A shame, he has the most energy during these hours. He grabs his empty bowl and shuffles towards the kitchen to place it in the sink. Sitting up on his knees, Mr. Crawling grasps the latch of the faucet and pushes it outward, making the water run into the bowl. He tries to mimic what he has seen Y/n do, taking the damped squishy object and the bottle of the bubbly liquid to clumsily fumble with the bowl. Once it was a mess of foaming bubbles, Mr. Crawling dipped the dish under the water and placed it - still dripping wet - onto the counter next to the sink. His smile grew wider, feeling proud for successfully cleaning up for himself. His last attempts to help out ended up in Y/n having to clean up more.
Turning off the water, Mr. Crawling shuffles to the hall and makes a straight bead line towards the room at the far end. He gently pushes open the cracked door and pokes his head inside, the faint warm lighting from the candle in the living room drifts faintly into the dark bedroom. Mr. Crawling spots Y/n’s unmoving body sprawled on the bed and he happily hums, pushing the creaky door more as he crawls inside. He reaches the edge of the queen-sized bed and just as he is about to slither underneath the covers and attach himself to Y/n like a barnacle, the overhead ceiling fan spins and sends him a whiff of that same strong metallic scent.
Mr. Crawling pauses, his smile dropping slightly. He tilted his head to the side in confusion and he lifted his chin, his nose wiggling as he sniffed the air. It’s…more pungent than before? This is the smell of blood, no doubt it was but Y/n was clean. She wasn’t wearing the bloody raincoat anymore and the faint chemical fragrance of her shampoo mixing in with the metallic confirms that she bathed.
So, why did she still smell like blood?
Fresh blood, as a matter of fact. Mr. Crawling can sense that it was oozing blood. It’s seeping. Fresh.
…
…
…
Was she wounded?
Panic crawls up Mr. Crawling’s throat. Y/n is no stranger to hiding her injuries from him. She has done it before so he wouldn’t worry. He always figures it out because of his high senses so she can't hide this sort of thing from him. He had hoped that she wouldn’t hide her injuries from him anymore. Looks like she’s a person of habit. Overrun with worry and concern, Mr. Crawling sits up on his knees and looms over the bed where you lay. You weren’t even properly covered by the blanket, it’s just carelessly tossed over you. Humans are ridiculously fragile creatures, you might get ill again from being out in the rain all day and not covering up well when it’s cold out.
The last time you got sick, Mr. Crawling got a tummy ache from constant worry.
Leaning down, Mr. Crawling presses his nose onto your arm. He begins to sniff, pinpointing where the source of the smell is coming from. He slowly trails down your forearm, moving to your sides and sliding over your stomach. He was careful not to blow air directly on your skin, he didn’t want to disturb your slumber. You told him many times that humans need their rest and he wasn't going to get in the way of that. Mr. Crawling thoroughly tracks the metallic scent further down your body and finally, he pauses when his bloodhound nose picks up the heavy remnants around your groin area. It’s strongest there. Even through the blanket, the unique and interesting scent was overwhelmingly pungent.
A small worried sound whines from Mr. Crawling’s throat when he completes his search. He lifts his head off you and sits back on his heels as he figures out what to do from here. He didn’t want to uncover you and further investigate. Despite being from the other world, Mr. Crawling wasn’t entirely clueless about what was appropriate or not. He's aware that humans are particularly caring about their modesty. Yet, you’re bleeding from there. Quite a lot, actually. What if…you bleed out and he’s all alone again? Mr. Crawling’s bottom lips waver a little at the thought. A dull ache was beginning to form in the back of his throat from holding back tears. He didn’t want to invade your space but he also didn’t want you to….die. He sniffles and turns his head to look at your peaceful expression as you sleep. He can wake you, however, he has a feeling that you might brush off the subject like you always do. He wishes that you were more gentle and looked after your health more.
Were all humans this neglectful of themselves?
You always fret over Mr. Crawling and make sure he is comfortable. You never sought any of the same treatment back and you even discouraged it. You never allowed yourself to be coddled and spoiled, control is where you thrive in the element. Being vulnerable is out of the question, even if it comes from your lover. The faint ticking of the clock sitting on your nightstand was the only sound in the quiet bedroom. It was the only noise barrier that broke through his fleeting and rushing thoughts. Mr. Crawling stood kneeled at the edge of the bed, wracking his brain for any more possible methods to go about this. But all thoughts came back to the same single solution.
He needed to clean your wound himself.
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