Chapter Text
So if you were to ask me why I was still awake at the ungodly hour of 4 am, then I would say because I was studying. When in reality I was looking at pictures of hot guys. That's probably the only reason I noticed the serial killer sitting on my window ledge. Now don't get me wrong, I was pretty terrified, but it's not like I really cared about living either, so I opened the window.
"Were you planning on breaking in and killing me?" I said tiredly, yawning despite the strange, dark haired man in front of me. He blinked up at me in surprise. His eyes were oddly colored, a beautiful dark shade of violet. They glowed in the dim light, like some type of animal's perhaps.
"Um, maybe?" The stranger said, he still looked a bit surprised. His voice was deeper than mine and his hair appeared to be a little long, almost like he had a mullet. Almost.
"Okay, well are you gonna come in then?" I said, walking back over to my bed and laying down. He crawled through the window, and walked over slowly. His footsteps were strangely silent, the man looking like he had glided over the few steps instead of walking them. I watched him for what felt like a few minutes. He seemed really attractive, even if I couldn't see anything under the shirt and jacket he was wearing. He had a pretty face, and I liked his dark, shaggy hair. He was pale, which I liked. He seemed pretty physically fit from what his thighs showed under his tight-ass skinny jeans, what the hell. When I was done not-checking-him-out I looked back at his face, he stood there awkwardly, staring at me with those violet eyes of his. I was starting to feel a little awkward about it.
I waved at him. He frowned back.
"What's your name?" I questioned him, my voice slightly muffled by the arm I had thrown over my face. I peeked out from below it to find his eyes now slightly narrowed at me.
"Why?" He answered back, tilting his head head to the left slightly. I sighed.
"Okay well you're really hot, so if you're gonna murder me, could I like, see you shirtless first."
The request seemed to shock him, which I thought was absurd, because I was pretty sure he should be thanking me for such a simple request before he murdered me. He stayed silent, and I wanted to see what he really looked like, so I got up and turned on the light. Now it was my turn to be shocked, because he was fucking blushing. Which I thought was adorable, but that's besides the point.
"Aren't murderers supposed to be like stone cold and icy and basically everything that is stated on men's body wash and shampoo. How are you blushing right now dude." I said, smiling a little despite the situation. This only made him blush more.
"Are you even gonna kill me anymore." I prodded, trying to get him to say something, or at least give me something other than a short answer.
"Why aren't you afraid?" He said instead of giving me an answer.
"Of what? Death, or you?"
"Both."
I looked at him, wondering what the motive behind such a question was if he was planning on killing me.
"Because I hate how things are. I just don't care anymore. Why did you want to know?" I said, glancing at the clock. Thank whatever holy being had decided to make the man appear on a Friday night, or else I would be screwed.
"Then, no. I'm not going to kill you anymore." The man said, beginning to do his glide-walk over to the window again. I panicked, realizing I had enjoyed the company and didn't want him to go yet.
"Wait-uh, are you planning on stopping by again?" I must've been a little obvious, because he even chuckled a little bit.
"Maybe. I don't know yet." He said, my face falling a bit. I waved a little goodbye, laying back down on my bed and waited for him to leave.
"My name is Keith, by the way."
The name took me by surprise. I smiled.
...
The next day I woke up pretty late, beginning to think the encounter last night had been a dream, until I saw a little blade emblazoned with a strange purple mark sitting on my desk next to the window.
"He- Keith must have left it here last night." I whispered to myself, hoping that this meant that he would be coming back sometime soon. I lifted myself out of the bed, almost running across the room to where the knife was, picking it up and getting a closer look at it. It was a fine blade, polished and sharper than a sharks tooth. The hilt clean and dark. It was very... pretty. The purple symbol on the blade was nearly the same color as Keith's eyes, but not quite. I liked it.
I ran it across the tip of my finger, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough where I felt a little sting. I hadn't cut in a while, and I wasn't tempted, but it made me dread having to hide the marks the next time I did it, and the feeling of shame afterwards. I hated it. So being funny and stupid and making too many jokes actually became a way for me to cope with things. It was the stupidest thing, which is ironic. I decided that I would just rest today, especially since I had woken up so late. It was already two in the evening.
...
That night I stayed up late again, waiting to see if Keith would come back. I glanced at the window every now and then too, wondering if I'd see his violet eyes looking back. I stayed like that for hours, but human bodies tire. I fell asleep. He never came.
But I didn't remember my window being open when I had fallen asleep that night. Or Keith's knife staring at me from my bedside table when I woke up
...
Nothing like that happened again the next night, or the next. Keith hadn't shown up since then. There had been a murder on the local news. I wondered if Keith had found a more interesting and less pathetic victim. I still clutched the knife in my right hand. Nothing happened that night either.
...
It had been a week since Keith had shown up. I was seriously bummed out about it, even though I knew nothing about him. Even my mother had started to notice, trying to get something out of me whenever I gathered the motivation to go downstairs while she wasn't at work. I was attention starved. I had wanted someone to be here with me. My mom was always at work, which left me alone. Keith had been the only interesting thing in my life other than her stories. The knife had been left on my bed when I had started to give up hope. I had been considering cutting again, always shying away from it because I knew I shouldn't do it. It was late. Around one o'clock in the morning. My mom wouldn't be back from a business trip for another two days.
So I picked up the knife. I forgot how scary it was, the pull to feel something else. The resistance you knew you should take against the knife floating in your hand towards your wrist, or your leg. The sting of the blade breaking skin. I barely registered the knocking against my window until it turned more violent, a drop of blood on the carpet, two. And then a hiss as the window opened and the knife was being taken away from me. I knew who it was, the silent, too-fast walking, the pale skin. I wouldn't look up at him.
"Why?" He asked gently, tucking the knife into something on his belt. Probably a sheath. I didn't bother wondering how he had unlocked the window again.
"Where were you?" I mumbled instead of answering, not wanting to talk about it. I didn't look at him.
"I tried to come back for it. I did. I came back the first night, but you were holding it in your hand. I didn't want to take it away from you, but I also didn't want you to hurt yourself." Keith said, eyeing the wound. He touched my arm lightly. He chuckled. That was strange.
"So you moved it to the bedside table. I noticed. You left the window open too. I was hoping you'd come back again after that."
"Yeah. I'm sorry. Why won't you look at me? You seemed pretty content doing that last time." Keith said, smirking. He was trying to get me to look at him. I looked. He was smiling up at me. I couldn't help the corner of my mouth that twitched upwards and stayed there.
"There we go." Keith said, still smiling softly. "Do you have a first aid kit?"
"Bathroom." I said, walking over to my bed when he walked over to the bathroom. I was laying down on it when he came back.
"Wrist out."
Keith started cleaning it, making his moves more gentle whenever I flinched or hissed. When he was done cleaning and bandaging it he put next to me softly and looked at me. I looked back.
"I'm sorry. I should've come back sooner." Keith said, moving towards the bed and making eye contact with me. Asking if it was okay. I nodded and he sat down on the edge of it.
"It's not your fault. Being a serial killer is hard work." I said jokingly. Keith turned his head towards me with a small smile.
"Sure is."
We looked at each other for a little bit, both of us smiling softly.
"You should get some sleep." Keith said, getting up and walking towards the open window. I panicked again.
"Wait-Keith." I said sitting up and reaching my arm out weakly. He turned toward me and did that head tilt thing of his.
"Yeah?"
"Could you... stay? You don't have to be near me or on the bed, but my mom won't be home for the next two days and I don't wanna be alone." I said quickly. My words rushed. But Keith smiled.
"Yeah." He said again, this time quieter. He walked over the bed and climbed onto it. Sitting against the wall the bed was against, and stretched out his legs. He looked cute like that. I stared at him as he closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall.
"Go to sleep, Lance." Keith said, laughing softly. I blushed red, embarrassed at being caught, but I was smiling as I drifted off into a deep sleep.