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Summary
Cross’ room, freshly cleaned, with the blinds drawn and a multitude of candles placed around the few available surfaces. They provided nothing but a fire hazard that Nightmare would’ve berated him for, but if he knew that, Cross didn’t care.
Killer wasn’t stupid, he knew it was the other trying to set up a mood, but the sentiment was lost on someone like him. Still, it was a little endearing, maybe, and Killer wasn’t going to be a dick and point it out.
