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TW: Possessiveness, jealousy, threats of murder, razor blades

Synopsis: An unexpected guest comes over, causing chaos to ensue.

Word count: 2400


The sensation of soap under your fingernails and warm water running down your forearms was one of comfort that you openly welcomed. You couldn't remember the last time you took a bath, and you could hardly count this bathing of your 'roomate' as a bath of your own. But with your shirt soaked and your forehead damp, you finally had what could be mildly considered a clean version of Leo.

He begrudgingly sat on the cool tile floor, allowing you to ruffle his hair with a bath towel (which was really a poor attempt to manage the mess of loose, lengthy curls on his scalp.) He needed a haircut for sure, but you couldn't muster up the courage to put the scissors to his head.

Getting him out of the house to an haircut appointment would never happen. To say he was agoraphobic was a complete understatement-- he abhorred the outside world. You sometimes think about what would've happened If you hadn't taken pity on him, allowing him to continue to find refuge in your tiny home. Or, was it perhaps he was allowing you? Until, he found that you wouldn't suffice as a worthy roomate any longer, disposing of you like he could've done to whoever originally owned this home. The mystery surrounding his origin that he seemed to completely ignore answering on still made you... cautious.

He still felt like an extension of the house; the smell of its creaky, rotting walls, still always clinging to him-- even now, after you scrubbed him down from head to toe twice.

You grunted as you roughly tugged his head back and forth to rub the remaining water away. Unfortunately, that left you with a frizzy Leo with more hair spun out of control than you knew what to do with.

He blindly searched for the towel behind him without turning his head, yanking it away when he felt it in his fingers.

"Do it myself..." he mumbled croakily, like a rusted music box.

"Alright." You said, slightly offended. You held your hands in front of you dramatically, watching Leo wrap himself with the towel.

He looked so frail like this, on the bathroom floor with his knees pulled up to his chest. His scrawny frame hardly gave him any weight either, even if he was above six foot. You wondered if he really could hurt you, if-- he ever had the urge, to stab you with the rusty razor blade you watched him grip after he came out of the walls once company left.

How long would it be? Until he snapped, until one argument was just too much, and you were no longer his favorite person in the world. Tonight was one of those nights, where you imagined yourself bleeding out on the floor, Leo standing above you with that blade, or perhaps a knife from the kitchen-- the one you noticed had gone missing a few days prior.

Your fear wasn't out of place despite how many times you tried to rationalize how stupid it was.

Several hours earlier, before Leo was as clean as he was now, you had a guest over.

It was an old university friend, a guy you met in your first year during some odd end prerequisite or math class-- You couldn't remember. But it didn't matter, at least not to Leo.

The moment the "intruder" sat down, you heard Leo's presence shift behind him. You could see his black eyes peering in and out of the holes in the dining room, sounds of his sporadic shuffling echoing throughout the house. You cringed everytime your friend looked up and around himself in confusion, curious of the noise.

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