Chapter Text
- report says a fourth body has been found in the outskirts of Sacramento, officially making this case a federal investigation. The FBI should soon be releasing a statement addressing the situation after regrouping with the town’s police force. An inside source states -
The words of the reporter fades as your focus switches from the radio to the state of your apartment. It had been a tough week, juggling between your job and the self assigned classes, your small place being a perfect reflection of your mind. You couldn’t figure out why, but keeping your space organized and tidy had always been extraordinarily hard. It wasn’t laziness, as the action of not cleaning up translated more into a physical freeze than not caring at all. If it were that simple, guilt wouldn’t be gnawing at your insides every time you did anything else than improving the state of your living room.
With a sigh, your hand reached for a shirt in the basket full of clean clothes not yet folded and pulled out a simple white tee. You quickly slipped on your most worn pair of black jeans and a pastel cardigan before grabbing your bag and making your way to the university.
Waking up early had never been your favorite thing, preferring to lay in bed and wake slowly rather than through the blaring alarm of your phone.
When the job offer of professor’s assistant popped up on your laptop’s screen though, you’d immediately applied for it despite the early mornings. The pay barely managed to cover the rent of your crappy apartment or your groceries throughout the month, but your savings made it work.
The place your landlord called an apartment might not have won any awards for meeting regulations but it was close to campus, which was something you never took for granted. Not having to buy a car or pay for assurance and gas was a luxury, even though sidewalks were more than dangerous and not accommodating.
Barely 3 months into a somewhat satisfying routine, your feet guided you through the small streets taking you to the linguistics building of the campus. You climbed the 4 flights of stairs to the old establishment before pulling out your keys and opening the door to the professor’s office. It had become an odd sort of feeling, being the first one to enter every morning. It had felt like this place was yours, and that you were simply settling at your desk as a respected professor.
The architecture of the building was beautiful, as literature facilities usually were in universities. Despite the clutter of books and papers, two big arched windows opened the room to the already traffic of students outside, the campus slowly waking up and falling into its usual routine. As fall moved into winter, you were saddened to find out Sacramento’s winter didn’t cover its ground with pure white snow but instead mud from heavy rain.
Warm cup of tea in hand, you sat at the window sill, watching the bodies outside making their way to their destination. Some were in a rush, others took their time walking and chatting with their friends. Some looked troubled or stressed, others smiled and laughed with a sparkle in their eyes you hadn’t seen in yours for so long. That forgotten feeling of belonging to a community, of being part of a group and bonding through shared interests had slowly torn a hole through your chest, yearning to be filled again.
Your head whipped to the front door as it opened, revealing professor Harrison balancing a large stack of papers on one hand while the other still held the door handle. You rushed to his side, grabbing hold of the pile and placing it in your own little desk in a corner of the room.
"Good morning professor!" you greeted cheerfully.
The man grunted, closed the door shut and went to sit at his desk, motioning for you to bring him a cup of coffee as he did every morning. No greetings or smiles ever crossed his lips, but the lack of warmth never erased that spark in you that’s kept you afloat all these years.
"As I’m sure you know, you have a couple classes this morning and I squeezed in a lunch with your wife at her favorite restaurant at 12 sharp. It’s a rather slow day so your afternoon is pretty much free although a few of your students have been making requests to talk to you during office hours," you continued, your hand proficiently pouring the perfect amount of coffee and creamer in his usual mug.
The satisfying smell rose to your nostrils and you breathed it in before stepping towards the large desk and gently put it down.
"Jonas Freeman specifically has been insistent on seeing you. He’s stopped by almost every day to check if you were available. I’ve also been exchanging with him via emails and it looks like he desperately needs your input on some piece he’s been working on."
"The name does not sound familiar," the grave voice of the professor finally said.
Of course it wouldn’t sound familiar. You had never met a professor with such disdain for the people who he was supposed to help grow and inspire. He had turned out to be the kind of man who uses his role of professor to vent his knowledge, proving how smart he is without taking any time or effort to make a difference in his students’ lives. Office hours were used to diminish the alumni’s confidence and boost his own over inflated ego, which was for that exact reason that you took it upon yourself to communicate with some of the students, helping them build a stronger sense of self and pushing them to continue their work instead of giving up. Which was also the reason why you’d stayed and never looked for another job. If the kids loved this field even half as much as you did, then it was worth the extra unpaid hours basically doing the job an engaged professor should be doing.
"He’s in your Advanced Linguistics class, he might come by again today," you tried. "Would you be able to spare him a few minutes during office hours to go through his paper?"
"I will not be available this afternoon," he answered, the posh British accent heavy on his tongue. "As my assistant, you should be aware of what being a renowned pillar of this school implies. I have much to do and very little time to do so. Now if you will, I have many papers to look through before classes start," he ended, putting his reading glasses on and taking a hold of the first binder on his desk. After noticing your unmoving figure, he lowered his glasses and continued, "I imagine you will have quite the busy day yourself, Ms. Y/l/n and I’d appreciate it if we both kept to our respective tasks until stated otherwise."
Or in other words, sit pretty and do the boring work I can’t be arsed to take care of in silence until I need another cup of coffee.
You sighed internally, but let your professionalism take over as you addressed him one more time, "Let me know if you need anything."
This behavior had always bothered you, but never truly rattled you to a point where you would break. It hadn’t been the first time you had to deal with a narcissist and it would certainly not be the last.
After an excruciatingly long morning and a mediocre lunch, you used whatever was left of your break to walk around the campus, breathing in the fresh air and letting it cool your lungs. Despite the ache in your bones telling you that there was more for you somewhere else, you couldn’t help but acknowledge the soft spot you had for the west coast and its people. You had looked at the other side of the country and wondered what could be waiting for you there, but the familiarity and warmth of the area had kept you here all this time. It would take more than a grumpy old man to get you to move thousands of miles away.
Around late afternoon, professor Jenkins reappeared after his lunch and seemingly busy schedule and started rummaging through his drawers. He pulled out his box of cigars and headed towards the door hidden in the corner of the office. The room was small, containing only a large leather chair and piles of books and class materials which provided the man with a safe haven where he would light up a cigar and drink a glass of whatever would help improve his mood. You didn’t jump at the behavior, seeing as this was usually what happened whenever he went out to have lunch with his wife. You could only sigh, your heart breaking at the thought of all those rare editions stashed away in that room which will inevitably decay because of the smoke.
The keyboard under your fingertips continued its mechanic symphony, unbothered by the habits of the professor. As you typed away the usual emails to students, offering your apologies when you announced the professor wouldn’t be available during office hours yet again, a knock sounded on the front door. You burrowed your brows, wondering if you’d forgotten any student who might’ve contacted you to speak to Mr. Harrison.
Reaching for the handle, your wrist gave a flick and opened the door, revealing a man most likely in his 20s. Your eyes went to his hair first, distractingly long and messy. He was wearing a button up paired with a vest, and the scholar-like look was completed with a leather bag strapped across his chest as well as a pair of worn converse. When you finally took a look at his face, you were surprised to find a set of warm brown eyes under which you could spot purple bags and an equally tired looking smile.
"Hi!" you started, trying not to observe the man too intently. "I’m sorry but Professor Harrison isn’t available for office hours today but I could maybe get your student email and I can let you know when it would be a good time to pass by?"
The man’s brows furrowed and his eyes looked down at his attire before his gaze landed on you again, clearing his throat.
"Uhm, no actually I’m Dr. Reid and we’re here to ask Mr. Harrison a couple questions," the man said in a hesitant voice.
"We?" you noted pointlessly as an older man with salt and pepper hair appeared next to him. "And I apologize but as I said Professor Harrison isn’t available today but I can get him a message if it’s important."
"Oh I don’t know I think some people might consider four dead bodies important," he answered sarcastically, pulling a wallet out of his jacket’s inner pocket.
When you understood that what he pulled out was not a wallet but instead an FBI badge, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and you stammered out an apology, "I’m so sorry I thought you were a student that had questions about enrollment and the classes Professor Harrison offered."
"And you thought I was what, his dad? I know we’re both devastatingly handsome but I’m way more charming than our dear Dr. Reid here," the older man countered with a wink.
You chuckled when the younger man looked up at his colleague with furrowed brows and a questioning look.
"Again, I’m terribly sorry for my mistake, I’m just very used to sending away confused students looking for one on one time with Professor Harrison," you added, not bothering to hide the sourness in your voice. You motioned for them to come in the main room, classical music audible from the tiny room next door.
"Agent Rossi and I just have a few questions for Professor Harrison. We think his input might help us in this case we’re working on," Dr. Reid explained, looking around as if analyzing the office.
"Sure! If you don’t mind I’ll let you wait here one second while I go get him."
Your voice tried to convey as much nonchalance as you could while the curiosity inside of you kept on growing every passing second and every questions left unasked.
When your body turned, making its way towards the door, you could hear the young man whisper, "How old do you think I look?". You smiled to yourself and twisted the handle, preparing yourself for the coming assault on your nostrils and lungs.
You found the old British man laying on his chair, eyes closed and both hands each busy with a poison. When the door groaned, he sighed loudly, taking another puff of his fading cigar.
"I believe I made myself clear earlier when I stated we should stick to our individual tasks," he started with such unusual venom it startled you. "In case it wasn’t, I’ll try my best to make it so you understand. Do not bloody come in here or I’ll find someone else who can follow simple directions," he finished harshly, loud enough for the two men standing in the office to hear.
You recovered quickly from his words, used to the bite. You also knew your next words would bring you enough satisfaction to wipe that look off his face.
"The FBI is here. They’re wondering if you could help them on a case they’re working on," you stated simply, enjoying the way his head snapped to yours, his hands quickly getting rid of its fatal content.
He didn’t even question you, simply stood up and pushed you out of the way to meet the two gentlemen waiting patiently in front of the main desk. Although his actions were swift and confident, you noticed the look of uncertainty that flashed in his eyes. You noticed the agents’ eyes darting between multiple spots in the room whether it being books, pictures or a scattered mess of school material. Their gazes both focused on Harrison in synchronisation, assessing the man with expert eyes as if he were a possible threat.
Force of habit, you guessed.
Harrison, on the other hand, switched his cold and uninterested persona for a warm and jolly linguistic professor, ecstatic at the idea of sharing his passion. The act was cheap at best, and you could tell the agents were not convinced by it either.
"Agents!" he greeted warmly, shaking agent Rossi’s hand and going for Doctor Reid’s. The younger man only raised his hand and waved instead, an awkward tight smile on his lips. "I’m sorry for making you wait, did my assistant already offer you anything to drink?" he asked, giving you a side glance like he already knew the answer.
"We won’t be here that long," Agent Rossi answered. "We’d just need your input on a few words which were left at multiple crime scenes."
So this was about the recent murders then.
You had heard about them on the news and multiple alerts had been sent to your phone, asking the residents of Sacramento to stay aware of their surroundings and be careful when going outside alone. The few friends you had in the city had sent messages in your group chat, making sure everyone was doing okay and in the loop about what was terrorizing the city. You were no special federal agent, but four murders which had all been connected to each other sounded a lot like a serial killer had found its way into the state capital. It was deeply disturbing to be conscious of such a threat and yet not being able to do anything about it. You could only hope that whatever answers the agents were looking for would be found soon, putting an end to the constant need to look over your shoulder.
"We believe our unsub to be extremely well read and proficient in a multitude of languages or inclined to study linguistics and its origins seeing as the grammar is complex and frankly something I’ve never encountered before," the doctor continued.
Something about his statement made you look closely at the man. Putting aside the use of the foreign word ‘unsub’ that you translated as something akin to a suspect in your mind, you noticed the fidgeting of his fingers and the tightness of his lips. He seemed both surprised and bothered by that fact, as if he wasn’t used to being faced with something he couldn’t solve.
You did your best to act as casual as possible, walking towards your chair and mindlessly leafing through assignments while listening intently to every single word exchanged between the three men. You knew that if you seemed interested or tried to ask questions, your boss would send you away on a useless errand to make sure you weren’t around.
"I’m afraid there are some things which can only be learned through experience young man. I’d be more than happy to take a look,” the professor offered greedily, more than willing to demonstrate his knowledge.
The young doctor didn’t give the satisfaction of answering, which you were secretly glad about. You could almost see the hint of a smirk on his face, as if the validation of Harrison was the last thing he needed. You narrowed your eyes at the obvious confidence, and wondered how he could’ve entered the FBI so young. He hadn’t told you his age, but the ease at which he asked questions and the comfortable banter shared between the two agents told you they’d been working together for quite some time.
"Before we show you anything, we find it important to remind you that this is an open investigation and we will need your utmost discretion. Whatever material we share with you is strictly confidential and can never leave this room,” agent Rossi ," agent Rossi explained with a cautious tone.
"I am aware of how police investigations work agent Rossi,” Harrison answered, his posture straightening like with pride.
"Good. Because I’m sure you understand how delicate this situation is, professor. The people are restless, and any details about this case getting out would inevitably lead to the press or the public interfering with our investigation. The last thing we need is vigilantes thinking they can solve this case before the cops or even worse, a copycat."
"What are you trying to say agent?" The professor seemed offended at the allusion that he would go around blabbering about the ordeal.
"We can’t afford any leak of information. We’re aware of your reputation, you’re an honest man," Rossi added as if to smooth over the warning that had offended the man. "We just need to make sure there aren’t any loose ends."
At this, you shifted in your seat uncomfortably, the hairs on the back of your neck rising. You felt Rossi’s eyes slide to your desk, Harrison’s following in his suit. So this was more about you than it was Harrison. It was fair, really, seeing as the men had never met you before and didn’t know the first thing about you. You didn’t think it wise to address them, reassuring that anything being said here would ever leave your lips while the case was still ongoing, seeing as it would only prove the agents that you were indeed listening to what they were saying.
You heard more than saw the sigh that left Harrison’s body, most likely delighted to hear the agents weren’t questioning his integrity.
"I can guarantee everything said in this room will remain between us," he confirmed, his voice low and stern, like a king holding his followers in an iron first.
Your head low on some paper you were looking over, you rolled your eyes at the self importance in his tone.
It took everything in you not to peek at the pictures the doctor eventually pulled out of his leather bag which were then settled on Harrison’s desk. After agent Rossi’s speech, it would be stupid to imprudently look overly interested in the case.
The professor stayed quiet for a while, observing the pictures and rearranging them on the surface as if putting together a puzzle. His hands reached for his collar, pulling out his glasses and settling them on his crooked nose. When the agents stepped closer to the man, observing his line of sight, Dr. Reid’s nose wiggled and scrunched up in disgust. Cigar and whiskey was not your favorite combo either. He pulled out a small hand sanitizer from his bag and slathered his fingers with the liquid, discreetly bringing his pointer finger upwards to scratch his nose and inhale the disinfectant.
A snort which you quickly disguised as a cough escaped you, bringing the doctor’s attention to you. Your eyes slightly widened, and your lips were pulled together as if to make sure no other noise would come out of you. A glint of amusement softened his gaze and he bit his inner cheek, focusing back on the crime scene photos.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Harrison whispered, mostly to himself. It was strange, seeing him being so caught off guard about something he’s usually so confident in.
Dr. Reid nodded, his hand under his chin.
“See, the first thing that came to mind when I saw those sentences was Latin. I can make sense of a few words, but the others just looked completely foreign to me,” the doctor admitted.
Now your interested was definitely peeked, making you stand from behind your desk and head towards your center of interest. The three men were distracted enough that they didn’t seem to notice as you approached them discreetly, pretending to put completed paperwork on your boss’ desk. The moment was over in an instant, giving you barely enough time to catch a few words scribbled on the pictures. Your eyes focused on the words, meaning you didn’t even see the entirety of the picture and its gory content. Something in you told you to be grateful, even though another part was dying of curiosity.
It seemed like the words had been written in a frenzy, for the words were slurred and messy. The handwriting, though, looked sure and confident. Like whoever had transcribed them wasn’t rushed by their environment but rather by their thought process. As if they barely had the time to finish writing the first letter that their mind was already two sentences ahead.
You sat back at your desk, grabbing a pen and paper to note down whatever you’d managed to catch.
lec - trecen- agevoy
It appeared the doctor had been spot on. ‘Read’ and ‘thirteen’ were the Latin translation of the first two words, but the third one didn’t ring any bell. ‘Age’ and ‘voy’ made sense separately, but you had never seen a combination of the two. Granted, your expertise in linguistics wasn’t as developed as Harrison, but you had thought that you could have helped if only just a little. You went back to answering some emails, keeping your attention on the conversation happening in front of you.
“A part of those sentences I can translate, but I’d have to spend more time on it to try and figure out the rest,” the professor stated, looking like a child asking his mother for permission.
“Doctor Reid here came to the same conclusion. He couldn’t find any connections but hoped a second opinion would inspire him,” agent Rossi said. His phone pinged, and the older agent turned to the doctor, “Hotch wants us back at the station.”
“With all due respect agent Rossi,” Harrison started smugly, not acknowledging Dr. Reid, “I have been working as a linguist for 47 years. I believe I might be able to give you a more pertinent insight than a 20 year old kid possibly could. Or at the very least find clues he might have missed.”
Harrison was a drunk, a narcissist and overall insufferable human being, sure. But as much as it pained you to say, he was also extremely smart. And yet, you had never seen him act so stupid, because surely, he wasn’t actively trying to insult an FBI agent. His age had always been a major factor of his superiority complex, making him comfortable to pick on younger people in the name of “experience”. You hadn’t expected him to act the same way when the younger person in question was part of one of the most influential groups in the world.
“With all due respect professor,” copied the doctor, pulling you out of your stupor, “I have an IQ of 187 as well as an eidetic memory, making it quite literally impossible for me to ‘miss’ any clues, or as a matter of fact miss anything at all. We came here for a second opinion, but it seems your ‘pertinent insight’ on this case came up short,” he said almost apologetically, as if trying not to insult the man while simultaneously putting him in his place like you’d been dying to do for months. “Additionally, I’m 28 and it’s doctor. Now if you’ll excuse us, agent Rossi and I are expected somewhere else,” he finished with a polite smile. Beside him stood agent Rossi, a pleased and proud smile on his lips which you mirrored with one of your own. It was the first time you ever saw someone stand up to him and it was done so eloquently you knew he will remember it for a very long time.
Professor Harrison stood there, stunned, as the two agents walked back to the front door, waving a polite hand in your direction.
“Good luck on the rest of your case,” you offered for lack of better term, knowing full well that luck will have no part whatsoever in resolving this case. The two men seemed to understand your sentiment though, and gave you a firm nod before walking out of the office, leaving you inside with a very speechless professor.
Seeing as your work day had ended two hours prior but that you had stayed to exchange via email to some students, you packed your laptop in your bag and quickly made your way to the exit, not letting Harrison any time to tell you otherwise. The door closed behind you and you sighed, hit by to the eventful turn of an otherwise boring day. The night had already started to fall, plunging the campus in a quiet atmosphere. Some students were still at the library, either working on their thesis or studying for the approaching finals, but considering how chilly the weather had turned, the outside of the campus was usually empty at this time of day. Your hand reached into your coat’s pocket, grabbing onto your keys and placing them so that the tip would stick out between your knuckles. You were usually careful whenever you walked home, but having a serial killer on the loose had turned your caution into some sort of paranoïa, making you jump at the smallest sound.
Your feet carried you the usual way, through the grass and past the parking lot when you heard a car door open. The clench of your jaw was tight, and so was your fist, still hidden in your pocket. You had seen so many movies, so many shows, read so many books, you wondered what comments you would make if you saw yourself on a TV screen. Act natural? Run? Turn around you idiot! The list was endless.
In that precise moment though, all you could do was follow your gut. Your hands shook slightly, but your mind was focused, your senses sharp as you tried to analyze your surroundings. You heard footsteps, getting closer and closer, and saw your shadow reflecting in front of you from the bright headlights of a big car.
You thought you heard the voice of a man, calling out for you with a “Hey”, but you didn’t give your brain a chance to register it as you turned around swiftly, your hand coming out of its hiding place and aiming straight at the shape in front of you with as much strength as you could muster.
Your arm was caught mid movement, and before you could get out of the man’s grip, you recognized a familiar voice.
“Nice moves,” agent Rossi said, a hint of amusement in his voice.
The man immediately released your arm, putting both of his hands up. You blinked, breathing in a sharp inhale with fresh air, which had seemed to have disappeared from your lungs.
"I’m- I’m so sorry I thought-" you started with a shaky voice.
"No I’m sorry," the agent replied, "I shouldn’t have sprung up on you like that considering… Well… you know," he added with a quiet voice, his eyes looking down at your hands. You realized they were shaking, much more than they were before, and you placed them back in your pockets.
"Can I help you with anything?" you said, hopefully distracting him from your rattled state.
"We were about to leave when we saw you crossing the parking lot and I thought we’d offer you a ride home?"
You were about to refuse, not wanting to take some precious time off of the agents’ schedule, but the thought of walking back to your place in the dark with a serial killer on the loose made you consider his offer.
"Can I see your badge again?" you joked in an effort to appear more in control. When the man chuckled, you added, "Thanks for offering, I’d really appreciate it if it’s alright with you both. My apartment isn’t far so it shouldn’t be too much of a detour."
Rossi nodded, guiding you to the black SUV whose headlights were still on. He opened the door for you and you made your way inside, greeting doctor Reid when you made eye contact.
"Thanks again for dropping me home," you reiterated as the older man buckled himself in and started the engine. You gave your address and sat back in your seat, trying to calm your racing heart. It had only been a scare, but it had made the possibility of you getting hurt so much more real that it was hard to get rid of the knot that had formed in your throat.
"Sorry about my boss," you offered, hoping the change of subject would be a good distraction.
"It’s alright, you’d be surprised at how many times I get that," the young man replied.
"Well let’s think about it. Old white men having their egos hurt when they try and fail to prove they are smarter than a younger more successful man. Shouldn’t be too many," you continued sarcastically.
Both agents chuckled softly at that.
"I’m sorry this couldn’t help you more than you wanted it to."
Your voice was quiet, unsure, as if suddenly feeling the weight of the unsolved case on your shoulders. Which was ridiculous, since no one had asked for your opinion and even Harrison hadn’t been able to do anything about it. Still, being part of the investigation for just a few moments had made you feel involved, like seeing a glimpse of a life loaded with responsibilities and consequences.
"It was a long shot anyways. As I said, if boy genius here can’t figure it out then no one can," assured Rossi.
"It would be ridiculous to limit ourselves to my intellect while in the same city as one of the most influential linguists in the world," retorted Reid.
You admired the humility in his words, noting how even after their confrontation, he seemed to still hold some sort of respect for the professor.
"You’ve read his books," you stated more than asked.
"How do you know?" he questioned, his head turning slightly to look at you from the passenger seat.
"A hunch," you shrugged. "He’s pretty damn brilliant."
"Is that why you work for him?" Rossi inquired.
"I’ve known worse," you stated simply. "He’s got a lot of knowledge to share and I’ve got a lot to learn. Besides, I’ve always loved a challenge."
"’Languages are in themselves an art form. There is nothing more inherently human than taking something as common as words and turning it into a mean to connect, share, grow and love.’"
You frowned at the quote, wondering how the man could possibly know about it. As if sensing your confusion, the doctor explained, "I saw it taped on your wall next to your desk. However it doesn’t ring any bells."
"Oh yeah uhm… I- I just scribbled it on a piece of paper and… liked it so I just kept it and put it on my wall which now that I say it out loud makes me sound incredibly conceited," you puffed out in a laugh, your nails picking at your fingers nervously.
"No don’t be it’s a- It’s a nice quote," he amended. Something about the way he said it sounded like there was more to it, like his brain wanted to share its true thoughts about it but decided otherwise considering you barely knew each other.
“Is this it?” you heard Rossi ask.
You squinted your eyes, looking out the window to find your apartment building lit up by two lampposts positioned on both sides of the stairs leading up to the entrance.
“It is,” you confirmed. As an afterthought, you added, “I know Harrison can be hard to deal with, but he is good at what he does. If figuring out what those inscriptions mean is the key to catching whoever is doing this, it might be worth a shot to give him a second chance.”
There was a silence, as if the two agents were considering what you had shared. You were surprised yourself to have defended Harrison and talked so highly of his abilities but realized that it had been nothing short of the truth.
“Be safe out there,” Rossi stated as an answer. “Although, it looks like you’re already pretty good at it,” he added lightheartedly.
You blushed faintly, the memory of you almost stabbing an FBI agent with your makeshift weapon too fresh in your mind. Still, you nodded and thanked them once again for bringing you home safely. Shoes now firmly planted on the concrete, your feet carried you to the safety of your apartment building, both agents having waited until the door closed behind you to take off.
Once you had checked the entirety of your apartment for anything out of place and placed a chair in front of your now locked front door, you allowed yourself to crumble on your couch. It took a few deep breaths and a moment of silence to fully calm your nerves, reminding yourself that the man that had approached you was not a dangerous and wanted psychopath.
After having some dinner in front of a movie, gratefully welcoming the distraction, you decided to skip the shower for tonight and instead opted to take it in the morning when the outside world didn’t look like it was hiding countless monsters.
Sleep took over fast, and as you felt your muscles relax into the softness of your mattress and your eyelids get heavier, you couldn’t help your last conscious thought to drift back to the foreign words now imprinted so clearly on your mind.