A week goes by. Y/n doesn't leave the room once. In fear of her hurting her ankle further, Thomas refuses to let her leave.

He's really caring, she'll give him that. A few times a day he'll go upstairs to the room and give her some food (No human meat, thankfully.) Every time, before closing the door. He'll stop and look back at her. She reassures him constantly, but he's still worried.

One day, he walked in on her up and about exploring the drawers of the old, dusty vanity. He rushes over to her, large strides only needing two steps to reach her. His hands snaked around her arms as he lifted her with ease and tossed her back on the bed.

He pointed at her roughly, huffing audibly before leaving. Y/n was a blushing mess. Her heart had raced when he caught her, unsure of if he would be mad about her snooping. It seemed he was more concerned about her ankle, though.

It was a good thing, too, because he didn't notice the thing in her hand, which she kept to look at.

It was an old black and white photo of a teenage boy and a lady. It was obviously a young Luda, so y/n assumed the boy was Thomas.

They had identical hair, although teenage Thomas had a shorter cut. Everything else was difficult to trace. Teenage Thomas had a mostly intact face, although signs of his skin eating disease showed in dark spots around his face. He had a nose and his mouth in the picture.

What was most astonishing about the picture, though, was the happy smile on his face. Smiling and Thomas were never two things y/n would think of together. The boy seemed so different from Thomas that she started to think it wasn't him.

But, later that day, Thomas came in with dinner and saw the picture on the bed side table. Y/n had forgotten to put it away. She watched as he walked over to it, picking it up to examine.

"Uh, sorry. I got bored and my curiosity got the best of me." She says, fidgeting with her gloves.

Thomas doesn't reply. He traces the picture with his big fingers.

"Is that you in the picture?"

Thomas nods.

Slowly, she crawls over to him and tilts the picture down so she can see.

She points to teenage Thomas's face.

"You have a wonderful smile, you know."

Thomas grunts, and through the curls of his hair, she can see blush creeping up his face.

"Can I see it now?"

He squints at her, before putting the photo face down on the table. He sets the food next to it and turns to leave.

Y/n grabs the edge of his shirt, tugging it softly.

He stops and turns. She lets go and clears her throat.

"Do you have to go? It's kind of boring up here."

He grunts, before sitting down on the mattress next to her. It dips under his weight. Y/n has to put her hand down to catch herself from rolling on top of him.

She settles, then reaches over to the table and grabs the photo.

She scoots a little closer to him so he can see.

"Is that the meat factory?" He nods.

"Have you always worked there?"

He nods again. She nods along with him.

"Was it a family business?"

He doesn't respond to that, but y/n doesnt push.

"My mask Emporium was a family business. I have an understanding of doing what your family wants."

Her thoughts trace to the newspaper Laura had shown her before her kidnapping. The section about the murder at the factory.

"Did you kill the owner of that factory, Thomas?"

He pauses, not looking at her, before nodding.

"Did your family tell you to?"

He shakes his head. He acted on his own. Still, it was clear to her that the murders after that were from the encouragement of his family. Mainly that Hoyt man, it seemed.

She looks at the smiling boy in the picture again. It's so hard to believe that the murderous cannibal next to her was the same boy in that picture. It was obviously from a different time, perhaps a time before Hoyt, where it was just him and his mother.

Once again, she can't help but pity Thomas. She feels she understands his situation completely, though an extreme one.

"I used to be a cellist. Before I injured my hands."

Thomas looks at her, puzzled.

"A cello is a musical instrument, Thomas. It's like a violin, but bigger, lower, and sits between the player's legs."

He nods, though she's skeptical about his understanding.

"Playing became difficult, so I took over my dad's business."

She traces the picture's edge with her finger.

"Can I see your smile, Thomas?"

He shakes his head with a grunt. Y/n sighs.

"I'm your fiance now, you don't need to be shy."

His face creeps red again. To both of their surprise, y/n chuckles. It's a small thing, unimportant in everyday life, but it's the first time Thomas has ever head it, and the first time she's done it since her kidnapping a month ago.

Thomas looks at her, an astonished look in his face.

"What? What's wrong?"

He shakes his head, turning to look at his lap. Y/n crawls closer to him, her hands reaching under his hair for the straps of the mask.

His hands fly out and grab her wrists tightly, she flinches, but doesn't move away.

"Please, Thomas. I just wanna peek."

His breathing has quickened under his mask. Y/n tries to calm her own quick beating heart. Not from fear, no, after several days of Thomas caring for her, she's sure he won't hurt her. Her heart races from being so close to him. She's testing boundaries that haven't been crossed yet. Her curiosity has gotten too strong, accompanied by boredom. She's tired of being alone up in the room.

Thomas loosens the grip on her wrists, and she reaches forward to undo the mask.

He closes his eyes as her gloves graze against his cheek when she pulls the mask away from his face. She examines his face quietly.

When she had measured it in the factory, the lighting was dull. Now, she sees his face in full view. His lips and nose gone, the meat of his cheek disappearing, revealing the sides of his teeth in his mouth in a permanent kind of sneer. There's no more smile to be seen.

She takes his face in her hand, tracing his jaw with her thumb. Thomas's eyes flutter open, and she can see them closely. His dark gaze is intimidating, burning into her own.

They're kinda sexy

The thought is out of nowhere, making her blush. She chuckles nervously.

His eyes narrow.

"I'm not making fun of you. You just have really attractive eyes."

His gaze softens. She loosens up a bit, too.

"You might not be able to smile like that anymore, but you still got the same eyes. You should take that thing off more often, I like your face."

Thomas points at her gloves with a huff. Her eyes drop to them and she chuckles nervously.

"I'd rather keep these on."

He grunts in frustration, grabbing her hands and holding them in the air. Her thoughts flash back to when he had done the same thing in the basement a week before.

This time, he removes the gloves, exposing her horrid hands to him.

"Thomas!" She pulls against his grip, but fails to break it. His eyes cross over every little scar, rise of skin, and blemish. He lets go of one of them and traces the other with his finger.

Y/n blushes, hiding the one he dropped in her lap. His fingers tickle the palm of her hand. He turns it over to trace a long running one on the back of her hand.

"That tickles, Tommy. . ."

"Hmph." He grabs the other one from between her legs, tracing it too. Slowly, he raises it to his face, pushing it against what's left of his cheek.

Y/n's heart pulses in her chest. She moves with his hand, tracing the scars of his face like he traced hers.

"I hope I'm not interrupting."

The voice makes you jump. It's Hoyt, standing in the doorway.

"No, you weren't. " She says, hiding her hands in her lap.

"Uh huh. Well, it's time for dinner, Tommy."

He stands, the bed rising back into place.

Y/n watches him go, closing the door after him. She secretly wishes he would stay behind, spend a little more time with her. It had been a while since her last shower, maybe he'll come up one more time and help her in.

open with her hip, setting bags of groceries down on her table with a grunt.

She starts going through the bags, putting things away. She freezes when she pulls out the county newspaper. She had grabbed an old one instead of the week's new addition on accident.

Right on the front was a picture of the old meat factory. It was the section about the murder of its owner.

Her eyes widen in realization. It wasn't a hundred present chance, but whoever did that might've been behind the festival, too.

And she had an idea of who it was.