Much to EJ's delight, you allowed him to stay for the night after he nagged and convinced you to let him stay. It was a good job that you were too exhausted to properly contemplate his reasoning for wanting to stay, otherwise you would have declined and told him to go home.

He waited until he was sure you were asleep which, thankfully, didn't take long. Once he heard your breathing become slower and deeper, he pushed open your bedroom door and tiptoed inside.

Despite all the times he had entered your house, he had never been brave enough to go into your room. It had always felt...strange. Disrespectful, even. A person's bedroom is where they are supposed to feel the safest, and disregarding that sense of security was...well, mannerless! Respecting and loving you were his foremost priorities, and he wouldn't even think of doing anything you wouldn't like. (Except for what he was about to do, of course.)

Your bedroom was simple. There was a bed, a wardrobe, a set of drawers, a couple of bookshelves and that was it furniture-wise. In one corner of the room was a pile of plushies, and some dirty clothes. A few little trinkets littered the top of the bookshelves, giving your room a little more personality.

It wasn't hard for EJ to see in the dark—just another trick he had been granted after the ritual. And, since you were in the land of Nod, he decided it was safe to take off his mask. Pulling it off over his head, he placed it down on the bookshelf nearby, careful not to get any loose tar on the wood.

He crouched down next to your bed, gazing fondly at your sleeping face. You were curled up on your side, clutching part of the quilt to your chest. Some hair was glued to the corner of your mouth, and he gently brushed it aside, smoothing down the side of your hair. He froze when you leant into his hand slightly, but quickly relaxed, moving his hand slightly so it rested on your cheek. His thumb gently stroked your skin and he prayed to whatever God was looking down on him that they wouldn't let you wake up; he just wanted minute to show you some affection.

(He had already shown you plenty of affection that day. Hugging you from behind? It had been a dream come true, and if he hadn't been wearing his mask he would have pressed a kiss to your neck. Or two. Or three. Yeah, it was a good job he wore a mask all the time.)

He pulled his hand back abruptly when you stirred slightly in your sleep, rolling over to the cooler part of your bed. He felt a small twinge of annoyance, but didn't dare try and do anything else in case it woke you up. He didn't feel like explaining why he was hovering over your bed like he was preparing to perform surgery on your organs.

He pushed himself up so he was stood upright and walked over to the drawer unit. As quietly as possible, he opened each drawer to see what was inside. Tee shirts, jeans, socks, underwear—

That drawer was nearly slammed shut.

He opened the shirt drawer again, rummaging through it for a shirt he saw you wearing the most. Once he found it, he lifted it up and sniffed. It smelt like you and the fabric cleaner you used. Smiling to himself, he folded it back up and shoved it into his hoodie pocket. Just to be on the safe side, he took a jumper from the bottom drawer and held it close to his chest.

He didn't expect to end up taking some of your clothes, but you'd get them back eventually. Of course you would. After all, he had a plan. Once the effects of the ritual were reversed, he would make a move, and once he was with you, you would get your stuff back. You were too sweet a thing to be left alone, and now that he had found you again, he wasn't going to let go so easily.

EJ had his own place to go back to: a tiny shack in the edge of the forest. It had belonged to someone else, but they 'vacated the area', so to speak, leaving it to him to use for whatever he pleased.

The shack only contained a rickety old bed, a fireplace and a box for storing spare sheets and clothes. In the corner behind the door, however, was a cabinet that didn't match the rest of the furniture. It had smooth dark wood that had been polished recently, and it was obvious that it was treated with care.

EJ kicked the door shut behind him, placing the stolen—sorry, borrowed—jumper and shirt down on the bed. Turning to the cabinet behind the door, he opened the bottom half and moved a hoodie down onto the lower shelf. He folded up the jumper and put it on the first shelf, then removed the shirt from his hoodie pocket, folding it up and placing it with the hoodie on the lower shelf.

At first, he hadn't entertained the idea of a shrine (if one could even call it a shrine), but on the days where you were working or out or with the friend that had ever so rudely stolen you from him for a weekend, he needed to have something that reminded him of you. Some people had screenshots of conversations, some had pictures, some had letters or gifts. He had a cupboard.

The cupboard was split into two halves. The bottom half contained two shelves which stored clothes or shoes or any article of clothing he borrowed from you. The top half contained pictures or trinkets or things that you had said to him that he had written down. It made him feel...less alone in the world. Like he finally had someone who truly cared about him.

He unlocked the top half of the cupboard with a key he wore around his neck at all times, letting the doors swing open. He sat down on the bed, staring at the shrine in contentment.

There weren't that many objects in the top half of the cupboard. A photo of you in a plain wooden frame made up the centrepiece, a broken mug took up the right side of the photo and a sock with a hole in the heel rested against the left side. Some pieces of paper were stacked next to the sock in no particular order. The items he had collected weren't the most exciting, but they were all he could get his hands on without breaking in and causing you to worry. He can't have you getting stressed over something so trivial, now, can he? What kind of a future partner would he be if he went and let that happen?

A terrible one, that's what.

He sighed. Waiting for you to fall for him was getting tiresome he had to admit, but it sort of made things even more exciting. The element of surprise kept him on his toes, and he couldn't wait for the day that you finally realised that you were meant to be.

He wasn't going to force you to fall in love with him. He wasn't going to kidnap you and condition you into loving him, either. Love was a pure emotion, and tainting it even slightly defiled the whole thing, making it nigh-on worthless. No, if you were going to love him, it had to be authentic. He would wait a thousand years if it meant he could hear you say, 'I love you.' And if it meant that he could hug and kiss you whenever he wanted, that he could wake up and be greeted with your face every morning, he would gladly wait until the end of time. He would do anything if it meant becoming romantically involved in you.

Of course, he wouldn't be able to become romantically involved with you if there was no way to reverse the damage done by the goddamn cultists. He probably could get away with your being your partner, but it would be a bit awkward. Tar would ooze everywhere and ruin any sweet moment, and the shark-like teeth would get in the way of any kisses...and don't even get him started on the tongue. No, it was safer to wait.

He just hoped that he would still remember you. The original ritual had practically wiped his memories away like kitchen roll wiping away crumbs from a worktop, and who's to say that another ritual to reverse the effects of the first one wouldn't do the same?

The thought of forgetting you sent a wave of terror through his bloodstream, and he abruptly got to his feet and locked the cabinet.

It was about time he went back anyway.

hiiiii i've done another one~