Your eyes followed him into the room, watching as he brushed brick dust off of his jeans. He looked around, ignoring you completely, before marching over to the desk and opening the top drawer. He began rooting around, examining every item in great detail.

You hovered over his shoulder like a ghost, eyeing every move he made. Was he looking for something? Whether you liked it or not, the timing indicated that he was clearly the thief, but you didn't know why.

When he turned around after inspecting every item in all three desk drawers, you jumped back, pulse becoming annoyingly loud in your ears. You took a moment to calm yourself as he stripped the bed, looking under the pillows and under the bed itself.

Stop being silly, you scolded yourself, this isn't real. He can't hurt you. A wave of disappointment and shame crashed over you. When did you go back to being scared of him? After all the time spent with him, all it took was for you to relive this day and the progress you had made got thrown out the window.

You had to do some mental maths to work things out. You were four years in the past, in your first year of university. Four years ago, EJ had lost his memories in the ritual while in his last year of uni (or so you assumed. You vaguely remembered the origin story mentioning finals.), so he hadn't long become a Proxy. He must have been so confused about everything, found his way to your campus and broken in.

You didn't notice that EJ had moved onto the other bed and was clutching the discarded hoodie to his chest, breathing heavily. It was only when he fell to the floor that you broke away from your train of thought, daring to walk closer. He was sat on the floor, knees under his chin, as he hugged the hoodie, his head buried in the soft fabric. He was muttering something into the hoodie, and as you knelt down, you strained your ears to hear what he was saying.

'Safe,' you heard him whisper, 'safe. Safe safe safe. They're safe. Safer with me.' He let out a shaky breath. 'They'll be fine. Won't get hurt. They'll be fine when I find them again.'

Your brain decided he was obviously talking about you. Why would he break into your dorm room and hug your hoodie while talking about someone else? Your brain thought of a possible reason why, it sent your stomach spiralling as your heart dropped into it.

'You were following me,' you murmured to the EJ sat before you, 'you came to my campus and started following me. But...why? Why did you start? And why did you stop?' You hand reached out to touch his shoulder, and you immediately retracted it when you realised what it was doing.

It was no use trying to offer some comfort like you were used to doing; he couldn't see you, and you weren't friends four years ago—he knew you, but you didn't know him. The thought filled you with a strange feeling that resided in your chest like a dragon residing in a cave. You felt...sad? Whatever you were feeling, you didn't know. All you wanted to do was run home and see the EJ you had grown close to: your EJ. You wanted to sit on the sofa and watch dumb TV shows about baking and laugh at the contestants for using the wrong icing when you yourself could never match their astounding creations. You wanted to exist in the same space as him and feel safe and wanted and loved.

If Chernabog took your soul, you knew it would never happen again. There wouldn't be a 'you' for EJ to spend time with, so you had to try and give the chance to find a replacement as Jack Nichols, not as Eyeless Jack.

The EJ in front of you had stopped his mumbling, and the sound of the door unlocking sent his head jerking up, leering at the doorway (which, incidentally, meant he was looking at you). In a trance-like state, he rose to his feet and stalked towards the kitchen-living room where the newcomer was stood. You followed him, curious to see who it was.

To your shock, it was your dorm mate, Rana, a maths nerd who had moved out to live with her girlfriend, but returned every few weeks to prove to the staff that she was, in fact, living there, when she really wasn't. She was a nice lady, and the two of you got on well, but she had suddenly vanished a few days before November 15th, and people assumed she had run away due to stress, or eloped.

What're you doing here?

You couldn't do anything but watch as EJ pulled a piece of rope out from his hoodie pocket, silently creeping up behind Rana. Once he was close enough, he pulled the piece of rope around her neck, one hand over her mouth, and tightened it, cutting off her ability to breathe and most likely her brain's blood supply. After around ten or fifteen seconds, her body became limp, but EJ only removed the rope after a minute or two had passed.

If you had been awake in the real world, you would have been sick on the spot—or at least felt sick. But you weren't, so all you felt was repulsion. He had just murdered her with no hesitation, and you had to remind yourself that that was what he did; he was a Proxy, a serial killer. He was used to it.

A familiar voice in your ear said, 'Well, wasn't that entertaining. Now you have seen what happened on that fateful day, do you still wish to return him to the human world?'

You turned to face Chernabog, and the scene that surrounded you faded away. You nodded. 'I do.'

'Why? He killed your roommate. He broke into your dormitory.'

'I...he...' You couldn't make any excuses, or think of a reason why, so you didn't pretend to know. 'That doesn't change my mind. I still want to trade my soul for his freedom.'

Back in reality, things weren't going as planned.

Ophelia had managed to carry your unconscious form upstairs and place it on your bed. She sat next to you, reading a book she had found. The book was interesting enough to help her pass the time, but not interesting enough to hold all of her attention.

A door creaking open downstairs caused her to put her book down, and the intruder said: 'Hey, I'm back.'

A flash of panic coursed through Ophelia's veins. She recognised the voice as EJ's, and she hadn't fully mentally prepared herself for talking with someone else today. Her muscles tensed and she felt her throat tighten.

Breathe. You'll be fine. It's just some more socialising. Father said you can do this, so you can!

She didn't get up and greet him. She stayed stuck to her chair, glitching in and out of sight more frequently thanks to her heightened anxiety at the prospect of being forced to talk to someone she didn't know.

The silence made EJ on edge. You rarely left the house without telling him. He checked the living room, kitchen and stairs. Nothing. Then he looked in the office and swore.

Ophelia winced. He's seen the salt rune.

The first thing EJ did was check your laptop for past messages. As he was typing in the password he had memorised long ago, a folded up piece of paper caught his eye. Pulling it out from its hiding place, he noticed his name written on one side in your perfect handwriting. He read through the letter, heart pounding against his ribs.

It left him feeling...conflicted to say the least. On one hand, he was livid that you had decided to do something rash without consulting him (and he couldn't even be pissed over what you did as he had no idea, but the salt rune gave him a few ideas). How could he protect you if he didn't know where you were? You said you didn't have a death wish, but you could feasibly end up dead if he wasn't there to keep you safe!

Despite his fears, his brain focused on one particular line: I think that I have feelings for you. It was ambiguous, sure, but that phrasing was only ever used when it came to romantic feelings. Giddy with pure joy, he hugged the letter as though it was you—then he remembered he had to find you and see if you were safe. Celebrations could happen later.

Slipping the note back under your keyboard, he climbed up the stairs and entered your room, the sight of you immobile on your bed while Ophelia sat watching over you was enough to piss him off.

'Who the fuck are you?' he seethed, 'and what are you doing here?'

Ophelia's eyes snapped up to look at him. 'I'm the Spectator. I'm here to look after (Y/N).'

'Were you the one who drew that rune?'

'Yes, that was...that was me. They're okay, though! No head injuries, or any injuries for that matter.'

Deep breaths. You can't get blood all over (Y/N)'s carpet; they'll never forgive you.

'Why?' he asked, 'why did you let them do it?'

'I tried to persuade them out of it, I really did!' Eyes wide, she got to her feet and tried not to glitch into another dimension. 'B-But they wouldn't listen. They're really persistent about—'

'Shut up and get out.'

'Pardon?'

'Shut up and get out!' Did he feel bad for yelling? A little bit. But, hey, you wouldn't want some stranger looking after you, would you? You'd rather it be him that waited patiently by your side. Right?

Ophelia scurried out of the room, head bowed, muttering a quiet, 'Sorry.' as she passed. Closing the door behind her, she left you alone with EJ.

Letting his shoulders relax, he took a step towards you, scrutinising every detail of your sleeping form. He knew it was unnatural because you were laid on your back—something you rarely did. Tiny beads of sweat were forming on your brow, and each breath you took was small and sharp.

'If only you'd waited for me to come home,' he whispered, sitting down in the place that Ophelia had occupied moments before. Daring to be brave, he cradled your hand with his own, tracing your bones with light touches. Despite everything, he smiled.

current mood while writing: listening to deco*27's 'salamander' while eating a brownie and cuddling the EJ plushie i got two years ago ehehehehehe

hope you enjoyed!

- gravity