The journey down to Socks' flat was one you had taken dozens of times, yet the lines of traffic seemed to be endless and the one turning that you were looking for never came. Were you even progressing, or were you stuck in a pocket dimension that looped around and around until you wasted away to a pile of bones in your seat?

'You know, it's a miracle that some people ever passed their driving test,' you said as a particularly idiotic driver tried to switch lanes two cars before the roundabout. 'Some of the decisions that they make are astounding.'

'I could have driven you there.'

'You won't be driving anywhere for a while—not with your leg.'

'There's nothing wrong with it.'

You raised an eyebrow, glancing down at your phone. 'Mhm. So it just needs stitches for no reason then?'

'Yep,' he said. 'Stitches? No idea why they're there. A complete mystery.'

'How is it, by the way?'

'My leg?'

'No, your shoulders,' you said with a teasing laugh. 'Of course I mean your leg. Do I need to get anything from the shops? Bandages? Painkillers?'

'(Y/N), love, we have enough. I'll be fine. Although...' The smile in his voice was worryingly endearing. 'If you came back and let me give you another kiss, then I don't think my leg will be an issue. And if I get a hug as well? I think all my injuries will magically disappear.'

If you were a cartoon character, your eyebrow would have floated off your face (which would have exploded from the warmth rushing through it). 'You just want me to come home and give you attention.'

'Don't know what you mean,' he said. 'Me? Want attention?'

'Yes, you. Don't worry, when I get back you've got me all to yourself for the rest of the day.' You paused, a thought suddenly entering your head. 'We aren't moving too fast, are we?'

'Too fast? What do you mean?'

'Like, with us. I don't wanna rush things and get caught up in—'

'(Y/N).' Jack's voice was stern, yet held a gentle, comforting understanding that made your breath catch in your throat. 'We can go as fast or as slow as you want, cause I don't mind either way. There's no time frame for these things, and that's okay. Besides, you did inadvertently say that you love me this morning, so there aren't that many 'milestones' left to cross...unless you fancy a January wedding?'

'Why do you have to be such a sweet-talker?'

He chuckled and said, 'That wasn't sweet-talking, but the compliment is appreciate. I can show you what real sweet-talking looks like, if you want?'

'No, I'm alright, thank you,' you said hurriedly, reduced to a mere squeaking mess at his forwardness. 'Hey, look, here's the turning. Thank God. Looks like I'll have to hang up soon.'

'Oh, you're leaving me?'

'Temporarily. I'll message you when I leave, alright? I won't be long.'

'Good. Remember that...it wasn't really their fault. It was Chernabog's.'

The car came to a halt as you parked it in one of the few available parking spaces, a street away from Socks' house. 'I know, I know, I'll keep that in mind. I'm gonna go—organise my thoughts while I walk down.'

'Stay safe, okay?'

'I will. Jack?'

'Hm?'

'Love you.'

'Love you too.' Click.

You were met with an immediate chill when you stepped out onto the street, attacking the skin of your face and neck. You didn't let the weather distract you as you marched down the street and turn right into a row of terraced houses. Socks lived in one close to the middle, and the familiar metal gate made your insides lurch in a mixture of anxiety and excitement.

All it took was a single knock on the door for it to open.

'Hey,' they said, immediately stepping back so you could pass. 'I'm glad you came.' There was tiredness behind their smile, and you guessed that they had spent all day fretting over this meeting. Their jeans had started to crease a little bit from being in the same position all day, and their jumper was slightly baggier then usual. The eight hours for their binder probably ran out.

'Me too.' You were glad to step into the warmth their hallway provided you with, and the door was shut behind you once you were over the threshold, officially blocking out the cold. 'It's been a long few days...I can't even remember when we last met up.'

'Me neither. Do you want a drink?

'I'm alright, actually, thank you.'

Socks narrowed their eyes, following you into the nearby living room. 'You seem different—has something good happened recently?'

'How did you guess?' you asked.

'I know you, and I know when something's made you happy,' they replied, collapsing down on the sofa. 'So? What is it? Who is it?' They grinned. 'Has my dear little (Y/N) fallen in love?' The tense atmosphere seemed to vanish with their grin, like it had wiped it away without a thought.

'I have.' You couldn't help but smile. 'I asked him out yesterday.'

Socks let out a shrill laugh, throwing themself at you in a joyful hug, saying, 'Aww, (Y/N)! I know we have to talk about what happened with us, but please tell me about this mystery guy first!'

'Alright, alright, chill!' you said through your own gleeful tittering. It felt nice to have them back. 'Well...he's sweet and thoughtful and loving. He's really pretty and talented and the perfect guy for me. I can't ask for anything else.'

'Do you have a picture or are you going to hide him from me?'

Fishing out your phone, you found a picture that you'd taken of him the night before. He'd nearly fallen asleep on the sofa, his head slipping down onto your shoulder, and you had decided that it was too cute a sight to resist going un-photographed.

Socks took the phone from you, cooing over the picture. 'God, you're right—he's gorgeous. Ah, you're so lucky! How'd you meet him? He looks familiar.'

'That kinda ties into what's been going on the past few months. Tell me: how much do you remember?'

'Little bits and pieces,' they admitted. 'I remember driving to your work party but not driving home or actually being there. That's the only specific thing I remember, to be honest...I've been working a lot so I guess I've been stressed? All I know is that we had an argument and I hurt you.'

'It isn't stress,' you said, 'it's something that's a bit, uh, hard to explain.'

'Tell me. I can handle it.'

'It might sound weird or made-up.'

'Tell me.'

'A demonic god was messing with us all, which included you. He was manipulating you into doing what he wanted and you won't remember it because he's technically dead and you weren't in control of your own mind.' You paused, thinking of the best way to phrase what you were going to say next. 'You were just a puppet, and it's kinda my fault.'

They frowned. 'Why is it your fault?'

'You're just gonna accept everything I've just told you? You're not even gonna question it?'

'Why would I?' they asked with a small shrug. 'Gods and demons are part of my religion. So who was it? Why were they interfering?'

You were astounded that they believed you like that. Friendship aside, the general (expected) reaction to being told that a demon had been messing with your life was either disbelief, awkward laughter, or a combination of offence and anger. Instant belief had not been something you had expected.

'Well,' you stammered, 'he—Chernabog—didn't like that I escaped the ritual when I was a kid, and then I made a deal with him. Even though I fulfilled my end of the deal and he fulfilled his, apparently demons don't take that as a sign to leave us alone, so he tried to...I don't know, make life miserable? I never got told what his aim was. Anyway, I got the thing that saved me as a child to help out, I don't know what he did, and then my boyfriend beat the shit out of a demon lord.'

Socks was quiet for a second, then said, 'One: when were you going to tell me that you were involved in the paranormal? Two: your boyfriend is cool as fuck. Three: who is this thing that saved you?'

'One: I never thought it would be relevant, but yes, I am far too involved in the paranormal. I will explain later cause it's a lot. Two: I know he is. Three: his name is Slenderman.' Saying his name still brought a bit of bile into your throat. You weren't sure you would ever be able to say it without feeling sick.

'Slenderman? As in, the Slenderman? Eight pages, blah blah blah?'

'Y-Yeah, him. He gave me head pats.'

'I can think of several thirteen year olds that would die for the chance to get head pats from him. Was it nice?'

'It was...weird,' you answered. 'I don't think he'll do it again.'

A devious look crossed their face. 'Yell for him later and demand more.'

'I think he'd sass me out before killing me,' you said, chuckling as you imagined asking No-Face of all people for head pats. 'I do have a bone to pick with him, though, so if I get more head pats I'll let you know.'

'You better! This is all just...wow. I can't believe that Chernabog decided to play puppet master with me because it would affect you.' They sighed, leaning back against the sofa cushions. 'He sucks. It didn't even work, though. What an idiot.'

'I know, right?'

'What was I like while he was messing around with our lives?'

It pained you to tell the truth. 'A bit of an arse, really. Nothing like you,' you added hastily.

'So he completely changed my personality,' they mused. 'Interesting. I'm still sorry that it happened. I can't believe that he got into my head like that.'

'It's fine! It's fine, so please don't worry about it. Everything's sorted, and we're all good.' You grabbed their hand and squeezed it. 'It's gonna take more then a demon to rid you of me, so it looks like we're stuck together for a bit longer.'