The morning sun creeps through the window, little slivers highlighting your slowly waking form. You wake up with a pain in your neck, sharp and unrelenting. You try to move, only to realize your arms are stuck under something. You groan slightly, shifting as much as you can to get rid of some of the stiffness in your muscles.

It is then that you recall why you are where you are. Johnny is collapsed on top of you, head resting on your chest, and your legs are tangled together on the couch. You can not help but be uncomfortable with how things have turned out for you. Out of all the things that you may have expected when you witnessed what you did, that you would one day wake up borderline cuddling with the man who committed such heinous acts never occurred to you, not once.

"Johnny-" You fear what will happen if you wake him, but you can not stay here while he catches up on the hours of sleep he has apparently missed. You have things to do, more important than any concern you may have for him. Which, you remark to yourself, is very small. "Get up." You move again and he mumbles something in his sleep, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and holding you tight. The fates quite like toying with you. They enjoy making things go from bad to worse in an instant, and you doubt you're going to be catching a break any time soon.

"Come on!" For someone so waifish, he has quite the strong grip on you. You are beginning to lose your patience with him, even knowing that he needs to rest or otherwise the consequences will likely be dire. You are not his parent, you remind yourself, so it isn't any of your business if he's tired to the point of collapse again or not. All you want is him out of your house. You want your solitude, you want your life back the way it was before you met him. You wrestle your arms out of his grasp and do the only thing that you can think to do. You push him off of you, and directly onto the floor.

"What the fuck!" He jumps up from the ground, form tensed like he could take off running any second. "What- why am I-"

"Glad to see you're awake, jackass." You mumble, sitting up and stretching out your arms above your head.

"I..." Johnny looks around the room, bug-eyed and confused. "You let me sleep?!" He suddenly shrieks, and you nearly jump out of your skin. So you were right. He is angry that you let him sleep.

"I thought you needed it." You reply, trying to keep calm. You are fairly certain if you show fear, he will feed off of it. "You certainly seemed like you did."

"I- You- No! No!" Johnny stamps his foot like a petulant child. "You can't do that! I don't ever want to sleep, how dare you let me!"

"Listen-!" You abruptly stand up to face him, chest puffed out and fists clenched at your sides. "You're the one who collapsed on top of me, alright? I didn't tell you to do it. If it was that important to you, you should have warned me beforehand and I would've woken you up!"

Johnny wilts, like your anger is something terrifying and unexpected. He functions based on how much control he has, you have decided, and you have taken that away from him. He has lost his hold over you, only for the moment, and he has no idea how to cope with that. "Okay." He replies, relaxing his visibly tense body. This has turned out better than you expected, which is to say you do not have a knife buried in your gut or an ax lodged in your brain. You have no clue where he would get either of those things, but something tells you that he could get them if he wanted to badly enough.

Johnny sits down on the couch again, bunching in on himself and staring at the TV. You can tell he is not watching it; his gaze is far too absent for that to be the case. You decide you are going to forget that he is there at all and get on with your life.

You walk into the kitchen, feet cold against the tile. You find yourself more grateful than usual that this is not a workday. If you had overslept this much, you might be looking at losing your job altogether. How much that would both you seems to vary on a day to day basis, but at the moment, you figure that you would be pretty upset by it. You make yourself some tea, and as an afterthought, you make Johnny some, too. You suppose you are not doing a very good job at forgetting he is there.

You walk back out into the living room, where Johnny is anxiously gnawing at his nails, still staring blankly at the television.

"I made you some tea." You say, drawing him out of his trance. He smiles faintly and takes the mug from your hand.

"You're so much... different than most people." He murmurs, directing his blank gaze towards the bubbles swirling inside his mug.

"I don't think I am." You shrug slightly. You kick your feet up on the coffee table, leaning back against the couch and trying to get comfortable. Despite having slept alongside him, you doubt you will ever be comfortable in his presence.

"I think you are." Johnny replies. You wonder what that means to him. Next, you wonder what you mean to him. Are you different in a good way, or in a way that indicates he intends to kill you when he finishes his morning tea? You prefer the former.

If you think about it for too long, you can still recall the warmth of his body against yours. It is a phantom sensation, a weight on your chest that leaves you with an odd feeling in your stomach. You decide then that it is best that you don't think about it.

"...Are we friends?" Johnny asks, very suddenly.

You remain silent for a moment, contemplating your answer. "I don't know." You admit, not wanting to lie to him.

"You don't know? I guess I don't, either." Johnny sighs, looking a bit crestfallen.

You would feel bad if you were in the position to feel much of anything for him, outside of the basic assortment of terror and discomfort you feel whenever you are around him. A part of you wonders if you really are something approximating friends at this point. You've spent time together, you've survived his presence multiple times now- perhaps you really are reaching that kind of relationship now.

The silence spans on, as it often does when you are with him. You change the channel to the news, and land directly in the middle of a report on two murders. A chill creeps up your spine as you wonder if Johnny has anything to do with them. It would be somewhat unfair to assume that he is responsible for every murder in the city. You can't help but do it anyway.

"Do you ever think about moving somewhere else?"

"Yeah." You respond, setting your now-empty mug on the coffee table and drawing your knees up to your chest. It's cold, and you don't know how you simply didn't notice it before now. The chill bites into you, leaving you with goosebumps along your skin. "But it's not like I could afford that, even if I decided I really wanted to do it."

"This place is miserable. There's somewhere better for you out there, you know."

"How would you know that?"

"I suppose that I don't know for certain."

"Do you ever think about leaving?"

Johnny looks solemn, as if the question has drawn out some unexpected feeling from him. "I wish I could. I really wish I could."

"Why can't you?" You assume it's for the same reason you can't: money.

"I have... things that I have to do here." The way he says it strikes you as ominous, as though there is far more to it than you will ever understand. You don't find that notion unbelievable. Johnny is enigmatic, and the things that compel him to stay here are things that you are certain you would not even begin to grasp. His mind behaves strangely, you think, and you have not known him long enough to understand what makes it tick.

You wonder if you will continue to get to know him, whether you want to or not.

"Like what?" You inquire, interested enough in the answer to take the risk of upsetting him all over again.

"...There's a wall, you see..." Johnny begins, then trails off. He says no more, and you can only assume that he does not intend to speak any longer. All you know is there is a wall. What that means, be it metaphor or literal, you aren't sure.

If he really doesn't want to tell you, you are not going to press him for answers. You have learned, recently, that some people are going to overreact no matter what. Johnny is one of those people.

He is definitely one of those people.

"I have to leave soon." Johnny announces after some time of not saying anything at all.

"Oh, what for?" You are looking forward to when Johnny goes home. You know that is just a little bit mean, but you crave solitude after spending so long with him. An entire night, in fact. Then again, you suppose that isn't a fair span of time to call it by. You were asleep for most of it.

"I have work to do."

You wonder if tonight you will see a report on another massacre.

"Alright." You reply, an unrelated shiver running through your body. You get off the couch, disappearing to the hall closet to get a blanket. Warmth can't fix all of your problems, but it can surely fix one of them. You return to the couch, keeping to your side and feeling grateful that Johnny has done the same.

The blanket is drawn around your shoulders and wrapped around your body. You don't offer any of it to Johnny, which you suppose is a bit rude, but that is none of your concern.

"I've got to go now." Johnny seems tense again, and you wonder if it is because of that wall that he mentioned. He stands and walks to the door, heavy boots clunking on the hardwood. He opens the door, then looks at you. "Bye. Sorry I- nevermind." Then he disappears into the cold, and you are left to wonder what it is that Johnny would ever come close to apologizing to you for.

When he has been gone for a few seconds, you get up to lock the door. You may be on speaking terms with a notorious killer, but you are not about to leave your door open for anyone to come waltzing in. You don't need another killer deciding that you are special, that you're different and worth befriending.

A feeling takes residence in your chest, and it is something tight and aggravating.

You realize, not without a hint of disdain, that you are lonely without him here.

--

Late into the evening, a knock lands upon your door. One, single knock. You would have missed it if you had been focused on anything more important than the television. You have been ignoring the work you need to be doing, and you can't find it within yourself to feel bad.

You go to the door to see who it is, though you have a feeling you know, but stop when you notice an envelope right in front of it. You pick it up, brow furrowed. When you open the door, just to be certain no one is there, all you are greeted with is a gust of wind. You take the letter back over to the couch with you, turning it over in your hands. The outside is blank, aside from your name scrawled on the front. No return address. This was not delivered by any kind of mailman, that is for sure.

You open it, careful not to tear the envelope as you do. The edge of the letter appears to have been dipped in something red, and you feel uneasy when you realize that it is probably blood. You decide not to think too much about it, and read the letter instead.

'I'm sorry to communicate this to you through a letter, but words have been failing me, lately. I think you know that I am not, as many might define it, a very good person. You saw it firsthand. And yet, you have let me into your home numerous times now. You have shown me kindness unmatched by most that I have encountered, and I thank you for that. I told you that you were different from most people, and I didn't know at the time what I should tell you that meant. You do nice things for me. You give me tea and listen to me. I yelled at you and you yelled right back. I'm grateful for that kind of thing. Most people wouldn't do that. I Which is why I regret to inform you that I will be absent for some time.

I will miss you, most of all, while I'm gone.

-Johnny C.'

You set the letter down and wonder where Johnny intends to go, and what he intends to do while he is gone. Once you finish contemplating that, you wonder why it is that your heart aches.