Friends With Time ⌛ (Tyler Galpin x Reader)

Day 55-60

Day 55:

Teeth at your neck, ripping, burning-

You wake up in a panic, scrabbling for his coat among your blankets, but it's not there. You grip the blanket next to you, heart slamming against your chest, before you remember where it is. You gave it back.

Because he didn't fight for you.

No, because he was a killer. And because he didn't care. And you never really knew him, and everything was just so he could escape, because he is a monster and never cared about you.

You shudder, hunching up in your bed, pulling the blankets up to you as you stretch to sit up, pillows at your back.

The small nightlight you keep in the corner of your room is the only light, the Bubble gently bobbing up and down in the vast sea around your ship.

You cough into your fist, shivering as fever chills run through you.

Your neck burns, the way it does sometimes, and you stretch your socked feet down to the carpet with a sigh. The balm for it is in your bathroom drawer.

The doctor calls it phantom pain. It's so much worse when you get nightmares.

Your neck burns and you grimace, throwing a hand to it and pulling the balm out of the drawer. You unscrew the lid with shaking fingers, dabbing some of the smooth cream on the little divots in your neck.

You move your hair away from the scar and flinch at the sight of yourself in the mirror, neck bare, the two, tiny punctures on your throat.

The monster saw you like that.

You never let people see the scar. But he had, and it had felt... okay.

You huff and push your hair, hesitantly brushing the strands back over the scar. Was it all just to manipulate you into letting him go? Was any of it real?

Your scar sparks with pain again, and you dab more ointment on it before shoving the container back into the drawer.

Your door will stay closed tonight. You comb back your hair with aching fingers, crawl back under the covers, and pray no monsters disrupt your dreams.

Day 56:

"Morning, Warden," the monster tries today, giving you a cautious smile. He walks towards the glass, hands in his pockets. "Are you feeling any better?"

Yes, the cold is starting to go away. No, I wake up with pain in my scar and an ache in my chest from all the words I can't tell you.

You bite your lip, staring resolutely at the conveyor belt as you lower his breakfast onto the smooth, off-black surface with shaking hands. Have there always been little white crumbs sticking to it?

You can hear the monster moving, but you can't look up, can't look him in the eye. Was it all just a lie?

It felt so real.

You wrap your arms around yourself and flick the switch over, marching back up the stairs.

Day 57:

"Y/N," he says when you bring him his coffee the next morning, pressing his hands to the glass, fingers leaving prints. "Y/N, listen to me. Please."

You pause, hands clenched at your sides. The whole world seems to shiver.

You should be leaving. You know that. You hear your heartbeat like a ticking clock in your throat.

"I can't-" he starts, and you turn to find him shaking his head. "I can't control myself when I'm in the monster, Y/N."