Cold Bones Embrace (UTMV X OCs)

13| Kill the Director

•So with the angst of a teenage band, here's another song about a gender I'll never understand. Here's another song about a gender I'll never understand. If this is a rom-com, kill the director!•

|MICHEAL|

•••

Micheal stepped out of the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist, he hadn't thought much of it, considering that it was his first shower since the skeletons had shown up in his house and he was comfortable walking around shirtless, just hadn't since he was always cold.

Yet now, knocking on Killer's door to get access to his own closet, he realized a moment too late that he'd likely have to explain the scars on his body. He could hide some of them, but he could never hide the ones on his chest.

"Wassup?" Groggily Killer answered the door, it was early for Micheal and it seemed everyone else too. He was thankful for it, being quite the night owl himself.

"I need my closet, I just took a shower," Micheal muttered, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. It itched just ever so slightly and Micheal wanted to scratch at it, but held back.

"Yea-," Killer paused, the lifeless void in his sockets fixing on Micheal's chest from what he could tell, "Nice scars, I didn't think you got into fights."

"They're not from a fight," He muttered and when Killer stared at him blankly he amended, "I had a surgery a while ago."

"Aight, come on in," Killer opened the door enough to let Micheal through and closed it behind him. Flopping back onto the bed, Killer glanced at the closet before Micheal could do anything stupid.

"You gonna give me some privacy?" Micheal asked, turning to look at Killer who was so blatantly trying to size him up, gaze dragging up and down Micheal, eye sockets empty as his smile.

"Didn't know you wanted it," Killer shrugged, getting up after a moment's effort, he looked tired, his smile seemed especially forced in these moments as he retreated from the room, tugging the door closed behind him.

Micheal muttered a thanks before turning to his closet and pulling out his usual outfit, an old t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, not practical or fashionable in any sense, but it was what worked for him. Typically he wore his signature grey but today he changed it up with a black t-shirt.

Throwing the abomination of fashion on, he stepped out of the room, meeting face to face with Killer, "Sorry if I woke you," he stammered, toying with the tips of his fingers.

"Not a problem," Pausing, Killer put a hand on Micheal's shoulder, causing the man to jolt, "Nightmare's up and he's not in the greatest mood, I wouldn't bother him."

"Oh no," Micheal muttered, turning to Killer, "What happened? Is he okay?" Micheal felt a sense of worry overwhelm him, of course these skeletons could barely be considered his friends, but he still felt all the same empathy he would with others.

"Jus' warning ya," Killer pulled his hand away and in a touch starved stupor, Micheal almost wanted him to put it back, but that thought was stupid. Most of his thoughts were.

"Alright, thanks," a pause, one, two seconds go by, Micheal turns to Killer, "Do you think there's anything I could do?"

"That's real kind of ya, but I think your efforts would go in vain on him," Killer muttered, a smile curved his face ever so slightly. Micheal didn't understand, after a moment of debating with himself he asked.

"Why?" Micheal wanted to ask more, something more in depth, but he realized it might've been offensive to ask such a thing to the monsters.

"Nightmare's a bit of an anomaly, he's different, he's-, it's hard to explain," Killer hesitated, showing a rare bit of emotion, hesitance, "You know how monsters are made of magic, there are different types of magic, and it changes how one might act, Nightmare is made of a different kind of magic than the rest of us, negativity, he can't really feel like the rest of us do. Just bad things all the time."