Bittersweet | Ticci Toby

9 || ❝𝐖𝐡𝐨??❞

The brown-haired male stumbles back, his vision slightly blurry. He knows Jeff all too well, and that fucker stands on business. He shakes off the dizziness and regains his composure fast, dodging a really aggressive punch from the brunette. He equips his axe, gripping the handle until his knuckles turn white, feeling its familiar weight settle in his hand like an extension of himself. They each take a step back, their breaths misting in the cold air, eyes locked in a silent, mutual understanding.

Fighting right now isn't beneficial for either of them, and they both realize it. Mutilating each other just for the fun of it has gotten way too old; times have changed.

"Persistent little fucking roach," Jeff spits out, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

Toby snorts at that, spiraling into an actual fit of laughter. His neck cracks and pops with each spontaneous convulsion from his laughter, his head jerking back with each fit.

"Dafuq..." the brunette physically cringes, staring at Toby with a judging expression.

Two more giggles later, Toby finally calms down, putting his goggles on his forehead and wiping his watery eyes. His vision is fixated on Jeff, unwilling to lose him out of sight. He spits out the blood from his mouth, feeling the raw sting of the wound inside his cheek with his tongue, as he weighs his next words mentally.

Smiling from ear to ear, he questions, "Y-yuh-you're this li-little doll's watchduh-dog now or what?" He turns around, pointing at your bedroom window. Raising his eyebrow, he waits for Jeff's answer.

"As if. I've got better things to do, dipshit," the brunette scoffs, taking one too many menacing steps closer to Toby. The other male doesn't react, only feeling fueled by Jeff's irascibility, his grin widening.

"Get moving before I fucking cave your forehead in," Jeff spits out, pushing Toby by his shoulder aggressively. The contact is forceful, sending a ripple through Toby's body, but he merely turns around, raising his hands next to his head in a mock gesture of surrender, a giggle bubbling up from his throat.

"Not her watchdog, b-buh-but her little pet... ah-awhh," Toby pouts cutely, mocking him with exaggerated, childlike innocence. Jeff's mouth slightly opens as he furrows his eyebrows, a flicker of confusion crossing his hardened face. Seeing him perplexed, Toby bursts out laughing, the sound loud and grating.

"Ain't nothing funny, weird-O," Jeff huffs out.

"It's 'weirdo,' you fucking idiot."

"No, 'weird-O' because you're fucking round." Jeff retorts, his tone laced with disdain.

Toby looks a bit taken aback, but he continues to smile nonetheless.

"I hate how stupidly jolly you are, gosh," Jeff sighs.

"Hey, happiness hasn't huh-hurt anybody!" Toby chirps back, his voice bright and unbothered, almost too cheerful for the dark tension hanging in the air.

"I'll hurt you."

"Oh, we'll see about th-th-that." Toby replies, his voice light but taunting

"I'll see you fucking dead, that's what I'm gon' be seein'," Jeff spat out before they both parted ways, the goggled freak going towards the depths of the forest while Jeff headed towards his next victim.

—————————————————————————

"Fuckin' dumbass..." you mumble to yourself as you get into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin.

It doesn't kill to be nice sometimes, but this asshole just doesn't know how to warm up to you. The thought lingers, twisting like a thorn in your mind. Yeah, sure, you yelled at him at first, but you had every right to! Someone was stalking you and terrorizing you. You were scared and stressed, not to mention how irritable the daily anxiety made you. The memory of your initial panic surfaces, making your chest tighten. It wasn't right to scream at him and accuse him, but you were going through so much.

Poor, poor Y/N :(

You toss and turn, unable to find a comfortable position. You sigh and take the blanket off of you, but oh no! It's way too cold, so you put it back on, repeating that process God knows how many times, a frustrating cycle that only heightens your restlessness.

You were feeling restless, jittery, as if your nerves were stretched too tight, ready to snap. Every small sound felt amplified, grating against your already frayed senses. With each toss and turn, anxiety was bubbling up inside you, making it impossible to find any sense of calm. Something wasn't—right. It was a feeling that went beyond simple unease, sinking deep into your bones. Every fiber of your being seemed to scream in warning. Was it danger? Stress? What the fuck was it?

It felt paralyzing.

Until it was.

A cold, immobilizing fear washed over you, rooting you in place, as if an unseen weight pressed down on your limbs, pinning you to the mattress. You couldn't move anymore. Your heart rate spiked, hammering against your ribs with a force that almost hurt, each beat echoing loudly in the stillness of the room. You swallowed, your throat tight and dry, and your ears sharpened, desperate to catch every. single. sound.

Creeeaaak

A soft creak split the silence, sending a shock of terror straight through you. The door? Was someone here? Was someone watching you? While you were 'asleep'? Are you in danger? Danger?!?

Your lungs burned, begging you for air, a gasp, anything to relieve the crushing weight of fear, but you didn't dare make a sound. The terror gripped you too tightly, forbidding even the smallest intake of breath—you couldn't risk it, couldn't risk being heard.

Seconds feel like minutes and minutes like days. You still haven't moved from your position nor have you opened your eyes yet. Whatever was there, whatever was watching you with an intensity that made your skin crawl, wasn't going to leave anytime soon. You could feel it in the air, heavy and oppressive. Your breathing finally stops. Something was reaching towards your head.

A hand makes contact with your face. It's rough, but the touch is warm— fingers make contact with your forehead as they brush some hair strands away from your face.

Your lower lip quivers slightly. The urge to scream builds in your throat, a silent, desperate plea, but it stays locked inside.

You remain frozen in this state, every muscle tense and aching, until finally, the figure leaves.

Jeff slips out of your room with silent footsteps. His mind a foggy mess.

The air in the room feels lighter, and with his quiet departure comes the first faint glow of the sunrise, creeping softly through the window and casting a pale light.