- Love is Thicker than a Velvet Ring -

[1] - I was meant for running fast.

Tim's POV -

He just got back from some kind of mission and reported back to the operator. Now he was just splayed on the couch, mask on, and jacket hung up for the time being. He knew he should get a shower. The dirt and blood on his clothes were caked on thanks to the unknown rain storm while he was away. And the general scent of sweat thanks to him actually trying on his missions.

A sudden knock on the back of the couch made him groan, and he sighed, looking and seeing his smiley-faced friend. Hoodie.

Hoodie seemed to be in his normal attire. The yellow hood, black pants with some ratty and beaten tennis shoes and that mask. Well, baklava. It had a red smiley face stitched into it, and the place where there are supposed to be eyeholes are sewn shut. Honestly, Tim doesn't even know how he can see out of that thing, let alone keep it on his face for so long.

"You need a smoke break, Masky?" And his voice, too. It was obvious he was wearing some kind of voice changer because it was so static-y. When the voice changer would waver, there was a nicer, more kind voice on the other side.

Tim just silently nodded, not wanting to speak right now. He was just exhausted and needed sleep. But a smoke with the only other sane person in the mansion sounded really god damn nice.

He slowly got up from the couch, his back cracking slightly. Maybe I should get a massage.. He thought to himself. Then again, I am legally dead, so maybe not.

Hoodie seemed to wait so patiently, fiddling with what Tim assumed to be a pack of cigarettes in the front pocket. And then Tim started towards the front door. He doesn't think it'd be wise to smoke inside, even with some other proxies habits with various other drugs.

When Tim got out onto the front porch with Hoodie, he moved his mask out of the way, leaning against the wooden posts lightly. They look like they're about to break, but they haven't yet.

Hoodie hands Tim an unlit cigarette, and he pulls up his mask only a bit to reveal his mouth.

Tim stares, lighting his cigarette. The slight stubble there and that gap tooth seem familiar. Such a dorky little smile. Why is it familiar?

He took a drag, exhaling it out after a second or two. Hoodie seemed to follow, his smile so light and easy.

Tim took note of how Hoodie never talked without the mask over his mouth. Maybe it only works when it's on? He thought loosely. I wonder if his voice would be annoying without it, like Toby's or Jeff's. The thought itself made him cough on the smoke briefly. No, it doesn't. We've heard it before when that changer slips, dumbass.

Right. His other little voice. "Masky." He says Masky is just his little killing persona, but it's a real thing. A second voice in his head that asks him to kill, asks him to be a complete slave to the Operator and its ways.

What? Mad because I'm correct? I see your other thoughts. god, you're a bit pathetic, the voice sneered at Tim.

A hand on his shoulder startled Tim, and he huffed, looking at Hoodie. The usual easy-going smile was gone, and he had a slight frown. Confusion? Concern? Tim wasn't too sure because he couldn't see the others' full face.

Hoodie pulled his mask back over his mouth and put out his cigarette, crushing it beneath his heel.

"You alright, Masky? Keep zoning out, and your cig is about to burn your gloves."

Tim looked down at the cigarette in his hand, and it was, in fact, burning down very close to his gloved fingers. He sighed, putting it out in defeat.

"I'm fine, Smiley. Just got lost in my own thoughts." Yeah, maybe about kissing those lips of his. Shut up, I was not.

"Alright. Maybe I should get you to sleep. Those eyebags look pretty serious." Hoodie hummed, the changer slightly cutting out.

Tim didn't even protest, just threw his hands up and walked back inside and to his room.

There was blood on the walls, and a thick smell of weed wafted down from the end of the hall thanks to, more than likely, Jeff. Tim just unlocked his door with his key and slipped inside.

He then locked it soon after and slid down it, throwing his mask off.

Sleep, shower, eat. But he isn't all that hungry, and he doesn't trust any food in the fridge not to be rotten or on the verge of going bad. Not to mention, the human remains stuffed in there.

Maybe you should start starving yourself again. Lose that weight so we can be in shape again. Tim scoffed. Okay, for one, I'm not fat. I'm barely even chubby. And I'm plenty in shape.

The thought lingered, though. No, no. He remembers loosely a friend helping him get over that in college.

Maybe.. he could ask Hoodie about it.

Don't hold out on that. I don't even know why you trust him.

I- I.. Why do I trust him?

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