The Dyers Are Deadly

2

Patch envies Ricci.

She watches him from the corner of her eye while leaning against the window, one leg folded under her. That milky-white skin of his—every inch must have already been touched and claimed and explored by the younger and nicer Dyer.

The asshole Dyer has only held her hand for the past seven months.

Ricci looks at her and raises an eyebrow, giving her an easy smile. He turns back to the road and asks, "What's on your mind, noona? You hungry? Dave prepared a good breakfast, you should've eaten—"

"I'm moving out," she says quietly.

Ricci's head twists so fast towards her she's afraid he broke his neck. His eyes are wide. "What?! No—"

"Chiko doesn't care what I do unless I try to get myself killed. I won't try it." If she dies, Chiko can't touch anyone else. She's the only one.

And she cares enough about the asshole to give him her hand every night even though he's breaking her heart every day.

Patch has tried everything. She's had enough.

Rhyburn knows never to go near the Dyers. They live in the secluded part of town, near the forest, with a big metal gate protecting the manor and the estate. The story is that the Dyers are white-haired and pale-skinned and they never come out. They're completely isolated.

Chiko and Myc do have white hair and pale skin, but they go out with hoods and gloves and socks and sleeves—everything to cover even a centimeter of their skin.

That's how she met Chiko.

Patch knew he came in the little bookstore she used to work at every Saturday at precisely nine-fifteen. He'd come in with his head down, covered from head to toe, and then he'd disappear in the aisles for hours.

Patch was rearranging books on a shelf when she catches him sleeping on the floor against the wall, head slumped down to the side.

She put the books in her hands very carefully on the floor and squatted in front of him with a smile.

She saw his hair was white under his hoodie, and immediately knew this was one of the Dyers her parents warned her about when she was little.

Still, Patch thought he looked harmless. She even leaned forward to carefully inspect his face, her eyebrows scrunching at the allure of his features. What could possibly be so dangerous about this beautiful man?

Then, as if feeling eyes on him, his eyes flew open, and Patch fell into him in shock of his piercing and electric blues.

She can't remember which part of him she had touched, because he scrambled away from her with wide, panicked eyes as soon as they made contact.

And then he ran and came back the next day looking very sickly under his hoodie. He stood in front of the counter at the bookstore and clenched his jaw before taking off his glove and offering it to her. "Hold my hand."

He asked for that once a day until Patch finally demanded an explanation.

Her job at the bookstore ended and Chiko asked to meet with him, begrudgingly, as if he was being forced to do it, to feel a touch—once a day in a place without people. Until Patch said, "I can move in."

"No."

Patch frowned. "You said Ricci moved in."

"They're romantically involved. We aren't."

Patch forced herself into the manor, anyway. At that time, she thought it wasn't going to take long before they had the same relationship as Myc and Ricci.