Pilot.

Guys like us are cool in college.

  Jeremy sat on the edge of the bed in his college dorm. His back was arched, his controller in hand, focusing on finding that last god damn dude he needs to kill. 

Pain flowed throughout Jeremy's strained neck. He was on the top of a bunk bed as previous attempts to sleep on the bottom bunk resulted in him hitting his head on the metal above. 

After he moved to the top bunk, he quite enjoyed the freedom, but it came with a cost. Every time he went to look at the tv, he had to strain his neck, as he was now. he had been there for 2-3 hours trying to finish this one mission. It was quite sad, actually. What was the time? it was like 11 or 12, Jeremy had lost count.

He would have moved to the bottom bunk as his roommate, Michael, wasn't in the room, but Michael's bed was occupied by a mountain of clothes that Jeremy's chill roommate didn't bother washing. Michael usually slept on the couch, anyway

His fingers mashed at the buttons with furious speed, his foot tapping on the metal pole of the bed in concentration. His blue eyes scanned the screen, and every muscle in his body tensed up every time he turned a corner.

The shotgun was in his character's hands, scanning the gray walls for any hidden doors. He was so focused on the gray boring landscape that when his screen viciously changed to a vibrant wine-red, he jumped back in surprise. The words "GAME OVER" splattered onto his screen like blood.

Furrowing his eyebrows, he threw his controller onto the pillow. stretching out his long legs onto his blue blanket.

Feeling defeated, Jeremy let out a sigh and leaned against his wall, surveying his dorm room. Next to his bed was a wooden bedside table. Lounging on it were two empty cans of soda and a lamp. Adjacent to that, there was a small desk littered with pencils, erasers, and scrunched up balls of paper making a waterfall leading from his seat to the overflowing bin beside his desk.

At the end of his bed pushed tightly up against the wall was a television and console. He played it almost every chance he got. Mortal Kombat, Ratchet and Clank, and his personal favorite, Apocalypse of the Damned!

Jeremy climbed down the ladder. He listened to the creak of the wooden floor underneath him as his feet reached the ground. He turned off the console on his way to the cupboard. The tall boy bent down, opening the door. Jeremy searched the shelves looking for anything to eat when there was a sudden knock on the door.

Standing up, Jeremy reached for the doorknob, but the door was flung open violently before he could turn it. The door hit Jeremy, and he quickly retracted his hand back to his chest as Michael burst through the door.

Slushy in hand, headphones around his neck, faintly playing some Beatles song, Jeremy had no idea what his boyfriend listened to.

"MICHAEL MAKES AN ENTR- Oh shit, Jeremy!"

 Michael's energetic voice turned to worry in about two seconds at the sight of his lover. Jeremy clutched his right hand over his chest and covered it with his left. In pain, Jeremy fell to his knees, face to the floor.

"Jeremy?? are you okay? did I do that? I'm sorry! fuck- sh- Jeremy?"

 Michael's face was full of anxiety.

"N-No don't cry! I'm sorry! shi- I didn't-"

 The slushy-wielding boy then stopped uttering apologies as an ominous noise came from Jeremy. Not crying? Is he, what, laughing? oh shit.. he is. Michaels' face flushed a bright red.

Jeremy lifted his face to look at Michael, smiling and giggling at the smaller boys worry. Jeremy put his hand out to the right side and shook it as if trying to shake out the pain. It did hurt, but not as much as he exaggerated it to be.

"You were so worried!" Jeremy said in-between giggles.

"Dude, I thought I totally knocked your hand off!"

 Michael retorted, embarrassed and red. He bent down to reach Jeremy's level on the floor and wrapped his arms around him. 

Jeremy did the same and planted a swift kiss on Michael's neck, giggling softly with red cheeks.

They both stood up, Jeremy towering over Michael's short chubby figure. Seriously, his head was at Jeremy's shoulders.

Michael took a sip of his pink slushy and lifted his arms over his head in a stretch, yawning. "Dude, I think I'm gonna hit the hay, ya know? The sun has gone down, I'm tired as shit."

Jeremy's shoulders slumped mildly, he was hoping to spend some more time with his boyfriend. "Uh- Yeah- Sure. You know what? Me too." He turned his gaze back to his bed, disappointed.

Jeremy heard the springs of the couch squeak under Michael's pressure, as he sighed to himself. It was going to be another night like this.

Jeremy climbed up the cold metal poles, and fell back limply onto his bed, closing his heavy eyelids

He imagined being in a king-sized bed with Michael. They cuddled and pulled on the blanket. Jeremy turned to face the wall and felt Michael's warm hand wrap around his waist and pull him closer as they shared body warmth in the cold winter atmosphere. Jeremy blushed.

But that wasn't the case.

 Instead, he was alone whilst the love of his life slept on some squeaky ass couch, probably freezing his ass off. The butterflies in Jeremy's stomach seemed to drop dead as he remembered what situation he was in, and he furrowed his eyebrows and wrapped his arms around his own waist.

He just wanted to hear Michaels voice.

He did hear a voice, however.

A familiar voice, in fact.

Not a pleasant voice.

"Jeremy Heere,"

it said in its cold, monotone voice.

Jeremy flung his eyes open and gasped, gripping his mattress. He hoped it was a dream, holy shit he hoped it was.

"Jeremy Heere, you haven't gotten rid of me.."

This was no dream, this was real. The voice in his head was as real as it had been in high school

Jeremy opened his mouth in silent protest, gasping for air and trying to wrap his mind around this. He'd had therapy for 4 months after the incident, this shouldn't be happening! Jeremy followed the therapist's orders, he saw doctors, this shouldn't have be happening! God no, why was this happening?

"Jeremy. I was going to improve your life" 

the demonic voice turned to static in his head, ringing in Jeremy's brain

He flung his hands and scratched at his temples, trying desperately to remove the noise. The never-ending static that made him sick to his stomach. He could hear a voice in his head, almost unintelligible and satanic.

"JEREMY.I.AM.GOING.TO.IMPROVE.YOUR.LIFE"