I'll Enjoy Myself [I'll be eating You]

Chapter 1

AN:i usually post on ao3 but i got friends that use wattpad more lel so basically im gonna b uploading all my stuff on here. starting with this. theres gore and stuff sooooooooo oops :)also i may have made it more gay than i initally wanted it to be. ^^

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He flicks through his song library. He cranks the volume. It's cold as sin. The clouds are heavy, wind rolling through the air like a herd of stallions.

Rob pulls the jacket around himself, buttoning it and huffing to himself, watching his breath waft out in front of him. He looks down at his phone -- clicks the power button, checks for notifications -- before looking back up at the platform. There's hardly anyone else on it; wouldnt be at this hour. There's a woman, sitting on a metal bench, shaking like a leaf, pulling her jacket tighter and tighter. A rotund man, sighing against the cold, letting out clouds of hot air. An old woman with a few children at her side, all tugging at her jacket and pants.

The train slows to a halt as it approcahes the station, and Rob takes a moment, staring at the doors before stepping forward and opening them. The interior of the train is somewhat warmer. Somewhat. He takes an earbud out, sits in a empty seat, watches the city go by out of the window.

Derry is far too many stops away to be cheap, and he tuts to himself as he exits. He brushes past cold, huddling groups as he exits the station. The winter in Derry will not be any kinder to him than it would be in the city. If anything, it'll be nastier.

Nonetheless, it's strangely beautiful. The town is covered in a thick swathe of frost; everything has a white, glistening outline. He breathes out a hot puff of air, fishes around in his pockets for cigarettes. He smokes while he walks.

There's one large set of apartments in Derry, Maine. They are worn down, the entire building a sickening peach, mould crawling alongside the pipes, frozen, dead vines curling up the sides, paint on the windowsills peeling. He stands outside, finishes his cigarette, and enters. A group of teens brush by him and he scowls.

He steps up to the front desk, gives his information. He's here to see a friend -- Henry. First name is all that needs to be given, everyone around here knows everyone.

The woman at the front desk throws him a look -- something from beneath her brow, something prejudiced that he'd guessed he'd get in a small town -- gives him a keycard and asks that he doesn't make much noise. He nods.

Henry's in the one-hundred-and-tenth apartment. He makes sure no-one is around when he enters. He opens the door, slides in, closes it, all in one swift movement. Practised as ever. There's a hall, doors on either sides, and presumably a living room in the opening down at the end. Sizeable, but dingy, the walls lined with peeled flowery wallpaper and creaking wooden floors.

"Henry?" His voice echoes through the small apartment. There's a crashing noise, a distant gurgle. He feels a smile curl. "Am I interrupting something?"

Henry Bowers emerges into the hallway, closing a door behind him. There's blood on his cheek and a look in his eyes, and he's breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling. He's tall, his face defined, dusted with sandy overgrown stubble. His clothes -- which are also messy with blood -- are those you might dig out of a lost and found bin. They make eye contact, and Rob can almost feel Henry begin to sweat. Some kind of pride swells within him with how scared he makes Henry look with a simple stare.

"Hey." Henry looks him up and down, steps back, motions to the end of the hall. "I-I wasn't expecting you so early." He follows him down the hall, into the opening which is, as he thought, a living room. There's a couch facing an armchair, a coffee table in the middle. He opts for the armchair.