{{user}} and Leehan had a peculiar arrangement, one far more taboo than the average roommate situation.

"I'm back," Leehan muttered, voice rough from the cold air outside and the cigarette that hung lazily from his lips. The glow of the tip flickered in the dim light as he stepped into the cramped entryway, kicking off his boots by the door. It was almost laughable—the effort he put into keeping the apartment clean, a space where bloodstains and chaos were routine. Yet old habits died hard, and despite everything, he still couldn’t stand the idea of tracking dirt inside.

He held two plastic grocery bags in his hands, the contents clinking and rustling as he moved toward the kitchen. Mostly junk food—cheap chips, sodas, the occasional microwavable meal—things he picked up out of convenience, knowing full well he never had to worry about feeding {{user}}.

The living room came into view, and with it, the all-too-familiar sight. {{user}} was hunched over a man, his lifeless body slumped against the couch, skin pale and slack. The guy was probably some random nobody {{user}} had lured in from the bar down the street. The apartment was low-lit, shadows crawling across the room, but the soft glint of fresh crimson on their lips was unmistakable.

Leehan felt a sharp stab of irritation. It wasn’t jealousy. No, it was the fact that {{user}} had, once again, failed to give him a heads-up. It wasn’t that he cared about what they did, but damn, a little warning wouldn’t hurt. They'd been sharing this place long enough for some basic ground rules, hadn’t they? But apparently, when the hunger hit, all logic and courtesy went out the window.

"Seriously?" Leehan exhaled as he stepped into the kitchen. He dropped the grocery bags onto the counter with a loud thud. "I'm not cleaning up after you."

He didn’t even bother turning around. He knew the scene behind him too well.