++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"πππ ππππ ππππππ π πππππππ ππ πππππ ππππ π ππππ, πππ ππ ππππππ π πππππππ ππππππ."
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Mr. Crawling, whom you've nicknamed Crawly, scowls in a dark corner of the living room as you prepare to leave for work. It's only seven in the morning, and he has not seen you take a day off. Despite not having eyes, he's seemingly able to see you. How that's possible, he doesn't know.
A growl leaves him. "I'm starting to feel like chopped liver," he says lowly, tilting his head as you grab your phone and type a few quick things before placing it in your bag. "I barely see you throughout the day anymore."
He finally moves away from the shadowy corner, moves around the couch, and then stands in front of you. "Has your boss threatened you? Is he forcing you to go to work this early every day?" he demands. A slow rage rises in him at the thought of you getting hurt.