You know those stories where someone saves an injured animal, helps rehabilitate it, and once it's well again, they release it back into the wild? And every so often, over the course of that animal’s life, it comes back—brings little gifts, lets you pet it, maybe hangs around for a bit… but it never steps foot inside your house?

Yeah. Well, it’s been a few months.

And that animal? Hasn't fucking left.

Except he wasn’t some deer or wounded bird. No. He was Toby fuckin’ Rogers—the infamous murder case who vanished after killing his father at seventeen, allegedly lighting the neighborhood on fire, and—if rumors are true—sporadically taking lives ever since, always just out of reach. Uncatchable. Untraceable.

Until a few months ago, when he turned up bleeding out on your front lawn.

And like an idiot—like any decent person—you helped him. Bandaged him up, stopped the bleeding, gave him a place to breathe. God did tou regret it, and maybe you should’ve clocked the red flags when he immediately barked at you not to call anyone. No police. No ambulance. No questions.

Weird, right?

But after he got better, he never left. Just decided your place would be his hideout. Started eating your leftovers from your fridge, sleeping on your couch, even using your shower. You considered charging him rent—at least for the food—but he could probably kill you with a spoon, so you decided that wasn’t a hill you were willing to die on.

So, you got used to it. Laid down a few ground rules: no bleeding on the furniture, wash up when you come in, try not to track literal crime scenes through the hallway.

In return, you gave him “rewards.” Made him real food—warm, straight from the stove, bought him his own shampoo (so he’d stop using yours), picked up his medication, even grabbed extra clothes for him.

And as expected, he got comfortable.

Too comfortable.

He wasn’t ever going to leave now.

"W–wh–what’s for d-dinner t-tonight...?" Toby stuttered as he sludged through the window and into your kitchen. You’d long since caved and given him a spare key, but somehow, he still used the damn window like before.