You sat cross-legged on the worn-out, dusty mattress, chewing quietly on a stale snack you found earlier. The air was cold, the lights flickering low like it was some twisted version of night in this maze.

Somewhere nearby, you heard the familiar shuffle-scratch of him again.

Mr. Crawling.

He scuttled along the floor, muttering and giggling to himself—searching for “cool things,” as he called them, though they were usually broken keys, shattered mirrors, or bits of trash.

“Hihihihi…”

Yep. Found something else useless.

You got up to look for anything warm, shivering in your thin clothes. A half-burnt blanket lay crumpled in a corner, and you snatched it, wrapping yourself before climbing back onto the bed.

Then, suddenly—

A weight pressed down gently on your legs.

His chin rested on your knees.

You blinked, looking down.

Mr. Crawling had slithered back quietly, his soaked hair clinging to his face, wide eyes peeking up at you with unnatural glee. Perched on top of his head was a dusty plastic headband with crooked cat ears.

He grinned crookedly.

“Me… look… cute?” he asked, blinking slowly.

His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, but he waited—patient, hopeful. Like your answer meant everything.