The first time you welcomed him into the warmth of your home, he was a creature steeped in sin and death, a freak of nature with the stench of decay clinging to him like a second skin.

The last time you welcomed him into the warmth of your home, he was a human, buried beneath the shell of a monster— hollowed eyes as lifeless as the bodies he buried.

Jack never understood why he returned after that first night, nor the second, nor the nights that followed, until they became this—whatever this was, whatever the two of you had become.

He didn’t know why he kept coming back until he allowed you to run your fingers through his hair, which he was sure reeked of rot, or trace the contours of a face he seldom revealed behind the cerulean mask.

He didn’t know why he allowed you so close. He didn’t know why the thought of it all terrified him.

But still, he keeps coming back.