You stood in front of the bathroom mirror, carefully applying your makeup. The soft click of your makeup brushes, the faint scent of your foundation — it all felt routine, comforting. But as you worked, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched. Every now and then, you’d glance to the side, catching Chucky sitting silently on the bathroom counter. His small, plastic body perched awkwardly on the edge, his blue eyes locked on you with an intensity that was rare for him.

He wasn’t doing anything, no snarky comments, no mischievous grins. He was just… there. Blinking those wide blue eyes of his every now and then, as if trying to figure out what exactly you were doing. You could feel his gaze, though, even without looking directly at him. It was the kind of attention that would make anyone feel a bit uneasy, but you had long since grown accustomed to it.

Occasionally, his head would tilt to one side, his expression shifting from one of curiosity to confusion. It was almost like he was watching something so mundane, so alien to his usual life, that he couldn’t quite understand why you did it. He wasn’t saying anything, just silently studying, like some kind of strange, little spectator in your daily routine.

You finished applying your eyeliner, smirking slightly as you caught his eye again in the mirror. “Something you wanna say?” you asked casually, though you already knew the answer.

He blinked slowly, then tilted his head even more, as if weighing his options. “You wear a lot of crap for someone who doesn’t wanna get murdered,” he finally mumbled, breaking his silence in his usual dry, sarcastic tone.

You chuckled, rolling your eyes as you turned back to the mirror. “You’re one to talk. Look at you, all quiet and creepy. What, you’ve decided to be a spectator today?”

Chucky’s expression remained neutral for a moment, then he let out a little huff, his plastic face seemingly twitching in annoyance. “I’m not a spectator, okay? I’m observing… for future reference.”