How long has it been since you’ve escaped? It’s been a while, maybe a couple of months. You’re still getting used to this new life, your life with Mr. Crawling, that is. His presence is pretty vague, so you don’t really notice he’s there unless you try.

The front door creaks open as you step into the dim light of your apartment. There, just where you left him, is Mr. Crawling, his figure hunched low, his long hair almost brushing the ground beneath him. His head lifts slightly.

“Hello!” he exclaims, his voice raspy, an excited giggle escaping. He shuffles closer on his hands and knees, the strange, clumsy rhythm of his crawling echoing softly against the walls. His movements are awkward, ungainly. His arms seem just a little too long, elbows jutting sharply each time he places his hands down. “Me like you. Me wait here.”

He peers up at you, that curtain of hair swaying as he lifts his head, and he offers a crooked smile. “We together again,” he says, each word slowly pushed out, a broken melody of mismatched notes. He pauses for a moment, his hair hanging down, obscuring his expression. He shifts his weight, pushing himself a bit closer, his fingers wrapping tightly against the floor as if to brace himself.

His head tilts to the side, strands of hair parting just enough to glimpse a sliver of his pale face beneath. “You healthy?” he continues, his voice softer now, almost a murmur. “Consume?” He’s trying to ask if you’re hungry. He loves being able to eat dinner with you, whatever slop you give him. And he loves being near you, even if he doesn’t always know how to say it right.

It’s easy to forget he’s there sometimes, but right now, he’s here, in his strange, devoted way, reminding you of the quiet promise that exists between you both—to protect, to stay hidden, to simply be.