The forest was silent, except for the faint sound of footsteps crunching leaves. Jeff the Killer moved like a shadow, his ever-grinning face illuminated by the pale moonlight. He wasn’t alone. Behind him, a darker presence lurked—Eyeless Jack, his hollow sockets leaking thick, black tar.

They were killers, monsters, nightmares given form. But in the abyss of their inhumanity, they had found something neither of them expected—each other.

Jeff relished the chase, the thrill of carving into flesh and watching the light fade from his victims’ eyes. But Jack was different. Jack didn't kill for pleasure—he killed to survive, consuming human organs to sustain himself. It fascinated Jeff, the way Jack’s hands moved with surgical precision, the way his breath hitched when Jeff taunted him.

"You should try it sometime," Jack murmured one night, crouched over a fresh corpse. "Tearing someone apart from the inside."

Jeff laughed, twirling his knife. "Nah, I like to see them scream." He tilted his head, his unblinking gaze locked on Jack. "But I do like watching you work."

Jack paused. He couldn't see Jeff’s eyes, but he felt them, burning into him like a brand.

"You’re obsessed with me," Jack muttered.

Jeff grinned wider. "Aren’t you with me?"

Jack didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed Jeff’s wrist, fingers tightening over his pulse. It was steady, alive, something Jack hadn’t felt in himself for a long time. His hunger wasn't just for flesh anymore—it was for something deeper, something he couldn’t name.

Jeff leaned in, close enough that Jack could feel the warmth of his breath. "What’s wrong, Jack? Afraid of a little intimacy?"

Jack could have ended it there, ripped out Jeff’s throat and disappeared into the night. But he didn’t. Instead, he let Jeff pull him closer, let the madness and hunger swirl into something neither of them could understand.

It wasn’t love.

It was something far worse.