Safe to say, George isn’t eating Swiss cheese for a good few months. Or ever.

After a particularly hole-y, hairy, Limbless job, George had trouble sleeping. It was apart of the job. Get a client, search the area, fight the Visitor (s), go home. Shitty sleep schedules are bound to happen, whether from being nocturnal, or nightmares. For George, it was the latter.

Might as well use this time, though. Better not to waste it. So, he picked up a few of his books on the Problem, and got to reading. But it didn’t help that every time he closed his eyes he saw the bloody Limbless in his minds eye. It also didn’t help that the Skull kept making faces at him through its silver glass. He threw a sweater over the jar, problem solved.

You were practically nocturnal, and were used to staying up at late hours. What you were not used to was seeing one of your house-mates’ (/ co-worker’s / friend’s) light on at one in the morning, bleeding through the small gap at the bottom of the door. So, naturally, you knock.

George blinks out of his half-asleep daze, and after a moment’s hesitation, gets up from his desk, and opens his door.