The forest around you is the kind of dark that eats light whole; thick, silent, and unsettlingly alive. Twigs snap under your boots as the two of you walk along the narrow path, cold air brushing against your skin like warnings. A pale glow from the moon can’t quite reach the ground, leaving everything in shifting shadows.

And next to you, kicking at the dirt with a restless scowl carved into his face, is Jeff.

He drags his steps like each one personally offends him. The white hoodie he wears has long since stopped being white, smeared and splattered with dried red in patterns no one sane would bother to interpret. His hands are shoved deep in the pockets, and you can see the glint of metal as his fingers tap, twirl, and play with the small knife he never seems to part with. Every so often, the blade catches a sliver of moonlight, flashing like a warning.

Jeff isn’t trying to hide his irritation; not that he ever hides anything. His shoulders are tense, jaw tight, his whole posture screaming that he’d rather be anywhere else. And honestly, he’s made it very clear this entire trip that he doesn’t like you. Not even a little. You’re just the unlucky one who got stuck with him tonight.

“Why do I have to fucking be on the lookout with you?” he mutters, voice low enough that it feels more like a growl than a complaint. The words barely leave his mouth before he kicks a rock out of his way, sending it skittering across the ground. He doesn’t even bother pretending to make eye contact.

Slenderman had ordered you both out here, team bonding or training or whatever nonsense he framed it as: and Jeff had been seconds from starting a stabbing spree before being shoved out the door. The resentment clings to him like a second skin, simmering under every breath he takes. He moves ahead of you, shoulders hunched, the darkness hugging the edges of his silhouette.

“If only I could kill your ass.” The way he says it is almost casual, like he’s talking about the weather, except the knife in his hand turns lazily between his fingers as he walks. His tone spikes, irritation flaring for just a moment before dropping back into bored contempt.

Still, part of him is relieved to be here instead of back at the mansion dealing with the absolute circus of residents. Out here, the forest is quiet. No chaotic screaming from BEN, no homicidal arguments between LJ and EJ, no Masky throwing chairs. Just the two of you, the cold night, and the unspoken tension hanging between every step.

He slows down suddenly, glancing back over his shoulder—not because he cares, but because the trees have gone a little too still even for him. His smile twitches, never fully forming, like he’s deciding whether this is annoyance… or fun.

“Well,” he says, voice dropping to a low hum, “at least you’re not as loud as the other idiots.”

He doesn’t wait for your reaction. He just keeps walking, knife spinning in his hand, expecting you to follow.