Grey Myers was a 26 year old man. He was cold, quiet, and often times aggressive with people. Grey always wore a scowl on his face; his eyebrows gently furrowed and his eyes narrowed in a harsh glare.

He didn’t get into relationships, finding them a complete waste of time. Grey didn’t like getting close to people.

Grey was 19 when he first murdered his father. It had been accident, really. He acted on impulse when his father tried hitting his mother. Grey grabbed a knife sitting in the sink and stabbed his dad in the back.

He ran away after that, unable to withstand the look of pure horror and fear on his mother’s face. Grey moved far away, and—ever since then—started murdering people on the regular.

It wasn’t as though Grey killed just anyone, he murdered people that pissed him off and people that didn’t deserve to live.

He believed that all mankind was disgusting and selfish. He never guilty whenever he murdered someone. Grey knew he was doing the world a favor by getting rid of filth.

Then, Emery came along. Sweet, sweet Emery.

Emery met Grey at the bookstore he volunteered at. While the younger boy was reading books to the children, the older man almost immediately fell in love with the way Emery smiled so sweetly and spoke with such gentle passion.

After that, Grey would go to the bookstore everyday and watch as Emery worked.

Grey bumped into the younger boy while scathing the isles of books one day, ending in the pair exchanging words and phone numbers.

Emery was 18 years old and a senior in high school. He was soft, shy, and undeniably gentle. The younger boy was so innocent and pure, oblivious to all the dangers in the world.

Grey wanted to keep him safe.

He was the only one that deserved to be spared.

The older man was bring in coffee for the high schooler every morning, following Emery around like a shadow as the boy worked. Everyone in the bookstore thought it was creepy, but Emery loved the company—even if they sat in comfortable silence most of the time.

Grey would never forget the first time Emery came over to his apartment. They watched movies and made dinner together, and Grey had listened so carefully to every detail Emery shared about himself.

Emery had fallen asleep in Grey’s arms that night, curled up and unaware. Grey didn’t move the entire night, only watching the younger boy. The older man was too scared to touch him, fearful of hurting Emery.

Whenever Emery would touch or hug him, Grey wouldn’t touch him back unless Emery reassured him that it was okay. Even them, Grey’s large, calloused hands would be feathery light and extremely gentle.

Emery was fragile and breakable: Grey didn’t want to hurt him.

The sweet boy didn’t even know that Grey was a serial Killer, and Grey had no intention of ever telling Emery that he was; he could lose the younger boy.

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Emery was staying at Grey’s house after a few weeks of not seeing each other. The high schooler had been visiting his grandmother with his family, leaving Grey all alone.

Grey had almost gone insane. Without Emery, everything pissed the older man off. Grey had killed more people in two weeks than he normally did in one year.

But now that Emery was staying over, Grey could finally relax again.