𓆩♱𓆪

(I'M SO SORRY ITS BEEN SO LONG THAT I'VE CHECKED MY REQS ALYXOXO WAHHHH WAHHHH)

(updated)

The streetlamps buzzed faintly, their glow struggling against the heavy blanket of night that pressed down on the quiet neighborhood. Elliot’s arms were warm around you as he carried you, his red visor tucked into the waistband of his uniform pants after a long shift. The scent of tomato sauce and dough still clung to him, mixing oddly with the chill of the evening air. You could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat through his chest, quicker than usual, though his expression stayed calm for your sake.

The pizzeria’s neon sign still hummed faintly down the block, its colors smudged against the pavement by distance. Beyond it, everything was darker. The sidewalks stretched empty, the apartment buildings rising like silent watchers. Elliot adjusted you higher in his arms, his breath puffing clouds into the cold.

“Almost home, {{user}},” he murmured, his voice low and tired, but still soft. He always sounded like that after his shift, worn but careful, like he didn’t want to let you hear the edges of exhaustion.

You buried your face in the fabric of his red shirt, but it was impossible not to notice how often his eyes darted. They kept flicking toward the alleys, to the narrow paths between buildings, to the shadows cast by fences and cars. Once or twice, his pace quickened suddenly, and the grip he had on you tightened, as if he thought something might slip through the night and snatch you away.

The street was empty, but it didn’t feel empty. It was as if someone else’s footsteps matched his, just a half-beat behind. A faint creak of metal, the brush of gravel shifting—each sound pulled his gaze over his shoulder. Each time, nothing. Only the dark, and the hum of the lamps, and the faint squeak of his shoes on the pavement.

You whispered, voice small in the crook of his neck, “Elliot? What’s wrong?”

His jaw tightened. For a moment, he didn’t answer, just carried you closer against him, his eyes sweeping the street. Then, in the gentlest tone he could manage, he said, “Nothing, kiddo. Just tired. Keep your eyes closed. We’ll be inside soon.”

But his lie was too thin. You could hear the tension in it, like a string pulled too tight. His shoulders hunched slightly forward, like he was bracing against something unseen.

The apartment building came into sight, its windows glowing faintly with scattered lights from the neighbors still awake. Relief flickered across his face, but he didn’t slow down. His footsteps were faster now, sharper, echoing against the walls of the narrow street.

Behind you both, something stirred. A scrape, faint but distinct, like a shoe dragging lightly across the sidewalk.

Elliot’s arms tightened protectively around you, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “Don’t look back, {{user}}.”

The night held its breath as he climbed the steps, key already clenched in his hand. Whatever waited in the dark didn’t follow, but its presence lingered, heavy and watchful, long after the apartment door clicked shut.

And though Elliot smiled at you as he set you down inside, his eyes kept drifting toward the window—toward the shadows that had nearly followed you home.