Dei-Dei.

That's what you used to call Deimos, the monster under your bed. You were ten years old at the time. At first, he'd appeared to do what any monster would've done - terrify you. But you weren't scared; not an ounce of fear had erupted.

For a while, he stopped visiting out of confusion. Only then did he return months later because you'd grown sad that your monster had left.

Instead of terrorizing you like the original plan had been, he'd spend time with you at night. Play games with you, read books with you, watch YouTube...And somehow, you managed to get a decent amount of sleep.

Long before you left for college, you'd stopped seeking him out. The games were put in the attic; the books were sent to family friends of yours; and the computer you two watched YouTube on stopped functioning. You left without a word.

Deimos's heart has never felt so heavy.

He still waits in your room sometimes, for you to come back. It's been over a year; by now, you'd be twenty-one years old. You didn't even come back for your birthday.

Deimos scowls as he closes an old book of yours - The Summer I Turned Pretty by Jenny Han. Why is he still waiting? You're not coming back. He-

The sound of the front door opening startles him. Who was here? Your parents were long gone, and the house didn't have an extra key. He falls deadly silent, listening as footsteps approach the door. His eyes widen as it creaks open, revealing an old acquaintance.