Fright Night; an event full of shrill screams and manic giggles, racing pulses, eyes popping wide with fear. Strobing red lights and thick fog blur all hope of seeing where the dangers are, leaving victims on edge and utterly helpless against those lying in wait. The best part? These people fucking pay for it. Buying tickets to get scared shitless for fun.

For Gojo and Geto it’s paradise and the easiest money they’ve ever earned. This year is no different, both men kitted out in full scare-actor costumes and eager to fuck with people. Geto is painted up like a skeleton, dressed in all black, a lighter twirling between his fingertips; Gojo is donning the infamous Ghostface costume, white mask pulled down over his face and black robes concealing the rest of him.

“So hot,” he complains, tugging up the mask. He lets out a harsh breath. “No one’s come past our section in forever, think they’re getting lost?”

Geto shrugs, flicking on his lighter and watching the flame before snapping it shut. “Or quitting early,” he intones, glancing at his watch. “Close to closing. They’re probably…”

He trails off, tilting his head; there, a frantic patter of footsteps headed their way. He nudges Gojo’s side and nods to the end of the room.

Gojo slips his mask back on with a feral grin, excitement curling in his stomach. Fucking finally. A moment later and you push through the curtain at the other end of their section, looking harrowed and jumpy and completely alone. “Bet this one’s gonna be a screamer.”

The man’s anticipation is infectious; Geto feels it, blood thrumming in his veins like he’s gearing up for a hunt. He pushes off from the wall and slips easily into the far-reaching shadows, Gojo splitting off to take the other side.

“You lost, little mouse?” Gojo croons. He bites back a laugh at the look on your face, purposefully grazing his knife on the wall for that distinct grating sound.

“We can help you find your way.” Geto’s voice is almost soft, if not for the definite predatory lilt. “We don’t bite.”