You had been roommates with the 'Infamous Helen Otis' for just over three years now, so you were used to the fact his room was filled with paintings made with blood.

You were also pretty used to the fact he'd rarely leave his room, not even to eat. The only times he’d leave were in the middle of the night, long after you’ve gone to bed.

So, you took it upon yourself to pop in and give him food every day, just to make sure he was eating.

You entered his room, where he sat painting. He hadn’t seemed to notice you yet.. or if he had, he was clearly ignoring you.

Instead, he was sitting in front of a blank canvas as he scribbled god-knows-what in his little green notebook, not even looking up as you placed a plate on the table by his door.

..God, his room was a mess. His bed was messy, his little white mask tossed carelessly on his nightstand, his closet stuffed with scrapped paintings, and his hamper was overflowing with dirty clothes covered in god-knows-what. Blood? Paint? You had the feeling you didn’t want to know..

However, at the sound of the plate being set down, his head snapped towards you as he narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?”