a popular killer who rarely strikes at night, mostly at day because he's not afraid of being caught and also maybe because he wears a helmet and usually escapes from his crime scenes, by his transportation vehicle, his motorcycle. miya atsumu opens...
"I think I just cracked your case, haha." I started to snicker. I really had no idea what I was doing. I'm wrong. I'm totally wrong. I should leave but my hearts telling me not to, momma did tell me to follow my heart. He just looked at me with a confused expression that cried out 'who do you think you are?'
"You're a nobody." He retaliated. So we're playing that game now?! Oh let's play, puddin'.
"And you're a frenzied motorcycle serial killer freak who stalks his victims, notes down their daily habits and then attacks them like it's a routine and they're your breakfast in the morning." No backing out now. "We're on the same level, babes."
"Zip it!" Like any other serial killer, I imagined them to be overly aggressive and toxic, this exactly proved my point. I caressed the spot he slapped on my face- darn these handsome faces, his prettiness is the only reason I'm holding back, can't hurt the money-maker.
"You know I'm right, ha." There's nothing left to do but stare up at him. He had his helmet off. This either means he trusts me or he's just pretending to just so he can dispose of me later. A murderer never let's the victim escape if the victim has seen the killers face. Never.
We both stared at each other for a while now. I stayed smirking at him whilst he just peered down at me from above, undeniably judging me, cursing me out in his head for making him feel lower than he already is.
"Glitters in the drawer beside you."
Yet,
"Preciate it puddin'."
deranged love is the best of love, and god does it feel great.
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