Perfectionist. It was the one word that came to mind when Jed lead you into inside. There was no need for a tour to come to that conclusion. The dining room alone told you as much, if his whole persona hadn't tipped you off already. You were not at all surprised by how spotless everything was.
Every wall housed a set of shelves filled with framed pictures, trinkets, souvenirs and books among other things, and there was not a speck of dust anywhere. The house was, in one word, cozy, and everything you saw seemed to have a place.
Yours happened to be at the table.
While there was no cliché romantic candles, there really was no need for those with the lamp hanging above your head and casting shadows on the violet table cloth.
You'd expected something far less fancy than what you were looking at. The plate set before you was made of shiny porcelain, and the two wine glasses could very well have been crystal ones.
That didn't mean it made you feel out of place. Not in the slightest. You felt warmth at the thought that Jed had taken the effort to impress you. It also helped that you weren't the only one present in the room.
*Creeeak*
Your eyes trained on the opening from where the noise came-much too light for a human's steps but noticeable enough to cause the floor to creak. When you saw what caused it, your mouth twitched upwards in slight surprise and amusement.
A ginger-coloured creature poked its head around the corner, matching orange eyes scanning the room with acute intensity. Once spotting you, the feline took cautious steps into your direction until it disappeared under the table with a meow.
You almost gasped in surprise when a fluffy tail brushed past your left leg, then your right, before the animal graciously hopped onto the vacant seat next to you.
"Hey there little guy," you slowly reached out to pet it, pleased when it didn't shy away and purred in contentment as you stroked its stripy fur in long strokes.
While you didn't own a cat yourself, you were an animal lover through and through. They were by far the most innocent beings on earth, the purest of souls and offered the greatest comfort. Animals never hurt anyone unless they felt threatened, much unlike human beings who were capable of inflicting pain on others just because they felt like it. Out of their own selfish and sickening desires.
You ceased your stroking momentarily when you heard a thunk coming from the kitchen area. The sound of a knife dashing and slashing against wood made you turn your head into that direction and before long, you shoved your chair back, not at all minding the little stalker trailing behind you as you walked to where Jed was expertly preparing the food.
You tried to be discreet, not wanting to disturb him as you simply watched him focus. The air was rolling with savory aroma and two sets of pans sizzled with oil and all kinds of vegetables.
He made a single downward chop of an onion on the cutting board, then picked up the pace, chopping steadily and quickly with masterful precision.
It had to be said—Jed's knife skills were phenomenal. Your eyes could barely keep up with his movements, they were that fast. Efficient. Imoressive. You lost track of the amount of times you couldn't just simply order food and had to cook something yourself, cutting into your fingers in the process.
"It's almost finished if you can hold out another minute or two," he stated, without peeling his focus away from the task at hand.
You froze like a deer caught in headlights. "S-sorry!" Your heart stuttered, embarrassed that you had been caught in the act. "I.. I uh..." You babbled, your words working against you. "I was just curious."
"Oh, does you being curious translate to you were staring?" It was a teasing question, his tone edging on both smugness and amusement.
You gaped at the allegation (that actually wasn't an allegation at all and was nothing but the truth). In your defense, it was mesmerizing to watch someone so skillful with a knife without them chopping a finger off. Or two.
"If you are truly that curious you have the stuff to become a reporter." With one twist of the wrist, he uncorked the bottle of wine. "A little bit of curiousity never hurts."
A chunk of the liquid poured inside of a nearby pot. You listened to its sizzling and thought about it, but the countless doors slamming into your face told you that you'd make the poorest reporter in history of mankind. You forgot all about that though when something brushed against your legs, making you look down.
As did Jed.
"Ah, I see you have befriended Tom."
That made you grin like an idiot. Tom? "Next thing I'm going to run into a mouse named Jerry?"
You watched him arch his eyebrow in a way that let you know he wasn't expecting that joke. Jed looked over at you with a dazzling toothy smile, shook his head, and then stepped towards the fridge that had an abundance of notes pinned to it with magnets.
Once he turned around, you saw he now held a polaroid in the palm of his hand. "While we are on the topic of mouses... Do me the pleasure and say cheese?"
Heat swooped in your tummy that had very little to do with the steam rising from the food. "You must have waited a long time to use that one."
He laughed. "Precisely."
*Flash*
The picture was quickly taken, and this time you didn't feel the need to turn away, but that didn't mean you didn't feel at least a little bit shy.
As much as you wanted to look anywhere but at the handsome man in front of you, your body had a mind of its own and didn't move an inch. Your gaze followed his hand that put the camera back down with great care, then reached for the towel to dab his forehead, getting rid of the few beads of sweat that had gathered on his skin.
.... And then they traversed down to where his shirt had ridden up slightly, exposing a sliver of his V-line.
Fuck. Okay. You were staring, but he didn't need to know that.
Jed's eyes scanned you, taking in your timid expression and your body language as you finally lowered your gaze towards the floor. The two of you stood like that for a while before he spoke up again.
"Look at me." The lower tone of his voice was like a password to your impulse. Jed closed the distance until he was standing right before you with a single pasta string curled around his finger.
He looked down at you with an awfully innocent tilt to his head, bronze locks falling on the side side of his face. He was too close right now, so close that one of the strands of his hair tickled your skin. You didn't know what to do and with barely any distance between you two, there was no way you could hide any reaction of your treasonous body.
You flinched when the reporter parted your mouth with the pad of his thumb, carrying with it spine-tingling electricity. The digit slipped in, feeding you the pasta. If that wasn't enough to make your legs turn into jelly, it was the sudden pressing down on your tongue that did, nearly gagging you.
Of course he monitored every miniscule reaction you gave him; the widening of your eyes, your hairline climbing up. But you did not pull away.
So up close, you noted that Jed's eyes were entrancing, but in a terrifying kind of way. The specks in them made them lean more toward black than brown, and although they looked down on you with nothing but gentleness, they conveyed a dark need (not what you were thinking of), stripping you of your speech. He was studying you like you were his favourite book, open for him to read.
"Is it any good?"
Now, you couldn't deny that there was a spark of anticipation. The intensity of Jed's inquiring gaze was starting to constrict the oxygen supply to your lungs.
You swallowed the sample down and could only nod, speech momentarily lost on you as your brain was short-circuiting. As soon as the finger in your mouth was pulled out with a popping noise, you inhaled, finding yourself to be able to breathe properly again.
Your mind was cloudy, so it was possible that you imagined it, but you thought you felt the backs of his fingertips stroke down from the slope of your neck down to your hip, where they lingered. Then they fell away and wiped your saliva off on the towel.
The reporter towered over you, still very much in your personal space, but your legs made no move to create more distance. Instead, you grew even more flustered at his next comment, delivered so smoothly it made you shiver.
"It might not be my place to say it, but you look ravishing tonight, (Y/N)."
You were sure your cheeks were bright red, if they already hadn't been before. But he didn't seem to mind. Quite the opposite, in fact. You thought that as he gave one of the pans a particular firm shake.
*~*~*
The night sky out the window offered no cues to the passage of time, leaving you reliant on the feeling of static in your brain as it was essentially screaming at you to stop eating but how could you when the food was so delicious?
The half-eaten plate of spaghetti set in front of you could have very well been served in a five star restaurant. Sharing a house with the pile of pasta was sausage, topped with a generous amount of tomato sauce.
Jed watched you intently, his strong brown eyes glowing with great satisfaction as you—shamelessly—devoured his cooking like you'd never had a decent meal before.
Both of you continued with a little small talk in between the eating, the conversation a light one until he lifted a glass of wine to his lips.
"Have you made any progress with your... What was it you named it... Investigation?"
You gulped down a mouthful, taking a bit longer than necessary to put your cutlery down. A serious look engraved itself within you. "No. I'm afraid it's not going so well."
He raised his left eyebrow at your answer, prompting you to elaborate. "Do tell?"
You slinked back in your seat, taking a sip from your own glass. The wine was too sweet to your liking, but pretending to drink at least gave you some time to come up with a reply that didn't make you sound incompetent.
"Well, I... I've looked through all of the articles you wrote about him," you hesitated. "But all my... Interest, as the killer put it, hasn't gotten me any closer. The cops won't leave me alone because of it."
You felt yourself hold your breath when Jed's gaze intensified its focus.
Swirling the drink inside your glass, you watched the liquid move with disinterest. "I feel like... I feel like it's gotten a lot more personal. At first I just wanted to know who he was. Then, that night... Weren't it for Billy and Stu..." Their names fell from your lips in a tremble, leaving a sting on your tongue and an ache in your chest. "People are scared of me, Jed. They think I have some connection to him! What if they think I am him? What then?"
Jed kept looking at you and a furrow creased his brow. A slight one, almost non-discernible, but it was there. It was the first time you saw him express an emotion other than excitement when the topic of Ghostface was brought up. "This is really eating you up, isn't it?"
You nodded absentmindedly. Your gaze went to follow the steady motion of Jed's fingers slowly circling around the rim of the glass next to his plate. The nail of his thumb drew your eye down to his slender wrist, there where you could see lithe muscles working under the skin with each slowing movement.
Then he came up with an offer that made you feel a bit more hopeful. "I can tell you more of what I know. Share my findings with you."
Your head snapped up as your mouth rediscovered how to smile. The intensity of his gaze made that smile falter, a little bit, as it was unnerving. It was a measuring stare, full of curiosity and want to know more about how how much despair Ghostface—he—was making you feel.
"What could you tell me that I don't know yet?" You asked. "Trust me, there's not a website I left unturned."
Jed blinked slowly, before his lids dropped into a calm gaze. It appeared you had him there because he paused, fingers stilling on the glass.
"Why he does what he does, is one example. (Y/N), I will say this without intending to frighten you more than you already are..." The lie formed smooth and easy on his tongue, the seriousness that settled in his voice more than enough to soothe any doubts you may have of what he was about to tell you. He sounded that sure of it. "He is not going to stop. When he has his sights on you, I can only imagine..."
The unfinished statement left terror blossoming in your chest. "Then–then tell me what I can do?" Your words tumbled out. The expectation for a response was left vacant, so you carried on, rambling until you found a point where you needed a break to properly breathe.
"Jed, please. You know more than I do. I didn't ask to be chased around by him. I didn't want him to become part of my life. I don't... I don't know what to do. I need your help..."
But boy, were you knocking on the wrong door.
He smiled. "The authorities are meant to help the people."
"The authorities?" The anger you felt from before came back with a vengeance, the heat in your chest growing and tightening all at once. The anger, helplessness and hollow sadness that had plagued you for weeks was overwhelming you now.
Stay strong, you told yourself as you downed the rest of your wine in one swig. The guilt came after, sharp and heavy as the alcohol went down your throat.
"You mean the same ones that let him have a field day with this town? The same ones that treat me like I'm the bad guy? The same ones that tell broken families how sorry they are for their loss and then store their loved one's name into a closet to join the others like they're nothing more than a statistic?"
You found you didn't have the power in you to listen to the rest of Jed's talk. His words registered in your head as rambling about the police at first, about how right you were, but after a few seconds it all just blended together as you barely nodded. You caught bits and pieces. He carried on about how he was always dismissed as just another reporter desperate for whatever scraps of news he could find, you knew that much.
You listened but you didn't really hear him. Only a voice that dripped down over you, passionate and, oddly enough, leaving you clinging for more.
A feeling stirred within you. A feeling that was dark, cold. You couldn't put a name on it, too busy mentally strangling the entire police corpse and—
And you stopped your thinking at once. Just what was wrong with you? You never had violent urges. Not of this magnitude, at least. Maybe it was the liquid in your system that caused it, but the little voice in your head told you that it wasn't. The alcohol was the most innocent killer present in the room.
Danny only observed you. Something was really familiar about you just then. Not you, but the way you behaved. He saw how you worried in silence—twisting your hair, picking at your palms... You were more than a little uneasy. The way in which your knee bounced up and down told him as much.
It could be a tick, except that earlier, you were only shifting from one foot to another when you were waiting for him at his doorstep. At first glance one might think it was the body language from an ex-junkie kicking off from some type of substance, but he knew better. He knew you and that you never touched any type of drug in your life, ever the behaved girl.
The second clue came from the unmistakable need for violence in your eyes. It was a dead giveaway, the darkness swirling in them. The itch to let out all your pent up frustrations.
You reminded him of himself, in that moment, way back when he was new to the business. And while that fact likely should gave made him examine his own ego, Danny Johnson had never been one to be too introspective.
Danny couldn't help but think he liked you more this way. Small, trapped. Easily corrupted. Moldable. But then again, as soon as he'd get you to the point of utter obedience, who was to say he wouldn't get bored? Even though he was well on his way to breaking your spirit, it was more fun when you had some fight left in you.
You lazily picked up your fork, poking it into a random string of pasta and mindlessly twirling it around before continuing to eat in silence. Not to sate your appetite—the hunger was long gone—but to show politeness.
The police weren't on your side. The police weren't your friends. To them, you had been just another possible suspect, when in truth you were really the victim in all of this. The way they look at you when you enter your house... You never paid it much attention, but now? It was glaringly obvious.
Their suspicions were based on what? Pictures left behind of you by the killer? Anyone could have done that! Why would you give yourself away? It was a set up. You didn't choose this. You didn't choose any of this.
Your grip on the fork tightened, and you avoided looking at him. You didn't want to appear this vulnerable.
But then, the journalist spoke the words you so desperately needed to hear. They soothed your mind, somewhat.
"There is no need to keep up the tough-as-a-nail act with me. I will not ever judge you for showing how you feel, sweets, I promise it."
Did he really have to say that? It struck you just how awful Billy's behaviour to you had been. How had you tolerated it for so long? He almost didn't allow you to have your own thoughts, so it felt like a breath of fresh air to hear someone else say that you were allowed to have them. It made you feel more human. It made you feel like you mattered.
In all honesty, you wanted to jump across the table, to give Jed a hug, but you stopped yourself from doing so. Every now and then you lapsed into a moment of depression, and every time, he was there to gather the pieces and put you back together. Jed was being so nice to you, and for what? You hadn't even known him for that long.
"I'm sorry..." Your voice was taught, on the verge of tears despite having already shed so many. Would you see them if, or when they got caught? Would you visit them in prison? You didn't think you would ever want to lat your eyes on them again, and certainly had every right to feel that way.
What could have possibly went on in their heads anyway? Did they really think they could keep their secrets from you for the rest of your lives? They must have known there was a chance you'd find out sooner or later.
"Take however long you need. But what are you sorry for?" The freelancer asked, softly, yet confused. So softly, as though speaking any louder would break you.
You swallowed. Your heart was compressed so tight it could rupture from the strain. "I'm sorry for being me." It was as good as an answer as you could give, over quivering lips. So consumed in your depressing thoughts, you hardly noticed Jed appearing in front of you, making an effort to remedy you of your distress.
He crouched down, grabbed the legs of your chair and with one pull, turned them sideways so to make you turn to him. "This is only your loneliness talking."
It wasn't a question. It was a statement. It felt invasive to you, awfully accurate, and your instinctive response was to say that no, you weren't lonely, as a way of defending yourself. But that wouldn't be the truth, and there was no point in denying it because it was going to fool no one.
What confused you was how sweetly Jed had worded it. As tender as any caress could ever be.
"Don't apologize for who you are," he gave you a sympathetic look. "It would be rather dull if everyone was the same, don't you think? Picture a thousand clones of your friend running around telling you you need to be back by 11 PM sharp," he chuckled. "The horror."
"Don't let her hear that." You grinned meekly, still looking down at your lap, and pulled your lower lip back between your teeth in an attempt to stop yourself from smirking at the strangely wholesome moment.
"I'm being a terrible host for having you nearly in tears. Come with me," Jed held out one hand, coaxing you out of the chair as you grasped it with steady fingers.