Trust me bro, if you think at any point you know who the yandere character is, you don't. I'd love to hear guesses though.
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The activity in the cafeteria made for great background noise for Y/n's out of control thoughts. He hadn't gotten a wink of sleep the previous night. How could he? Another victim, found right outside of his apartment.
This didn't necessarily mean anything had changed. The murderer just dropped off the body in an area that happened to be close to where Y/n lived. This murderer had left bodies in houses before, and those homeowners weren't killed. This didn't mean Y/n was in any more danger than he was a week ago, or two weeks ago, or any amount of time ago.
Was he still terrified?
Yes, very much so.
The sad sound of sobbing broke his thoughts away, the lunch table's already tense atmosphere growing all the more awkward as Hannah's friend joined the party, along with her boyfriend (and, primarily, Wade's friend), who looked as uncomfortable as could be.
Hannah's friend, Teagan, was obviously inconsolable. The pats on the shoulder that her boyfriend, Ezra, kept giving her didn't help in the slightest.
Teagan buried her face into Ezra's hair, crying quietly.
"Uh, there, there," Hannah said slowly, sipping a mysterious amber liquid out of a clear cup. Y/n cringed.
Everybody at this table is shit at this kind of thing.
"Don't sweat it too much, Chleo was a bi-"
Y/n clapped a hand over Erin's mouth before he could insult a dead girl, his jaw dropped.
"Erin!" Hannah seemed to have a similar reaction, her sharp but neglected features twisted with shock and offense.
"N- no, I understand, a lot of people h- hated her.. but wh- why did she have to- have to-" Teagan broke off into more sobs, her shoulders hiccuping with each sharp intake of breath.
It was scary to see just how easily the rug could be pulled from underneath anyone's feet. At some point, you start to think you're safe from being stabbed till you're only an idea, but you're never safe. The lack of a pattern; the lack of something to go by.. well, that's what people are afraid of.
"Shh, shhh, it's okay." Ezra tried to comfort the crying Teagan (key word tried.)
Some serial killers killed primarily young women. Some serial killers killed primarily young men. Some killers focused more on race or identity, some killers killed on a personal level.
In a dark way, that reassurance gave people a way to say 'hey, at least it won't be me.'
This psycho in a pig mask?
Nobody's safe from him or her or whoever they are. Nobody can cross themselves off their kill list based off patterns in killings. Not a single soul.
Death doesn't discriminate, you could say.
A blonde girl from the table behind Hannah abruptly turned around and stood up.
"Ezra, you're shit at this," She hissed. She had olive skin and lighter blonde hair, small freckles dotting the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. The girl wrapped an arm around Teagan's waist and hoisted her off the cafeteria table's bench.
She walked off with her, saying words of what Y/n supposed was comfort.
Y/n turned back to regard Erin, who's mouth his hand hadn't left, just a tad too late. He felt his friend's lips against his palm and immediately jerked his hand away, earning a 'you had it coming' grin from the chronically unserious boy.
"What'd I do wrong?" Ezra asked, throwing his hands up in the air and leaning back.
Hannah stared at him for a full minute, then looked to Towa, who sat across from her.
"Hey, Towa, I know your grandma just died, but it'll be okay!" Hannah said with an enthusiastic, albeit sarcastic grin.
Towa looked at her for a split second, then he smiled too.
"Oh, shit, well, why didn't you just say so?" Towa said, then looked at a peeved Ezra with a telling look.
Ezra shrugged, muttering a 'whatever' and closing his eyes.
Hannah looked like she might've said more, but then Erin spotted something, or, more accurately, someone.
"Hey, it's the Ghostbusters!" Erin said in mock excitement, something Y/n didn't even know the dull-eyed boy could manage.
The "Ghostbusters," as Erin called them, were really just two of his classmates who have probably only ghosted their dads and busted a nut, aka Ethan and Jonah.
Jonah was a lanky boy with long, frizzy hair that looked black in some lights and dark blue in others. Y/n knew him as the kid who always bombed spelling tests with the neatest handwriting possible in elementary. He was sweet, though, and his dark green eyes were adorned with eyelashes so long, Y/n couldn't help but wonder if they worked as a dam for his tears.
Ethan was a different story. A little taller than Jonah with a much smaller heart. His black, curly hair made it to his shoulders on a bad day and barely passed them on a good one. He had brown skin, a hooked nose, and dark eyes. He was... okay. A little bitchy, but everyone is.
"Eat my ass," Ethan said, a bit lamely, and Jonah tilted his head to get a better look at Erin, who was looking suspiciously smug.
"I would, but I don't want your twink to get jealous," Erin said slyly, winking at Jonah, who's jaw dropped, though his mouth lifted up at the corners in a smile.
Socially confident people are terrifying, Y/n decided, scooting closer to Towa to feel less affiliated with the dangerously open male.
Y/n noticed that Jonah seemed to be limping before he stopped walking.
Even Ethan seemed stunned for a moment by the brazen claim, so, surprisingly, it was Jonah who spoke first.
"I'm not a twink." He shook his head in disagreement, a humor to his naturally quiet tone that wiped away any worry in Y/n's mind that the goth had taken it personally.
"Yeah, you're his twink," Erin said, leaning forward a bit on his fist. Oh, he's so into him.
"Me and Ethan aren't-!" Jonah cut his soft voice off when he spotted the smirk that tugged on Ethan's lips. The look of shock that was previously fading returned again to his expression. His pale face visibly heated up and he smiled, exposing the small gap inbetween his two front teeth before he lifted a fist up to shield his mouth.
"Then why were you limping?" Erin raised his eyebrows, sharing a look with Ethan that was hard for Y/n to tell the meaning of from his angle.
Jonah only flushed further.
"I-" Jonah looked from Ethan to Erin, before covering his entire face with his bony hands and walking off, Ethan following him quickly.
Y/n turned to look at Erin, who didn't drop any of the smugness from his face.
"That's the worst thing I've ever had the displeasure of watching," Wade said slowly after an astounded pause between the group.
"You only tease him cause you think he's cute," Y/n said, shoving his bold friend lightly. Erin snickered.
"Everyone thinks Jonah's cute." Erin straightens back up, his expression flattening once more, an all-to familiar look on him.
Everyone at the table looked at each other, as if searching for any disagreement. Unsurprisingly, there was none.
"That doesn't change the fact-" Ezra started.
"The fact is," Erin interrupted, "Jonah is hot, and I love to annoy hot people."
Y/n sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. The statement was the truth, something that Y/n had the privilege of witnessing firsthand several times. It was embarrassing to think about how embarrassing Erin could be without feeling embarrassed himself, but Y/n loved him for it.
"Oh, also, are you going to the party thing happening this weekend?" Y/n asked the boy, who suddenly seemed all too exhausted, rolling his eyes into the back of his head.
Towa snorted, covering his mouth with his hand.
"He wasn't invited," Towa explained simply, unable to hide the amused, but well-meaning, grin on his face.
"How do you manage to not be invited to cool parties and uncool parti- ow!" Ezra winced when Hannah kicked him under the table. "Hey! It's the truth!"
The two of them launched into an argument that Y/n didn't even bother tuning into.
"Like I'd want to go to a loser party anyway," Erin spoke, sticking the tip of his tongue out at a distracted Ezra. "And, plus, it's being hosted by a ginger."
Erin visibly shuddered at the very thought of being near an orange-haired person.
"Hey, Taylen is a fake ginger, that helps, right?" Y/n shrugged, not knowing the full extent of Erin's self-proclaimed 'gingerphobia.'
"Ew, it's even worse if he chose it. Who would do that to themselves?" Erin seemed genuinely disgusted by the simple idea of someone dying their hair orange. Honestly, it was hard for Y/n to tell how much of this fear/disgust of gingers was a joke anymore.
The rest of the lunch period was spent eating and playing an uneventful game of 'Smash or Pass' with famous gingers. A rather productive waste of time.
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Y/n slipped off his hoodie mid-walk, tying it around his waist and pushing the door to the familiar building open. He'd started to wear his work uniform (which was really just a pink shirt with the bakery's logo on it and whatever black pants he could find) underneath a hoodie or zipped jacket once the colder months rolled around and he could get away with wearing said hoodie at all times of the day.
He clocks in, washes his hands, and takes a spot behind an open cash register, tapping his fingers against the marble surface of the table.
"Been slow today?" Y/n asked automatically, a default question which always got variants of the same two answers from his coworker, Malikai.
"Yep. Gee, who would've guessed that mass murder would be so bad for the business," Malikai sighed, resting his elbows on the table, a knit in his brow as their boss, Stacy, chewed him out from another room, something he was clearly not listening to.
Malikai's facial range reminded Y/n a lot of Erin's, except Erin was capable of smiling and Y/n had no proof that Malikai even knew how to. He managed to charm customers anyway. Crazy what a height over 6'0 and muscles can do to a man's reputation.
Malikai was attractive too, which might play into how many older customer's flocked to his register, while Y/n mostly got the shy children who couldn't pronounce the word 'biscuit.'
He had curly, light brown hair that was maybe just a shade lighter than his skin tone and fell to his shoulders, but he tied it up, mostly because of health codes, but also, as he says, 'for the look.' Whatever look that was, it worked.
Y/n's other cashier buddy, who he was far more intimidated by, surprisingly, was a 6'3 (for scale, Malikai is 6'2), slim-waisted blond with what seemed to be a permanent customer-service smile.
So why was Y/n intimidated by him? Who wouldn't be?? Nobody who isn't a grandma is naturally that nice to everyone without having something to hide.
Logan was his name, and he was, in all ways, a sweetheart. A suspicious one, for no plausible reason at all. He always wore a lemon hairclip and offered Y/n a piece of candy. Completely unasked for. Why? No clue.
Y/n didn't know too much about the bakers. All he knew was that they consisted of an older woman, a middle aged woman, and a middle aged man.
His boss, Stacy, was the opposite. There wasn't one thing he didn't know about Stacy. She was thirty-six, had three kids, four sisters, two moms, owned a small, white dog and two guinea pigs, was vegetarian, etcetera, etcetera. Physically, she had long black hair and dark circles under her eyes and yard work-tanned skin.
Stacy was a nice woman, motherly at most times with literally everybody but Malikai. It was pretty funny.
The rest of the work day was slow, most of the customers being nine-to-five workers coming in for drinks because the bakery conveniently sold them for much cheaper than the one overrated coffee shop in this sad town.
Y/n clocked out at 8:36, denied an offer of a ride from Stacy, and accepted a peppermint ball thing from Logan. He ate it while he walked home, the bakery not being far from his apartment building.
I really need to start accepting ride offers. Walking home cannot be safe. But then again, riding home with someone.. I can't take that risk. These days, it doesn't have to be a stranger to be dangerous.
Y/n proceeds with this train of thought till he's reaching in his bag for the keys to the apartment, unlocking it and letting out an audible sigh of relief when he spotted Chris asleep on the gray couch in the main room.
Still, he made sure his steps were light and made every movement carefully. The last thing he needed was another suggestive lecture about paying Chris back. Chris was surprisingly patient with receiving the money, and Y/n was some type of grateful for that, even when it left a gnawing feeling in his stomach.
A feeling that said Chris's monetary laid-back nature wasn't out of the good of his heart, but the desire to hold something over Y/n.
Y/n shook the thought away. Not being stabbed to death by a murderer could probably be put before his creepy roommate's weird attraction to him.
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