Cravings (STYLE)

23 POV: Stan

TWs, violence / fighting, blood description

Fuck shit fuck fuck fuck, I think to myself.

I've searched every level of the house - first floor, second floor, attic too. Every room, every hiding place. I nearly fell out a window trying to check on the roof too.

But he's nowhere. I can't find him.

Why didn't he tell me any of this? I'd've understood, I would have understood and tried to help him. Why didn't he tell me?

I pace around the empty living room, a look of pure worry on my face.

What do I do what do I do?

My eyes wonder to the door in the kitchen - slightly ajar, it's the one door no-one uses, as it leads to Tolkiens creepy ass basement.

Of-fucking-course he's going to be down there. This is so cliché.

I walk towards the door, slowly pulling open the handle. Thankfully, the hinges don't squeak.

Once the door is open, I look down into the dark abyss. The end of the stairway is not in sight, leaving only an ominous staircase into darkness on display.

For Kyle, I think to myself, taking a deep breath before starting to descend the stairs, the piece of garlic wrapped tight in my fingers.

Though the door was quiet, the steps themselves make quiet creaks of displeasure as I shift from step to step, aiming to be as quiet as possible.

This'll be so embarrassing if neither of them are actually down here.

When I reach the bottom, I peer around the corner, being met with the sight of a dim room, lit only by a singular bulb attached over a table at the far corner of the room. Though the stairway down was creepy, the room itself has a sense of security to it, for whatever reason.

Standing by the table, sharpening a stake in his hands, stands Tolkien, muttering some words under his breath.

Without hesitation, I start creeping out into the room, ending up a few meters behind the vampire.

Okay, how do I do this. Just throw it at him! Just throw it. Maybe be bold? Yeah, be bold and throw it! Make a joke. Be funny. Bold, and funny. And victorious.

"Hey Tolkien," I speak out suddenly, catching the attention of the boy, who turns completely to face me, placing the stake on the table. "You know what goes great with steak?"

"What?" the boy says quite nonchalantly, visibly confused by my presence in his basement.

I pull the piece of garlic out from my pockets, cupping it in my hand. "Garlic."

Immediately, I throw the piece of garlic dead-on at Tolkien, watching it fly right at him, before bouncing off his cheek and landing with a small thud on the floor.

Tolkien watches it fall, a blank expression on his face. He then looks back up at me.

I stare back at him.

"Uh... that didn't, um." I clear my throat, slightly embarrassed. "That didn't really go to plan."

"And what exactly... was.. that plan supposed to be?" Tolkien replies, looking back down at the garlic on the floor.

"I, uh."

I didn't have a plan, honestly. I rushed in blindly, and prayed for the best. The best did not come.

"That was honestly pathetically funny." the vampire comments, crouching down to pick up the piece of garlic, before placing it on the table next to the sharpened stake.