I fucking hate math. Why do I have to do this? My program has nothing to do with this stuff, Jean thought with a sigh as he studied for an upcoming math test in the town library.

He didn't particularly feel up to going to the woods that evening as it was Halloween and there always seemed to be some party going on there during the event. His apartment building wasn't safe from such noise either, so his best choice for peace and quiet was the ancient town library with Casey, the librarian, as his only source of unwanted company.

“Why aren't you having fun with your friend tonight? Though I am glad you're keeping away from the pagan holiday, it just seems odd,” Casey, the bane of Jean's existence, said as she put back books in the shelf behind his chair.

Jean let out a long suffering sigh, wishing she had just left him alone to wallow in his pity party and mathematical torture. Just because they knew each other long enough to keep Jean from stuttering and panicking did not mean he actually wanted to talk to her. He would've liked her more if she wasn't the one that suggested to his mother to seek professional help.

She was worried, a rational part of him understood that. The louder, more emotional part, however, saw it as betrayal as he had confided in her. Trusted her. She had promised to not tell, only to later find out from his angered father and scolding mother that she had lied to him.

You'd think you'd be over it, wouldn't you, Jean? Emotional dumbass, Jean thought, sighing.

“I don't like parties and I don't have friends, Casey. I've told you this. Keep up,” he said, typing random digits and symbols on his calculator.

He had already given up on studying, opting to just waste time around there until Casey finally closed up. Jean had no idea why she left the library open all the way to eleven in the evening. If he had to guess, it was probably because she wanted to give the few homeless people that lurked around a place to stay if only for a little while.

She was annoying, way too in-your-face about her religion and untrustworthy, but she was still a rare, kind being. It both irritated and awed him. Jean wanted to ask her what her secret for not getting so utterly destroyed by the world around her was. It sounded like something people would've paid big bucks for.

“But what about that boy? The one you helped when in that…bad situation?”

Jean's thumb paused over the number eight, briefly recollecting the fight he had had with Fred the werewolf nearly two weeks ago, before shaking it off.

It was just like he had said. Him? Having a friend? Just not possible, and he accepted that fact. It was simply an expected outcome. Jean just quickened the process by showing the werewolf what he did for fun, what he enjoyed. Scaring people away from him was something Jean was so good at, he made it an art.

All worked out in the end anyway, he thought, resuming his random pushing of buttons. He doesn't have to deal with an actual oddity and I don't have to deal with feelings if we actually did get close. Perfect ending, minus losing my connection to that world.

At least I know it's there, right?

“I repeat, Casey. I have no friends,” he said, his clipped tone putting an end to that conversation.

So Casey continued with the books, while Jean tried desperately not to nod off. It was quiet, calm and not as nerve-wracking as usual.

Then he heard the front doors open, making Jean's heart sink and his stomach churn at the thought of an unknown person being around him.

His eyes warily glanced at the library front desk on his right, heart beating fast as he waited for the person to show themselves.

The slow soft footfalls were almost daunting, like a slow deliberate knock on a bedroom door in the middle of the night. When the young boy is the only person at home but he heard three, slow, distinctive knocks on his door. Ominous and frightening, the boy froze in fear as it stopped, then repeated the process harder, shaking the handle soon after.

I should write that down. That sounds like it'd be good.

His train of thought quickly changed when he saw that the person with quiet footsteps giving Jean a mini heart attack was none other than Fred.

So Jean quickly looked away, going back to the math book covered in absolute gibberish when Fred had turned to look at him.

“Oh hello!” Casey said, her ever cheery self going to make another poor sinner feel very uncomfortable.

Better him than me.

“Good evening, ma’am. You're looking rather beautiful this evening. New hairdo?” Fred said, sounding chipper and his accent still subtly present.

Casey giggled like a schoolgirl and it made Jean shiver from the top of his head to the tip of his toes.

Well that was the most horrifying thing I've ever heard.

“Yes! Thank you for noticing! Anything in particular I could help you with, Freddie?”

She knows him? Well thank fuck she didn't see his face back then.

“Ah yeah. I need this list of books an--”

Jean tuned off the conversation by then, his mind going back to the little boy, alone in his house, receiving three consecutive knocks that got louder, more urgent the longer the little boy did not respond.

Who is it? Who is it? Mum? Dad? The boy pleads in his head, tears running down his face as he pulls his superhero themed comforter over his small head as the door began to shake violently.

Then it stopped. All was silent, all was still, and the little boy tried to breathe through his panic.

And just as he was about to sit up and run to his next door neighbor, a hand was on his leg and he screamed.

Something slamming on the table jolted Jean out of his mental horror movie, calculator falling out of his hand and onto his book as he looked up to see Fred sitting down right in front of him.

Jean slowly blinked at him, not sure what exactly he was trying to do. They hadn't seen or spoken to each other in the last two weeks so Jean had no idea why he was willingly being around Jean all of a sudden.

I thought he was angry with me. Hurry up, Casey and tell him to go, Jean thought as he bent his head down, stopping all forms of eye contact to avoid confrontation.

He pressed his lips together to stop himself from telling Fred to shave the ridiculous beard growing on the werewolf's chin. It made him look a good few years older.

“So why did you lie?”

Jean remained still, hoping to all hope that the question wasn't directed at him.

“Jean.”

Closing his eyes, Jean sighed. Fucking dammit.

He looked up and immediately glanced to the wooden floor when he caught sight of Fred's reddish pinned on him. Jean thought he looked out without his grin, something Jean had thought was pasted into his face.

“Hello,” he said awkwardly, folding his arms in front of him. He wasn't actually sure what to do with his hands, one hand going up as if to play with his hair, only to go down to his lips but then to his neck before he returned it to fold in front of his chest.

“Why did you lie?” Fred asked again, deep voice leveled and calm.

Huge contrast with the way he sounded when they left the Winston Mansion.

“Lie? About what?” Jean looked at him, quite puzzled.

“The deaths. Only one person died in that house since that family was killed and it wasn't even on the day we went. The girl fell down the stairs and snapped her neck,” Fred said, looking annoyed as he scratched his bearded chin and he looked to his right, eyes on the front desk before turning to look back at Jean who remained quiet.

Huh. Guess it was stupid of me to assume he wouldn't find out. Either way, what's done is done.

Jean sighed, slumping against his seat as he looked at the books in front of him, eyes glancing at Fred's dark green duffle bag on the side of the table.

“Am I supposed to tell you my reason for lying or what? I don't have to explain myself to you,” Jean said, hoping Casey would hurry up with the guy's books.

“...It's to keep me away, isn't it? You didn't want me around but you didn't want to say so and ended up doing some elaborate scheme to get rid of me.”

Huh. Hit the nail on the head there, didn't he? Not as dumb as he looks.

Jean pressed his lips together, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with the accusation.

“You really don't like being around people, do you?” Fred said, tone soft and open. It nearly made Jean talk, say something, anything at all that could explain the fuckery that was his mind

Then Casey arrived, pile of books on a cart, and Fred had no other reason to wait around.

Jean sighed out of relief as the werewolf walked away, and he went back to pretending to study math. Alone, surrounded by silence, and his only company being his imagination. It was simply just how things were meant to be for one Jean Nguyen.

It was what he knew. It was right. It was safe.