I pushed my glasses back up my nose with my shoulder, my eyes not moving from the story in front of me. It was the third day of having Melve in my apartment, and after having had very little sleep for the past three nights, my brain was struggling to keep up with work.

The two cups of coffee I’d chugged as soon as I had woken up had worn off at least an hour ago, and the story in front of my eyes was no longer making any sense. It didn’t help that there was virtually nothing left food-wise in my apartment, and I was a person who needed to snack at all times or I would run the risk of not getting anything done.

...There were shouts behind me, and I don’t know the hell I managed it to do it, but I took off like I’d been born to run, and I vaulted over logs and ducked under branches like I’d been doing it my whole life.

I blinked, the words swimming before my eyes. A part of my brain dimly registered that it was good, but beyond that, absolutely no thinking was taking place. I was so out of it, in fact, that I wasn’t even hyper-focused on Melve’s presence, like I had been for the past thirty-six hours.

I shook my head mentally, reminding myself that I had to stay alert. I couldn’t just drift off and not pay attention, not with a murderer in my house. I glanced out of the corner of my eye towards the couch, where Melve was sitting, trying not to be too obvious about it.

Of course, that was a futile task, not only because I am the least subtle person I have ever met, but also because it seemed Melve had senses tuned finer than a deer’s. The second my eyes landed on him, his eyes jumped over to meet mine, bright blue staring directly at me.

Nope nope nope mistake mistake mistake.

Unfortunately, it was too late to take it back, and Melve seemed to take it as an invitation to get up and stroll into my kitchen, looking around like he was taking a tour of the apartment.

“You really don’t have anything, do you?” Melve closed the cabinet door he had opened, tossing his hair over his shoulder in a gesture that looked far too graceful.

Or, at least, that’s what I was thinking.

“Not really, sorry,” I mumbled, a stab of annoyance going through me as I realized who I was apologizing to, and what for.

Melve made a vague humming noise under his breath, ambling over to where I was once again sitting down at the table. He pushed a chair with his foot, and I winced as it scraped against the floor.

“Could I borrow that computer of yours for just a moment, doll?” Melve dropped into the chair, which was now right next to mine. I moved to the edge of my seat, nodding towards my computer as I moved as far away from him as possible.

A part of me wanted to tell him to stop calling me that, but another part of my brain wasn’t bothered, mostly because it came off the same way the baker says, “Kid,” to whoever he’s talking to, no matter their age.

“Go-go ahead.”

Melve, instead of pulling the computer towards him as I’d expected, only yanked his chair closer to the computer- closer to me.

It was silent as Melve, leaving the computer completely within my view, typed in the name of a local supermarket, which, unless I was mistaken, delivered directly to houses.

Melve continued humming to himself, typing in names of spices and vegetables, along with other food items, some of which I didn’t recognize. It took me a moment to finally comprehend what it was he was doing.

Melve was shopping.

He was fucking shopping, on my computer, and I couldn’t help but think that I hope he wasn’t expecting me to pay for everything in the cart, since it had barely been five minutes and he had already racked up nearly two hundred dollars.

“Anything you’d like?” Melve asked without looking at me.

Say no. Don’t indulge whatever this is. He’s goddamn insane.

But… I’m almost out of poptarts.

Don’t you dare.

I drew my knees up to my chest, ignoring the way it seemed like his foot had been drifting closer to mine, and whispered, “Poptarts.”

I caught the sight of a smirk on melve’s face, and a prick of insecurity trickled through my mind.

Childish, stupid, idiot-

But Melve, instead of making fun of me like I’d expected, merely asked, “What kind?”

“Strawberry.”

Melve typed ‘strawberry poptarts’ into the search bar, all while saying, “The fruit ones are the worst kind, though.”

A surge of indignation went through me, and I couldn’t help but mutter, “Not true,” under my breath.

This only seemed to amuse Melve, who lifted his eyebrows delightedly when I argued back. “Oh really? Out of all of the possible flavors of poptarts, you think the original, the strawberry, is the best one?”

I frowned, unwrapping my arms around my legs. “Yes, I do.” I turned my head to look at him, reckless in the moment, forgetting who it was I was dealing with. “What do you think is better?”

Melve blinked, a brief flicker of surprise, then grinned- no. He didn’t grin, he smirked, and said, “This is most you’ve ever gotten angry, and it’s over poptarts?”

Automatically, a wave of shame passed through me, but I didn’t even have time to dwell on it before anger replaced it, hot and strong.

Who did this guy think he was? Barging into my house, eating my food, sitting on my chairs and my couch.

I’d never been very good at yelling at people, mostly because it was so rare that I ever got actually angry. Shame and guilt were usually present instead, but for some reason, in that moment, I got so inexplicably pissed, and I found myself shoving my chair away from the table, ignoring the loud screeching sound it made against the wood.

I stood up and almost pointed my finger in his face, but my last shred of self-control managed to stop me. Instead, I put my hands on my hips, my face screwed up in anger, and said, “Hey, you know what? Fuck you.”

Which, admittedly, was not all that impressive, especially because the second after I said it, common sense decided to take the reins again, and the anger drained out of my face as quickly as it had come on, replaced with alarm at the words that had come out of my mouth.

Fuck. 

And just to add to all that un-impressiveness, I immediately spun around on my heel, speed-walked to my bedroom, then went in and slammed the door shut behind me, fear of possible repercussions racing through my mind.