My mind goes blank as the words process. Show me.

Show him, as in... as in, show Dex the shelf? As in, let him into my apartment? Is that normal? Is it a natural thing, to allow someone in your house after only knowing them a week? Does the fact that we're neighbors change anything?

Why couldn't I have been born normal? I have no idea what to do in this situation. I've never allowed anybody into my apartment, aside from Willow every once in a while, but it's rare. She's pretty happy living at the storage facility. I have no idea how to handle guests. I've read a lot of books, but almost all of them were about the human body, not social etiquette. The stuff I've learned in passing can only get me so far, and this is a new situation.

Then again, if he can get the dog food down... that'll save me some money, and an early morning trip to the grocery store. It's not like there's anything incriminating in my apartment, aside from the well hidden box where I keep my eyes. There's no way he'd find that, though. It's under a floorboard, which is under a carpet, after all.

Whatever, that's not a big deal. It's not like Decari has any reason to go searching through my pockets, which is really the only risk, since I have a soon-to-be missing person's eye in there. It's fine.

"Uh... o-okay," I reluctantly agree, unable to come up with a valid reason why he can't come in. Why is it so hard to think around this guy in particular? No idea, maybe because I'm putting so much effort into not being suspicious. I'm not used to having to do that, aside from when I've been around cops in the past. Except, in those cases, though it was somewhat nerve-wracking... acting natural wasn't this difficult.

So, it's got to be something with Decari. What, though? Because he's hot? I've been around attractive people before, though. Well... not attractive cops. Probably. I never really paid attention. Hm. Is that it?

A friendship might be too risky, then. I should minimize contact with him the best I can. There's no way I'd be able to avoid suspicion if we got closer, not with how nervous he makes me.

I turn away from him, nudging Fluffy with my leg to get her to go inside. I'm about to motion him to do the same, due to my general dislike of having people at my back, but he beats me to it. Wow, what a fucking gentleman.

I am not in a good mood right now. I probably won't be until this guy, who—for having professional training in body language—really sucks at taking a hint, leaves. I lead the way inside, and have no intention of giving him any kind of tour.

For one, my apartment is an organized chaos at basically all times, and I have no desire to explain anything about that. I generally have a lot of things,—LEGO sets, action figures, other miscellaneous toys—most of which I keep on shelves. I also have an overabundance of stuffed animals and blankets, most of which were acquired through donations while I was in the system, growing up.

I never felt much need for comfort or solace, but when I did, that was all I had. On the few occasions I got upset or sad, and killing didn't help, I'd turn to basic comforts. Toys and blankets were among those. I've never had the heart to get rid of them, either, which is strange since I'm not a particularly sentimental person.

I also own a lot of cardboard boxes, filled with various things. Most of my foster families weren't great, and others tended to overcompensate with gifts, for whatever reason. Most of them gave me up as soon as they did any digging into what happened to my birth parents, and those that didn't, would do so eventually. Whether it was their pets going missing, the concerning amount of bones and other biological matter I'd keep in my bedroom, or something else.

I was a weird kid, and now I'm an even weirder adult. That's fine. I've pretty much always been more trouble than I'm worth, and it shows.

The front door opens into a drafty foyer, which splits off into an old fashioned kitchen and a cozy living room of pure coincidence. From there I have a hallway that contains two bedrooms and two bathrooms—one of said bathrooms almost entirely unused. The spare bedroom is essentially just storage for my many other belongings, and then there's my bedroom.

This isn't even counting all of the science posters and diagrams of the human body I have on the walls, or the science and anatomy textbooks stacked as high as I can reach, or the many papers strewn about. Just generally the strangest clutter imaginable, to be honest.

My apartment isn't messy, but it's not clean. I know where everything is, the walkways are clear, and I can navigate it all perfectly, but to a fresh eye... well, it appears as an organized chaos, as first described.

The shelf is in the pantry, which is in the kitchen, and my apartment isn't particularly large. My pantry itself is kind of strange, since it doesn't have much food in it. I have a tendency to forget to eat, and I also just don't really crave food... ever. I don't know what's wrong with me on that front, to be honest. Kristy implied I could have thyroid problems, but I've never cared enough to look into it.

My kitchen pantry has books and figurines and storage containers in it, just like everywhere else in my apartment, and Dex is already looking at me curiously.

I'm expecting him to question me about the strange, and—now that I think about it—more suspicious things around my apartment. Specifically, all my science-themed belongings. Most people don't have this level of fascination with the human body, to the point where it infests their home. If anything, letting him in here might be the most suspicious thing I've done so far, since my apartment is quite anatomy obsessed. Not a good look.

Of course, it's entirely possible he'll just assume I'm a nerd. I can't even retrieve dog food off the top shelf, how could I possibly be capable of murder?

"Do you ever eat?" Dex asks me, looking around my kitchen and pantry, both of which have a distinct lack of food. I find it both comical and relieving that that's what he has chosen to focus on.

"When I remember," I reply, and he quirks an eyebrow at me. I decide to just move on, not wanting to talk about my many unhealthy habits, and motion to the very top shelf of the pantry. "It's up there."

Dex follows where I'm pointing with his eyes, looking up the four rows of shelving to the very top, where a bag of dogfood snugly resides. It's really high up there, and dog food isn't exactly light. I'm about to tell him that he really doesn't need to concern himself with this—or me, generally—and can go back home. However, before I can do so, he's putting his hand on the small of my back and applying pressure.

This action essentially wipes my brain completely, so it takes me a moment to realize that he's trying to nudge me out of the way so he has better access to the shelf. It's the second time we've touched, the first being the handshake, and despite the fact it wasn't skin-to-skin this time, I'm still thrown for a loop.

I do exactly as nonverbally asked, moving to the side, and he pulls his hand away. I ignore how strangely breathless I now am, pretending to be entirely unaffected by our contact (which I shouldn't even have to fucking do) as I watch him step up to the shelf.

He reaches up with both arms, which puts a lot of emphasis on his shoulders. He's wearing jeans and a black t-shirt, a dog tag around his neck, and the shirt is stretched tighter around his arms. This makes it quite distracting when he strains his muscles, and I don't even watch how he pulls the food down.

Nope, I'm way too entranced by everything else about the situation. I'm not used to casual physical contact, or people doing favors for me without expecting some sort of payment, or just... just Dex, I guess. He's so strange.

Dex pulls the dog food down easily, and at some point I completely removed myself from the pantry. Not so I could watch his back muscles flex as he stretched either, only so I wouldn't be in the way. Dex doesn't break a sweat, doesn't appear even slightly winded as he turns around and holds the dogfood bag out to me, and I'm almost jealous.

I wish I had that kind of strength. It would make dragging unconscious and dead people around way easier. I could also be way more creative with how I take my victims, if I could actually overpower them. Half the time I bring wheeled platforms to roll them on, only when I know there won't be people close by to hear, and I have a sort of pulley system in the truck that helps me load them up sometimes. It would be so much better if I didn't need to use that stuff, though.

I'm not gonna make any changes, however. Sure, being fit would make some aspects of my life easier, but I hate the gym. Also, exercising. Anywhere that is frequently populated with people, which is most places, I tend to avoid.

Also, I've been doing things the same way for years, and it's worked fine. I've found all kinds of ways around my small stature. There's no use making changes, especially if I have Decari around to do any heavy lifting in my personal life...

Wait, no. No, I need to stay away from him. What the fuck am I thinking? I am perfectly independent, just because someone who is taller and stronger than me has come around, and appears to want to stay around, doesn't mean anything. I cannot get used to this sort of thing. What did I do before him?

That's right, nothing. Leave a dogfood bag untouched on the top shelf for months, that's what I did.