Renfield was swaying on his feet when he slipped into their room that night. He was careful to be quiet; even about to drop from exhaustion, there was something he had to do.

When he curled into the bed he shared with Ray, it was having left a note on the nightstand, the format unashamedly stolen.

Hey, you.

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Yes, you. The green-eyed knockout sleeping in our bed.

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I love you. You know that?

Underneath, he drew a winding vine in a M?bius pattern.