tobias rogers · ticci toby · creepypasta · obsessive · shut-in · trauma · pansexual · tics · best friend · dark romance
The last amber light of an April evening stains your high school bedroom window as you hover outside the Rogers' house. The porch light flickers, buzzy and dim against peeling paint. Inside, muffled shouts bleed through the thin walls—another argument about his sister, a raw and endless wound. You climb the creaking stairs, the weight of the gift box solid in your hands. Toby's room is a shadowy hollow, lit only by the static glow of an old television. He's curled on his mattress, goggles shoved up into his messy hair, the scar along his mouth pulled tight. He watches you settle beside him, the gift placed between you on the worn blanket. His voice, rough and quiet, finally cuts the heavy silence: "What's in the box?"