Patience is a Virtue

     The ruins of the Westland Mall were a sight to behold.

     A building the size of an entire city block, once the home of a buzzing atmosphere of shoppers and vendors alike. Every square inch of its two floors was lined by storefronts, rows upon rows of windows like building blocks to a capitalist fever dream. Even now, as mother nature had started taking back what had originally belonged to her, the broken glass framing the displays remained. Through mannequins and dolls, all frozen in a time that was long gone, these displays created a bizarre mock of an art gallery to remind its attendants of what Westland Mall had once represented: a materialist, idealistic society.

     But that idealistic society had no room in a place like this.

     The before of Westland Mall falling into decay was unknown to Feaster, but he was all too aware of what had happened after. These ruins had become the breeding ground for all kinds of horrors beyond human comprehension– Feaster included. However, he didn’t even come close to the most terrifying creature lurking in the dark. Despite this, he had made this place home, be it because of survival or a dark form of sentimentalism, and the idea of belonging anywhere else but Westland Mall was out of the question. Here, he scavenged, ate, and hunted, with the twisted desire that had taken over his instincts. Speaking the language of violence and primal hunger, Feaster had almost shed all sort of humanity left in him.

     And then, there was Habit.

     A creature that was the manifestation of all the things wrong about this place, yet held much more humanity than Feaster would have ever imagined. So different, yet so similar to Feaster themself, a presence that Feaster had quickly found to be the best thing that had ever come from this lonely existence. Being around it meant companionship, which appealed to the ghost that was Feaster before what he was now. Habit’s presence was good for Feaster, and though Habit had never vocalized it as such, Feaster’s presence seemed to be good for it, too.

     So, Habit cared for Feaster. And Feaster followed in the hopes of caring for it, too.

     Habit’s company, as the nature of his being, was loud and impactful. Feaster welcomed the noise like an old friend– Especially after the amount of time they had spent talking to the quiet shadows of Westland Mall. Whenever Habit spoke, its voice carried within it the frantic tone and intent of a predator’s roar.

     And though Feaster’s voice had wasted away through his bodily transformation, they felt comfortable enough to participate in their conversations. Even through a series of grunts and slurred mumbling, Habit was patient enough to understand him. They could both feel less lonely because of it.

     “To… your right…” Feaster spoke for the first time since they had started their hunt, nodding towards a particular, half-open door.

     The couple had followed a trail to the mall’s food court, a ghost indoor room filled with chairs and tables. Because of the open nature of the space, they both tried to keep noise to a minimum, but there was only so much time Feaster could go through without speaking. And though it was a challenge to make out details through blurry vision, Feaster was sure that that door had not been open before. Pointing it out was an excuse as good as any other.

     “Does it… smell like something… to you?”

     Habit delved forward to examine the door, its face completely devoid of any emotion. Broken glass should have crunched under its feet, but the sound did not echo much, if at all. Feaster wasn’t sure how to explain it but had come to terms that Habit’s physicality existed somewhere in between the realm of physical and conceptual. It didn’t make much noise when in an active chase for prey. That’s what made it such a great hunter.

     After some light investigation, Habit turned to Feaster, then took a breath as it collected its thoughts.

     “IT’S FAINT,” Habit hummed, “BUT IT’S THERE.”

     Meat. Feaster shook the thought away from his head before instincts overtook his senses. It wasn’t usual that humans would break into the Westland Mall in search of adventure, but it wasn’t rare, either. Clueless, dumb souls powered by a trivial dare, or a morbid curiosity. Regardless of their intentions, it never ended well for them. Because once they were in, once Habit had caught their scent, they would not make it out.

     “Do you… have a plan?” Feaster growled.

     A tinge of bloodlust passed through Habit’s eyes, purple almost breaking through the darkness around them. Feaster could see the hint of a smile pulling on the edges of its lips, but Habit just shrugged it off.

     “GUESS IT’S TRAP TIME,” it said simply. “THEY WILL HAVE TO COME THROUGH HERE IF THEY’RE PLANNING TO REACH THE DOOR.”

     They didn’t need a trap, of course. Both Feaster and Habit were all too capable of just chasing a meal down, but there was no sense of accomplishment in any of the sorts. Toying with them, breaking them down, robbing them of any sense of control, all of these were sentiments they both agreed with when it came to prey. After that, they could enjoy the chase.

     But for now, they waited. Feaster knew that Habit was smarter than any creature they had ever encountered, so it would come up with a plan that would help them both. And as that plan was set in motion, Feaster found itself itching for something to do. A task, any task, to not be torn to shreds by the adrenaline of anticipation.

     “Tell me… what to… do,” Feaster said, trying not to be frustrated upon how his words did not match the rabid emotion bubbling in his gut, “I will… do it.”

     “PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE,” Habit stated, closing that one door behind it. “WE WILL WAIT FOR ‘EM HERE.”

     Not an ideal situation. But if they had to kill some time, they would.

     Habit sat down on the nearest, broken-down chair, gaze fixed where the smell had once been stronger. If Feaster recalled the sun-bleached map that stood on the mall’s bottom floor, these humans must have been looking around the abandoned cinema, and that would probably take them a while. Habit seemed to be okay with waiting.

     Feaster, on the other hand, didn’t take long to start pacing around.

     “Patience,” it growled a bit of a mock, a bit of a whine at what had been Habit’s words.

     Habit looked quite amused.

     “COME HERE,” it said, and Feaster didn’t need to be told twice. He dragged another lone chair to meet with his partner and sat at its side.

     For any other, Westland Mall would be eerily quiet, but Feaster knew that sound traveled just as fast in the depths of hell. And somehow, he had grown to find it familiar: the distant whooshing of the wind, the dripping of water through the ceiling, the distant rustle of faceless creatures shifting into a hiding spot. They had found these noises terrifying at one point. But with Habit at their side, it was nothing more than the lullaby of their home.

     “... I need…,” Feaster started, allowing his body to be magnetized by Habit’s, then placing his head on Habit’s chest. “Something… to do…”

     “ANY IDEAS?” Habit asked. It wasn’t one to necessarily solve problems as mundane as these, but it was certainly trying to be supportive. Feaster could tell, and they appreciated it.

     Feaster hummed, looking out at the space around them. There was nothing more than the corpse of a fast food district, all booths glued to the wall with empty counter space and signs that had once announced the names of that particular cuisine. Around them stood a couple of advertisements, with pictures of models long dead, recommending products long forgotten: a new cell phone, a brand of food, some hair products–

     Well, that was an idea.

     “Can I… braid… your hair?” Feaster croaked out, looking up at Habit.

     Habit raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting something like that to come through its partner, but after some consideration, shrugged it off.

     “IF THAT’LL KEEP YOU ENTERTAINED,” It said, already turning around to have its hair face Feaster, “I DON’T MIND IT.”

     Feaster smiled, the tinge of his muscles picking at exposed skin. The idea of braiding hair seemed distant, but vaguely familiar, as if he had done it in a life before this. They weren’t sure if that memory was accurate, or how much they would remember on braiding of all things, but it was certainly worth a shot.

     So, Feaster reached out their hand and grabbed onto strands of Habit’s hair.

     It was long, reaching the mid of his back, and soft to the touch. As untamed as the hair was, and as natural for Habit, it was effortlessly clean: Feaster’s fingers ran through it with little to no complication, and after a couple of strands to get rid of a knot or two, they were presented with a usable canvas. Facing away from them, Habit let out little sighs, eyes closed and enjoying Feaster’s touch, gentle as it was. In a world, as twisted as they both lived in, it was only together that they could enjoy these types of quiet, relaxing moments. Domestic, came to mind, but Feaster still wasn’t sure if the word was enough to categorize them.

     Still, Feaster worked diligently, twisting stands around and braiding them together. He was surprised to find that muscle memory had survived his human self, and though it wasn’t exactly perfect, it was starting to take shape into something they could be proud of. If his sight was ever to get better, if they could ever stop the decay crawling into his soul, maybe he would be able to improve on such simple skills. Feaster liked the thought of it, of looking forward to something so simple, yet so positive. It felt nice.

     And Habit looked nice, too.

     “I’m done,” Feaster declared with a ragged groan, and Habit let out a chuckle. It turned around, a smile growing on its face.

     “THANK YOU,” It said. And Feaster smiled back.

     For a moment, they were just a couple in a mall, passing the time. They were two kids focused on nothing but each other’s presence, and the feeling of their bodies lingering together like this. Feaster thought of how Habit’s hair had given it a new style and passively wondered what other styles he could try on it. One day, when things were calmer when they were alone with their thoughts once again, he would do this once more. But right now, he could feel happy with this small moment of humanity, and that sobering sense of love that they felt for each other.

     But then distant noise and reckless movement alarmed them both of their prey closing into their trap, and they knew it was time to act. It was time to feed. And that happiness that Feaster left mutated into a feverish sort of excitement. As both Feaster and Habit retreated into the dark to start the hunt, they stayed together.

     It was time to share a meal, after all.