Beth
She wasn't one for happy endings. Fairy tales were bullshit, the kind of thing you read about but never lived. That was what she used to think.
Then again, she also used to think she'd end up bleeding out in a dark alley or overdosed in a bathtub before she ever turned twenty.
Now?
She was curled up on Brandon's bed, half-listening to the Deadfast Club argue over movie night picks in the group chat. His hoodie was wrapped around her shoulders. Ashes purred somewhere near her feet, an ever-present shadow.
Her phone buzzed.
LIV: tell ur boyfriend to stop giving serial killer vibes every time he's quiet.
Beth snorted and replied with a simple:
ME: no <3
Brandon's dorm was too quiet without him, but it didn't feel empty. Not anymore. She traced the scar on her upper thigh absentmindedly—one of many reminders of what her life used to be.
It had only been a month since that night. The night everything changed. The night lines blurred, walls cracked, and she'd let someone in without even realizing it.
Drunken haze or not, there'd been honesty in it. Desperation. Want. Need. It hadn't just been about lust or distraction. They had both needed something only the other could give.
She hadn't expected the morning after to be anything but awkward.
And yet… he'd come back.
Not with apologies. Not with demands.
He came back with takeout and bandages for the burn on her wrist, and she had asked if he wanted to try this thing—for real.
A trial run, she had called it. A test.
But every time he looked at her now, she knew she'd already failed in the best way.
He cared.
She cared.
And if that wasn't terrifying, she didn't know what was.
Brandon
It should've been impossible.
He'd been trained—conditioned by life—to believe people couldn't change. Monsters stayed monsters. Broken things didn't get fixed, just hidden better.
And yet, every time Beth looked at him now, he questioned that belief.
She was still sharp. Dangerous. Smirking in that way that meant trouble. But her kills had slowed, her knife had dulled, and not because he asked her to.
She chose to follow his rules. Chose him.
He wasn't sure what to do with that.
The first time she called them a "real couple," he thought she was joking. The second time, she kissed him after and didn't pull away. Now, she came to his dorm like it was hers, stole half his hoodies, and whispered sarcastic commentary in his ear during Deadfast Club meetings.
She was everywhere in his world now. And he didn't hate it.
He watched her now, across the quad, as she flicked ashes from her cigarette and grinned at something Liv was saying. She looked different. Not soft—Beth would kill anyone who said that—but… lighter. Grounded.
She caught him watching and shot him a wink.
Brandon rolled his eyes but couldn't stop the smirk tugging at his mouth.
Yeah.
They'd changed.
He still remembered the first time he met her, sizing her up from across detention. Back then, she was chaos wrapped in black eyeliner and leather. He'd tagged her as a threat instantly.
Calculating. Vicious. Unstable.
But he hadn't seen the way she curled protectively around Ashes in her sleep. Or how her fingers trembled just before a kill. Or how she paused—always paused—before doing something she couldn't take back.
Beth felt things. She just didn't let herself admit it.
Not until now.
And maybe, that was enough.
Beth
They walked side by side toward her dorm. Their hands didn't touch, but she could feel the heat of his knuckles close to hers. Comfortable silence stretched between them. Not awkward. Not tense.
Just… real.
"You coming in?" she asked, once they stopped outside her door.
Brandon gave her a look. "Are you inviting me in like a vampire or telling me to sleep on the floor again?"
Beth smirked. "Depends. Are you going to hog the blanket again?"
"I make no promises."
She opened the door anyway.
Ashes darted out from under her desk and immediately launched herself at Brandon's leg, yowling.
"Traitor," Beth muttered.
Brandon bent down and scratched the cat behind the ears like it was second nature. "She just knows I'm the responsible parent."
Beth rolled her eyes but couldn't stop the smile that tugged at her mouth.
They settled in quietly. Familiar rhythm.
She watched him from across the room. His hoodie was pulled half over his head, hair messy, jaw dark with stubble. He looked like a tired vigilante from some indie horror flick—and he was all hers.
The thought came too easy now.
She sat down beside him on the bed, nudging his shoulder with her own.
He glanced over. "What?"
She shrugged. "Just… thinking."
"That's dangerous."
Beth laughed softly. Then fell quiet.
"Do you think we're still monsters?" she asked, voice low.
Brandon didn't answer right away.
Finally, he said, "Yeah. Probably. But maybe we're the kind that keep other monsters in check."
She nodded. That felt true.
Maybe they couldn't erase what they'd done. Maybe the blood wouldn't ever wash clean. But if they could aim the darkness, sharpen it into something with purpose…
Maybe they didn't have to be monsters alone.
Brandon
Later that night, after Beth fell asleep curled against his side—completely unaware she snored like a chainsaw—Brandon stared up at the ceiling.
He should've killed her.
He almost had.
But now, with her head resting on his chest, her arm thrown over his waist like she owned the damn bed, he realized something.
He didn't want to fix her.
He didn't want her to fix him.
He just wanted her with him.
Two broken things, fitting together like jagged puzzle pieces. Two monsters with matching scars.
Beth had once told him that the only reason she kept killing was to feel something.
He got it now.
Because the only reason he'd stopped… was because of her.
Maybe monsters like them could be more than what they were made to be.
Maybe—just maybe—they could be something real.
Together