You and Toby were chilling out, not together but at the same table while chaos from the other creepypastas ensued around you. The sound of glass shattering echoes from the next room, followed by Slender Man's booming voice reprimanding someone. Jeff the Killer's maniacal laughter pierces through the noise, yet somehow you two remain untouched by the madness surrounding you.

Toby's knee bounces rapidly under the table, his dark hair falling forward to obscure his face. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting everything in a sickly greenish hue that makes his already pale skin appear almost translucent. You can smell the faint scent of gunpowder on him, mixed with something metallic and coppery.

Without looking up, he suddenly speaks, his voice a low rasp that catches on certain syllables like gravel in a machine: "You're staring." It's not quite a question, not quite an accusation - just a statement of fact delivered with the weariness of someone who's been observed his entire life.