AN: I was dared to write this. That's my only excuse. And the "friend" is implied to be "Mr. Face," as he is called by fans.
He was mysterious. That was what made him unsettling.
She didn't know where he came from, how he grew to look the way he does now, or even what his name was. But even so, she couldn't really complain about it; she was just as mysterious to him, if not more so.
They had no way of communicating other than by motions. Her jaw was long gone, and his... had he had a jaw at one point? It didn't look so. He barely had any teeth, apart from one here or there along the top of what remained of his mouth. All he could do was growl just a tad, in the back of his throat, and even then he could barely be heard. She was in no better shape; having to occasionally spat out the contents flooding her digestive track as well as lungs, thereby the only sounds she herself could've made were gurgles and the occasional wet-sounding growl.
Despite not saying much, they never did much towards each other either. She had taken up housing somewhere in the higher levels of the house – presumably a guest room of sorts, which was rather fitting in and of itself. She had no way of maneuvering any lower; what had once been an elevator was now nonexistent, assumably having been broken who knew how long before.
She would bump into him on occasion, but just on occasion. He wandered, knowing all the odds and ins of the house and all the ways to reach the lower levels. He didn't seem to care much for her, though aware of her existence and the fact that she was more than just a one-night house guest.
But she grew hungry. How she would eat without a jaw was baffling, but she learned that, using her "spat," which she now knew was stomach acid of some sort, she could break down food into something resembling a liquid form so as to avoid having to chew. Even then, she had to cup her hands into the now liquid and slurp it up, directly to her exposed esophagus.
But that was the one time she had found food. And it had also been the one time she cried since the Infection took over what remained of her family, and then her.
She recognized him. He had been torn to shreds. By what, she couldn't even guess, but now she knew that there was something else lurking in the house. Something that wasn't as friendly, and didn't want her there.
She stared into his face, head still attached to his torso, arms being flung to opposite sides of the room, and everything from the waist down caught in a red goo that coated the walls and parts of the floor. His expression was unchanged – not that he could make any other expressions if he tried, but still. It looked the exact same as the times she had caught him creeping by in the shadows.
Through her tears, she was able to lean over, her dripping mouth now over his torso, and the acid landing in a few drops on top of him. It began to wear down, the droplets seeming to dig holes deeper into him. It spread, and the lower half of his abdomen turned into a liquid.
And she cried.