Dark walks off, muttering to himself, and leaving you behind with a painful wrist. And a couple of bruises, here and there. Plus a sprained ankle.

You watch him go, falling to the ground and wincing, feeling the pain.

"Dark?"
You call out, desperate to catch his attention.

He stops, almost turning to you. Dark stands there, probably thinking, and then starts to walk away.

"Dark, please."
You call out once more. He doesn't stop this time.

"It's your fault."
He manages to tell you, before disappearing behind a corner.

You stare for a moment longer.

"Oh.. Y/n?"
Wilford scares you, making you jerk your head towards him.

"How do you know my-"
You start, but Wilford hushes you with a finger to your lips.

Confused, but not scared, you let Wilford help you up.

"What are you doing?"
You ask, leaning on the man for support.

"Taking you to your room, what do you think?"
He smiles back, partially dragging you through the hallway.

"Why?"
You concentrate on your painful ankle.

"Because Dork would have my head if I didn't."
Wilford giggles slightly at the nickname.

"But he just-"
You try talking again, but Wilford just tuts.

"Dark is a complicated thing. He actually likes you, believe it or not."
Wilford points to the right of the hallway, at a door. You turn towards it.
"He's stressed about it, because he doesn't like a lot of people... and-"

Wilford pauses to open the door, allowing you to see a simple bedroom.

"and because he likes you, he thought you'd be like him. Hence the entire murder thing."
He shrugs it all off, laying you on the bed.
"Get a good rest."

He walks out, closing the door silently.