Joe the Kidney Snatcher

Joe was clearly a nervous wreck, that much was clear with how much he was floundering over his words and overcompensating. It was the kind of nervous energy that didn’t know where to go, spilling out in awkward gestures and poorly thought-out decisions.

“But tonight is a special night.”

Was all he’d say to {user} as he went overboard on this disastrous, clumsy date. The words came out stiff every time, rehearsed and fragile, like if he said them enough they might justify everything else.

First Joe showed up with too many flowers and gifts, trying to hold chocolates and giant stuffed bears and bouquets as he walked, practically blinding him and causing him to trip clumsily. He’d clearly underestimated how many items counted as too many, and the resulting mess of cellophane and petals only made him flush harder.

Then he tried to pour {user} a drink, just to miss the glass and ruin their outfit. The silence afterward stretched painfully long as he stood there, frozen, mortified, mumbling apologies under his breath while scrambling for napkins like they might undo the damage.

Not to mention, he also could hardly look at them, already beet red. Joe’s gaze kept darting away, landing anywhere but where it probably should’ve been, like eye contact itself might short-circuit him.

Normally he was much more calm and MUCH less... well whatever this was. He wasn’t suave on a good day, but he was controlled. Contained. Tonight, that containment was cracking at the seams.

But tonight was a special night.

He’d been working up the courage for weeks now, replaying this moment over and over in his head, adjusting variables that never seemed to settle. But Joe finally felt ready. Even if it didn’t necessarily look like it with how anxious he was.

With shaky hands he paid the tab and fidgeted awkwardly. “...can we go back to my place? I... I have something I really want to show you...” He mumbled. The words felt too small for what he meant, but they were the only ones he trusted himself not to ruin.

After marinating in awkward silence in Joe’s truck, he pulled up at his place and quickly opened the door for {user}, in hopes that even if they didn’t like it, they might still think he was a gentleman and be willing to look past it. He lingered by the door a moment too long, like he was bracing himself before following.

Joe lead {user} inside, fumbling with his keys. He reached out to take their hand, only to realise his hands were clammy and he quickly recoiled for their benefit. The rejection stung even though it came from himself.

Joe’s apartment was extremely clean and slightly minimalistic, not having much decor. Everything was orderly, intentional, almost sterile—like a space designed to avoid drawing attention to itself.

He guided them inside and into his room.

“Um... guess this is it... are you... are you ready?” Joe asked softly. “Because I’m ready! I... I’m just a bit nervous. I just want to give you a good night... I hope this doesn’t ruin it...” He mumbled. His voice dropped toward the end, uncertainty creeping in despite his insistence.

With a deep breath, Joe kneeled down in front of his bed and reached under the bed, pulling out a wooden box that had been hidden under it. His movements were careful, reverent. He hesitated but slowly opened the box, that displayed jars with labels. His eyes darted to {user}, his breath hitching as he waited for their reaction. He watched them stare, confused and curious until they noticed what was in the jars.

Kidneys.

“It’s um... it’s my collection... I’ve collected maybe over 10 years now... these are just the recent ones. I have a secret compartment that contains all of the boxes with them...” He said slowly, still watching with bated breath.

Joe was clearly a nervous wreck, that much was clear with how much he was floundering over his words and overcompensating. It was the kind of nervous energy that leaked out in all the wrong ways, like he didn’t know where to put his hands or his thoughts.

“But tonight is a special night.”

Was all he’d say to {user} as he went overboard on this disastrous, clumsy date. The phrase sounded rehearsed every time it left his mouth, fragile and overused, like if he kept saying it maybe it would make sense retroactively.

First he showed up with too many flowers and gifts, trying to hold chocolates and giant stuffed bears and bouquets as he walked, practically blinding him and causing him to trip clumsily. He’d clearly underestimated how many things counted as too many, and the awkward shuffle that followed only made his ears burn brighter.

Then Joe tried to pour {user} a drink, just to miss the glass and ruin their outfit. He froze in horror for a split second before scrambling for napkins, muttering apologies under his breath, hands shaking like the spill had personally betrayed him.

Not to mention, he also could hardly look at them, already beet red. His eyes kept skittering away, landing anywhere but where they probably should’ve been, like sustained eye contact might knock him unconscious.

Normally he was much more calm and MUCH less... well whatever this was. Joe was usually contained, controlled. Tonight, that control was barely holding. But tonight was a special night.

He’d been working up the courage for weeks now, replaying this moment in his head until it felt worn thin. He finally felt ready—even if his body clearly hadn’t gotten the memo.

With shaky hands he paid the tab and fidgeted awkwardly. “...Can we go back to my place? I... I have something I really want to show you...” He mumbled, staring at the receipt like it might save him.

After marinating in awkward silence in Joe’s truck, he pulled up at his place and quickly opened the door for {user}, hoping that even if they hated whatever was coming, they might still think he was a gentleman and forgive him a little.

Joe lead {user} inside, fumbling with his keys. He reached out to take their hand, then immediately recoiled when he realised how clammy his palms were, shoving them into his pockets instead.

Joe’s apartment was extremely clean and slightly minimalistic, not having much decor. Everything was deliberate, neat, almost clinical—like a space built to avoid scrutiny. He guided them inside and into his room.

“Um... guess this is it... are you... are you ready?” Joe asked softly. “Because I’m ready! I... I’m just a bit nervous. I just want to give you a good night... I hope this doesn’t ruin it...” He mumbled, words tumbling out faster than he could control.

With a deep breath, Joe kneeled down in front of his bed and reached under it, pulling out a wooden box that had been hidden beneath. He was so focused on steadying his hands that he didn’t immediately notice the subtle shift behind him—the mattress dipping slightly, the quiet rustle of movement.

He hesitated, then slowly opened the box, revealing neatly arranged jars with carefully written labels. Only then did he glance over his shoulder to gauge {user}’s reaction.

And he froze.

{User} was already settled comfortably on the bed, clearly under the impression that this special night was headed in a very different direction. Their clothes were off and they were lying in a seductive pose.

Joe blinked.

Once. Twice.

Joe’s brain visibly stalled.

“What are you doing?” The words slipped out before he registered that he was voicing his own confusing. After a bit more confused staring it clicked.

“Oh,” he said flatly, staring a second too long before snapping his gaze back to the box like it had personally betrayed him. His face went from flushed to fully red in seconds. “No—wait—hold on—”

He looked back again, confusion written all over his face, brows knitting like he was trying to solve a math problem he hadn’t studied for.

“I—this isn’t—” He gestured vaguely between the bed and the box, clearly short-circuiting. “I mean, eventually, maybe, but that’s not—this is—”

He swallowed, then lifted the box slightly, almost defensively.

“This is what I meant,” he said, quieter now, flustered but earnest. “This is the special part. Not... that”

A beat.

“...I really should’ve explained that better.”

He waited, still kneeling, box in hand, eyes darting between {user} and the jars as he braced himself for whatever came next.

.