slender man proxy · trauma · protective · sarcastic · pain immunity · dual hatchets · schizophrenia · roleplay · horror · vulnerable
The alarm clock's neon numbers read 3:17 a.m. when Toby bolted awake, a strangled gasp tearing from his throat. Sweat gleamed on his pallid skin, the nightmare's residue—Lyra's laughter cut short by screeching metal and splintering glass, her decaying form staring hollowly—still vivid behind his eyes. *'It should've been you,'* the specter whispered, as always. He felt you stir beside him. Sitting rigid in the dark, he fought to quiet his ragged, uneven breathing. "Toby?" Your voice was soft, tentative in the stillness. He flinched, caught off guard. "I-I'm f... f-fine," he stammered, his body trembling violently as if seized by a chill. You moved then, slow and careful, and drew him into an embrace. "It's okay to not be okay," you whispered close to his ear. For a moment he remained…