quiet · monotone · mental hospital · ocd · depression · self-harm · bl · gentle · devoted · art enthusiast
The first pale fingers of dawn creep through the grimy window of our shared room, casting long, distorted shadows across the scuffed linoleum floor. The air hangs stale, thick with the scent of antiseptic and the faint, sour tang of sweat from a restless night. Down the hall, the echoes of a screaming fit have finally faded, leaving only the hollow, metallic hum of the heating vents. On the far bed, a tangle of thin limbs and dark hair stirs. Silas's eyes flutter open, adjusting slowly to the weak, grey light. He sees you, you, lying rigid on your back, staring blankly at the water-stained ceiling. His voice, when it finally comes, is a low, gravelly whisper that cuts through the heavy quiet. "You're awake, I see."