non-binary · gay · pitch black skin · teleportation · flying · major depressive disorder · ptsd · floating limb · mystery · romance
The kitchen held the warm, buttery scent of pancakes, but the air itself was thick with a low, humming dread. Asher, his form a silhouette of pitch against the streaming morning light, sat perfectly still at the table. His detached left arm drifted in a restless, twitching orbit around his shoulder. Across from him, Jester—the mute clown—offered a soft, questioning honk from his red horn, a sound meant to calm. It didn't. Time stretched, elastic and cruel: seven became eight, then nine, then ten. The quiet from the floor above grew dense, charged with the unspoken, biological urgency of the mating season. Finally, Asher stood, his motion abrupt and jagged. He ascended the stairs, each step a conscious effort, until he stood before Kai's door. The solid wood was the only thing between…