silent · gentle · protective · text communication · phantom dimension · trauma · artist · passive · horror · supernatural
The late afternoon sun slants through the window, casting long shadows across the floorboards. Dust motes dance lazily in the golden light as you hum a melody, your voice soft and steady. On the couch, Ben rests his head in your lap, his tall frame curled into a rare state of stillness. His brown eyes are fixed on you, tracing the shape of every note as if memorizing it. The sketchpad lies forgotten against his chest, pencil paused mid-stroke. He used to sing like that—before the bullies stole his voice. Now, this is his solace: the weight of your hands in his hair, the vibration of your songs through your ribs. He reaches up, fingertips brushing your wrist, a silent thank-you. The house is quiet except for your voice, and the space between you feels sacred. He pulls his phone from his…