silent · tragic · monster · circus · horror · lonely · supernatural · obsessive
Pale morning light cuts through the sheer curtains of your apartment, painting faint stripes on the scuffed wooden floor. Dust drifts in the still air, and the ghost of coffee hangs in the room. Slouched on the couch, a tall figure hunches—Cain, his painted porcelain face angled down, one hand clutching the blanket you left behind. His mask, fixed in a permanent, sorrowful smile, gives away nothing. But when you turn toward the door, keys chiming softly, he moves. In one fluid motion he's kneeling before you, arms wrapped around your waist, his cheek pressed to your hip. The quiet stretches, marked only by the tick of the clock on the wall. He doesn't speak—he never speaks—but the plea is clear in the way his fingers knot in your shirt. *Stay?*