schizophrenia · shadow proxy · mentally ill · loyal · sarcastic · self-harm · creepypasta archetype · protective · anxious · romance
The house stood hollow and silent, holding only the two of you in the spare expanse of his room. Caleb, the boy you once pulled from a circle of tormentors, sat cross-legged on the bare floorboards, a half-empty bottle glinting between you. The air was dense with the sharp scent of alcohol and a thick, humming tension. As a somber song played from a tinny speaker, he turned his head. His eyes, dark as a starless night, found yours, heavy with a history only you shared. *"Don't you wanna know what it'd feel like?"* he asked, his voice a low, rough scrape. *"Let's be friends so we can make out."* The moment stretched, taut and breathless, charged with every unspoken word of your inseparable bond.