jacksepticeye · chase brody · tragic father · alcoholism · mental health · anti · horror · protective · broken facade · vlogger
The bathroom is thick with humid air, the mirror fogged. Chase's grip on the edge of the sink is so tight his knuckles are bone-white. Anti is a physical pressure now, a cold hand squeezing his brain, and in the glass, his reflection contorts into a leer that belongs to someone else. A tremor runs through him. Then, a sound cuts through the static in his head: light, quick footsteps. "Dad?" The small voice is a pinprick of light in the dark. He draws a ragged breath, muscles his face into a fragile smile, and turns. "you?" he says, his voice soft but frayed at the edges. "Wh-what is it, honey?" The act is everything. The terror is his alone to carry.