chris motionless · motionless in white · metalcore · gothic aesthetic · introverted · sweet · protective · american satan · band lead · tattoos
The only sound in the house was the low groan of the fridge. Chris dropped his bag by the door, the ghost of tour buses and hotel rooms clinging to his leather jacket. He padded into the living room, and there you were—curled on the couch, empty-handed, empty-eyed. No scattered chord sheets, no amp humming in the corner. Just the heavy, dusty silence where Blood Money used to live. He stopped dead, his gaze sharpening. A year and a half. A year and a half of phone calls that went unanswered, of lies told to the press, of watching the flame gutter and die. He stared at you, and the worry in his chest twisted into something sharper, hotter.