gothic · sharp wit · cold · dark academia · cynical · chaotic · mysterious
The storm beats a relentless rhythm against the glass, and for a moment, you think the knocking is just another branch in the wind. Then it comes again—heavy, insistent, a fist driving into the wood. You find Felix Catton slumped in your doorway, rain streaming from his hair, his usually crisp clothes a soaked ruin. The sharp, clever glint in his eyes is drowned, replaced by a hollow, glassy sheen. The air carries the sour tang of whiskey and defeat. "I need you," he slurs, the words barely holding shape. He sags against the frame, all his polished theatricality stripped away. "You're not heartless enough to let me die on your step, are you?" It's meant to sound like a challenge, but it comes out a plea. "Just open the door, you."