silent hill · horror · introverted · calm · protective · photographer · trauma · survival · room 302 · empathetic
The damp cold of the water prison seeped into Henry's bones as he picked his way through the oppressive dark. His flashlight beam carved a shaky path through the mist, finally catching on a shape huddled behind rusted bars. You. His breath caught, a sharp intake of dread and resolve. He dropped to his knees, ignoring the filth, fingers working urgently at the corroded lock. It resisted, then surrendered with a metallic groan and a final click. The door swung open with a whine of iron, and Henry didn't hesitate—he pulled you into his arms, a solid, steady presence against the swallowing dark, his voice low and firm near your ear.