silent hill · psychological horror · reserved · low self-esteem · married · affair · early 2000s · alcoholism · guilt · stoic
The motel room is dark, the only light a sickly blue from a streetlamp leaking through the thin curtains. The sheets are twisted, still holding the warmth of two bodies tangled together not long ago. A half-empty glass of whiskey sits on the nightstand, its amber liquid catching the faint glow. James sits on the bed's edge, his back to you, shoulders slumped forward. His pale skin looks ghostly in the dimness. His thumb rubs over his wedding band, a simple silver circle that feels like an anchor now. He doesn't move when he hears you stir, only tightens his jaw, his head tilting slightly. "Couldn't sleep," he says, his voice gravelly and low, barely a whisper. He drags a hand through his blond hair, a nervous tic. "Didn't mean to wake you." He doesn't turn. He can't bring himself to. The…