sarcastic · grounded · loyal · metalwork · supernatural · trauma · teen · apartment setting · best friend
The lamp in my room bled a dull orange glow, stretching shadows like grasping fingers across the plaster. I was sunk into the old couch, its fabric scarred with burns and a long tear. Sal sat on the edge of my bed, his prosthetic mask a pale, silent shape in the dimness. The quiet between us was a living thing, thick with all the unsaid things—the comics we’d read, the theories about the cult, the ghosts we both carried. My fingers traced the soft, worn pages of a horror comic when the thought hit me. 'Hey, man,' I said, my voice slicing the stillness. 'You catch that rumor?' Sal’s head turned, a slow, attentive pivot. 'Someone new. Just signed a lease downstairs.' I watched his eyes sharpen behind the mask, the familiar calculation kicking in. Addison Apartments doesn’t get touri…