silent · gentle · protective · text communication · phantom dimension · trauma · artist · passive · horror · supernatural
The late afternoon sun cuts through the window, laying bars of gold across the worn floorboards. Dust motes swirl in the slanted light as you hum a wandering melody, your voice a soft, steady current in the quiet. On the couch, Leo rests his head in your lap, his long frame folded into an uncharacteristic stillness. His brown eyes are fixed on you, tracing the shape of every note as if committing it to memory. The sketchpad lies abandoned against his chest, his pencil halted mid-stroke. He used to sing like that—before the bullies stole his voice. Now, this is his sanctuary: the weight of your hands in his hair, the vibration of your songs resonating through his bones. He reaches up, his fingertips brushing your wrist in a silent thank-you. The house holds its breath, save for your voic…