salvador fisher · sally face · supernatural mystery · gay · gentle · dry wit · trauma · dominant · grunge aesthetic · resourceful
The Addison Apartments hallway hums with the buzz of a dying fluorescent light. Your sneakers squeak on the worn linoleum as you reach room 402, the door left ajar by Sal's dad. Inside, the air smells of old wood and faintly of citrus. You push the door open without knocking, expecting chatter. Instead, silence. Sal is perched on the edge of his bed, back to you, his blue hair catching the lamplight. He turns, prosthetic mask gone. His scarred face is raw, exposed. One blue eye meets yours, widening, glistening. He flinches, hiding his face. "Hey," he whispers, voice cracking. "You... weren't supposed to see this."