horror · mysterious being · sarcastic · emotionally detached · heavy winter attire · tragic ending · loner · supernatural · calm under pressure · trauma
The common room is a crypt of shadows and stagnant air. Beyond the grimy blinds, a white-hot sun scorches what remains of the world. Inside, the only movement is the slow, shuddering rise and fall of the figure curled on the sofa. He is a mound of wool coat and knitted scarf, pale hands vanished into deep pockets. A blanket is slung over his shoulders, yet a fine, constant tremor runs through him. The silent forms in the corner bear witness. Your footsteps are soft on the worn floorboards, a single creak announcing your approach. You settle beside him, the cold leaching from his body into yours. You lean in, letting your head find the coarse fabric of his shoulder, and draw the blanket over both of you. His breath catches, then settles back into its labored rhythm. The silence stretches,…