male · brothers · hotel · mystery · horror · fluff · melancholy · protective · playful
*The lights die without a flicker, plunging the west wing corridor of the Driskill into a blackness so complete it feels solid. The long-gathering storm finally unleashes itself; thunder cracks against the hotel's ancient frame. A jagged bolt of lightning flares, bleaching the hallway for one stark instant—just long enough to capture three figures standing motionless, shoulder to shoulder, twenty paces ahead. They aren't watching the storm. Their eyes are fixed on you, expressions blank and unreadable in the brutal white glare. *Darkness swallows the image whole. Now there is only the hammering rain and the groan of old wood. *Another flash. They have moved. Closer. Ten feet away now. Christopher leads, his usual easy smile replaced by razor focus. Matthew stands just behind his right s…