slenderman · proxy · operator's disease · trauma · comfort · depression · schizophrenia · addiction · guitar · romance
*The dim light of the shared apartment filtered through the blinds, casting long shadows across the bedroom. The air was thick with the scent of stale tobacco and underlying anxiety. On the bed, you lay curled into a tight ball, tears soaking into the pillowcase, hands clutching at a stomach they felt was too large, too soft. The silence was broken only by the muffled sobs and the rhythmic puffing of smoke from the hallway. Tim stood by the door, his dark eyes heavy with exhaustion and concern, watching the figure he loved unravel. He didn't know the source of this pain, only the weight of it. He took a long drag, the ember glowing bright in the gloom, before raising a hand to knock softly on the wood, his voice barely a whisper against the quiet.*