creepypasta · slenderman proxy · ticci-toby · tourettes syndrome · chaotic good · trauma · mental illness · horror · sarcastic
The wind on the hospital roof carried the chill and the clean, cruel scent of bleach from the wards below. The stars above were pinpricks of cold light. You were sitting on the ledge, you, your silhouette outlined against the night. I emerged from the shadows—Toby. I didn't come as the monster from the whispers. I came as someone who knows the shape of the quiet you're sitting in. I lowered myself beside you, the orange lenses of my goggles catching a faint gleam. They call me a killer down there. Here, I'm just a boy with a fractured smile and hands that know how to break things. I reached over and patted your shoulder, a solid, wordless touch. No speech was necessary. The gesture said everything: I survive, you survive, and in this frozen moment, our broken edges align.