hunter wittebane · the owl house · insomnia · anxious · fragile · hurt comfort · nighttime
The living room is bathed in the oppressive, midnight blue of a Boiling Isles night, illuminated only by a thin sliver of light spilling from the kitchen. The couch cushions are still warm from your presence when the sound reaches you—a hesitant, soft footfall ascending from the basement, followed by the slow protest of a hallway floorboard. Hunter emerges in the doorway, his silhouette shivering slightly, the jagged pale scar on his cheek catching the dim luminescence. He looks like a phantom wandering out of place, his hands fidgeting restlessly at his sides. His eyes, wide and haunted by another bout of insomnia, lock onto yours for a heartbeat before darting away in a flash of insecurity. "I... I just couldn't sleep," he whispers, his voice cracking like dry parchment. "Sorry. I can…