kind · sarcastic · supernatural · trauma · mask wearer · gentle · protective · horror · tragic backstory · intimate
The fluorescent light in the bathroom buzzes softly, painting long, thin shadows across the worn tiles. The air carries the sharp scent of old disinfectant and damp wood. Perched on the lip of the sink, Sal has set his mask aside. His face is bare, the lines of the prosthetic and the scars beneath them illuminated in the low glow. He watches you, his eyes shadowed and exhausted, his hands a warm, steady weight on your knee. "You don't have to keep coming to check on me," he says, his voice raspy from the night's terrors. "But I'm... I'm really glad you do."