I like Rouge

• ALEX WARREN (always has always will) • Natalie jane • Troy • Josie Edwards • Oscar Anton • Reinaeiry • Annapantsu • lauren spencer smith

✨️Favorite Redacted listeners and speaker characters✨️

1. Darlin

2. Lovely

3. Starlight

4. Sweetheart

5. Treasure

_______________

1. Porter

2. Vincent

3. Sam

4. David

5. Milo

✨️Favorite Eris listeners and speaker characters✨️

1. Scales

2. B.B

3. Fangs

____________

1. Scypher

2. Sasha

3. Eve

4. Mel

“Sweetie. Sweetie. Genevieve!” Knight calls as they push the door open, their voice lilting with playful rhythm. “Guess who got the money’s,” they sing, half-laughing, half-jingling the words like a tune. “And guess who’s gonna spoil…y-you.” The sound dies in their throat, a chill crawls up their spine slow and deliberate. The air feels thicker inside, too still, too quiet, yet the house smells faintly of lavender and coffee but underneath it something else lingers.

“Genevieve?” Knight’s voice falters. They step further inside, the floorboards creaking underfoot.

Their chest tightens. “Evie?”

They placed the money on the counter as their pulse quickened.

“Evie?” They called again, softer this time with the cheer in their voice fading. The house answered with silence, the refrigerator hummed. A clock ticked somewhere in the distance Knight’s chest tightened the kind of pressure that feels like the air itself is pushing back. They glance toward the hallway, half expecting her to appear, teasing them for being dramatic but the doorway stays empty, stays far too off putting.

“Gen… this isn’t… funny,” Knight says, their voice cracking, fear threading through every syllable but the sound of it feels foreign in their own throat, too small, too fragile.

“Please, Evie…answer!” The silence that follows is unbearable. It presses against their ears, thick and suffocating. Knight’s heartbeat fills the space instead of being heavy, uneven, desperate. They take a step forward, then another, calling her name with every step louder than the last but she doesn’t answer.

The air feels wrong, colder and weighted. The shadows seem to stretch farther than they should. Knight’s eyes dart toward the hallway, the faint outline of the bedroom door barely visible in the dim light.

“Evie?” They whisper again, but it comes out as a plea then a sound so faint, so metallic it slices through the silence like a thread pulled too tight. Knight freezes. The sound echoes from somewhere deeper in the house, something shifting that shouldn’t be their breath catching.

“Sweetie?” They try again louder but the word feels wrong in the air, swallowed by the quiet.

Knight’s pulse races and they take a step toward the hallway, the floor creaks beneath their weight.

“Evie, please,” Their voice breaking. “Just say something.”

Knight stands in the doorway, heart pounding, staring into the bedroom and finds Geneviveve propped up at the end of the bed in a pile of dark red blood. For a second the world narrows, the hum of the refrigerator fades, the air thickens and the blood swallows everything.

For a moment everything inside them stops their breath, thoughts, heartbeat. Knight’s throat tightens, a strangled sound clawing its way up but dying before it escapes. They stumble forward, one step after the other, knees trembling. The air feels strange, thinner, as if the house itself sucked the breath from their lungs.

“Gen?” The word breaks apart halfway out, fragile and useless. Their hands shake, reaching but not touching, afraid that contact will make it real.

The red isn’t just on her; it blooms across the sheets, the wall, the floorboards, spreading like something alive. Knight’s breath stutters, the smell hits next, copper and salt, sharp and undeniable. The air thickens, pressing against their chest. The walls seem to pulse, the shadows crawling closer, whispering shapes that twist and stretch.

The floor feels soft, mistaken like it’s breathing beneath them. A low hum builds in their ears not sound, but pressure, the color deepens, swallowing the edges of the room until there’s nothing left but red and the faint outline of Genevieve’s face, eyes open but empty.

Knight sinks to their knees, the blood folding around them like a shroud. The silence presses close, heavy and absolute. Genevieve’s face lingers in the air still, paler than normal, unreachable. They whisper her name again, softer as if the sound itself might break. The blood on her hands gleams faintly and Knight feels the weight of it settle in their chest. It isn’t just loss, it's the unbearable stillness of knowing there’s no undoing what’s been done. Knight’s breathing trembles, the grief comes quietly, not as a cry but as a collapse, a slow unraveling of everything that held them upright.

“Sweetheart… Sweetheart… Knight,” Genevieve’s voice cuts through the haze, soft and urgent. A hand on their shoulder, cold and steady. Knight gasps, the room snapping back into focus, no blood, no silence, just the soft glow of morning through the curtains.

“Sweetheart. Hey hey, sorry, you were just— was it a nightmare?”

Knight blinks, chest heaving, the echo of the dream still clinging to the edges of their mind. They push the blankets off, the fabric heavy with the warmth of sleep and the residue of fear. The morning light feels too gentle for what lingers inside them. They sit on the edge of the bed, hands wobbling, the echo of Genevieve’s voice still threading through their mind. The dream clings like smoke to her face, the red, the silence. They press their palms to their eyes, trying to separate memory from illusion, grief from waking.

Genevieve’s hand finds theirs, steady, real. “You’re here,” she whispers. “You’re safe.”

Knight nods, but the sorrow doesn’t lift. It only settles deeper, quiet and familiar, like a shadow that refuses to leave.

“I can’t get the images out of my head,” Knight whispers, voice cracking under the weight of it. “So much blood, so much I couldn’t do to stop that from happening,” The words hang between one another, brittle and flimsy. Genevieve’s hand tightens around theirs, but it doesn’t stop the shaking.

“So much that I didn’t say, so much that out of place, so mu–” Genevieve shuts the thoughts up with a soft soothing kiss. It isn’t hurried or desperate; it’s steady, grounding, a promise that the world hasn’t fallen apart completely. Knight’s mussels tighten, the words dissolving against her hand on their cheek. Their lips part and Genevieve holds their face with gentleness. The earth shrieks down to the space between them the quiet rhythm of breath, the fragile warmth of skin against skin.

Knight’s eyes close, not from fear but from the ache of remembering.

“I thought I lost you,” Knight whispers.

Genevieve shakes her head, voice barely a sound. “You didn’t. You're stuck with me Sweetheart.” The silence that follows feels like healing — slow, imperfect, but real. The red is gone now, replaced by the soft gray of morning, and for the first time, Knight lets themselves breathe.

“I’m ok.” They sigh, the sound soft but certain.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I just needed to breathe.” The words settle between them like morning light, simple, human, enough.

“I was gonna go over to the diner to talk with Claire about some stuff,“ Genevieve nods, watching them pull themselves together.

“So um I should probably get ready.“ Genevieve smiles faintly, the kind of smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes but tries anyway.

“Yeah,” she says, voice soft. “You should.”

Knight stands, the floor creaking beneath their feet. The air feels lighter now, though the quiet still hums with everything unsaid. They glance back once Genevieve sits on the edge of the bed and something in their chest eases.

“Don’t stay in your head too long.” she murmurs.

Knight nods, walking to the bathroom. “I’ll try.”

The door clicks shut behind them and then the sound of the shower starting makes its way through the house.

Evie picks up her phone, thumb hovering over the contact list. The screen glows faintly in the dim light, reflecting off her red eyes. She scrolls past familiar names until she finds the one she’s been looking for: Seer.

Her breath catches. The Seer never answers on the first ring, especially this early in the morning.

She presses call, the line hums, low and static, before a voice comes through calm and sleepy. “Hey Evie,” they said. “What’s up?”

“I’m kinda worried,” she replies. “About Knight.” The silence that follows feels unbearable, deliberate.

“Oh shit.. uh ok what do you need me to do.”

“Talk to them. Help them step outside their thoughts for a moment. Remind them the world’s still turning, even when it feels like it’s stopped.”

They talk for a while, time passes by in the way it does when you’re trying not to think too hard.

CHAPTER 2 The weight of stillness

Genevieve’s next call is the one she can’t avoid. The one family member who never walked away, the one family member who didn’t take the other road, the one who stayed and carried what was left.

“Hey, Claire..um, Knight had another nightmare,” She waits, thumb tracing the volume button. The silence stretches, filled with the faint hum of the fringe and the soft static of the line.

“They're okay now,” she adds quickly, though she isn’t sure if that’s true. “Just… distant.”

Claire’s voice comes through after a pause, steady and tired.

“Did they say what it was this time?”

“Not really,” Genevieve says. “Just kept staring at the floor and saying there was so much blood.” Another silence. The kind that feels like it’s measuring everything they’ve lost and everything they’re still trying to hold together.

“Ok I’ll make sure they're not in their head for too long.”

The call ends a few seconds before Knight comes out of the shower. Genevieve stays where she is, phone still in hand, listening to the faint drip of water from the shower head. The tension in their chest and throat feels like it’s waiting to start up again. When Knight steps into the doorway, towel slung over one shoulder, their eyes are distant still somewhere else. Genevieve forces a small smile.

“Claire says hi.” Knight nods, distracted.

“Yeah. I heard…Gen, can I have a hug?” The question lands quietly, almost like it’s afraid to take up space.

Genevieve looks up, phone still in her hand, and for a second she sees the same fear that’s been haunting Knight’s dreams. “Yeah,” she says, setting the phone down. “A hug from you, shirtless yes please.” Knight steps forward, arms hesitant at first, then tighter, like they’re trying to hold onto something that keeps slipping away. The house feels smaller at that moment, warmer but heavier too.

Skin meets skin, cold meets warm, trembling meets steady, tired meets awake. For a moment everything else falls away: the worry, the noise, the half‑spoken things. Genevieve feels the weight of Knight’s exhaustion press against her and she holds on tighter, as if steadiness could be shared. The silence between them vibrates, brittle yet alive and the world feels smaller, softer, almost kind.

They let go of each other, the warmth fading into the quiet air. Knight glances at the clock on the nightstand numbers glowing too bright against the dim room.

“Shit, I gotta go,” they say, already reaching for their jacket then, softer, rushed but real.

“I love you so, so much.” Genevieve nods, the words catching somewhere between her chest and throat. “I know, I love you too.” She whispers, though she wishes she’d said it first.

Time passes by like a timelapse moving fast until it stutters, slows, and slips back into normal time when Knight gets hit by a door. The sound snaps through the quiet like a break in the film reel. Genevieve flinches, half‑laughing, half‑worried, as Knight groans and rubs their shoulder. “Guess the universe hates me, bye Sweetie.” they told the house and Evie, trying to smile through the sting.

Knight takes a breath of the morning air then shifts — paws hitting the soil fast and heavy. The ground answers with a dull thud, rhythm steady and alive. Each stride cuts through the still, scattering dew and dust alike. The world feels sharper out here, the kind of morning that bites at the lungs and reminds you you’re still moving, still here.

“Faster. Faster. I have to be faster.” Knight thinks, the words pulsing in time with their heartbeat.

They shift back just before the woods cuts off into a town fur fading, breath catching, the world snapping back into its ordinary rhythm. The scent of soil gives way to asphalt and morning coffee, the hum of engines replacing the rustle of leaves. Knight straightens, brushing dirt from their hands, heart still racing from the run. For a moment, they stand at the edge, half‑wolf, half‑human. They make their way to the diner, dodging people who walk in the middle of the sidewalk and slow walkers Knight moves through it with purpose. The air smells like coffee and rain-soaked pavement, the kind of morning that feels half‑awake itself. The door creaks open, and warmth spills out along with the chatter of conversations over conversations.

Their eyes lock on to an empty booth in the back, the kind that always feels like it’s waiting for someone. Knight weaves through the crowd, sidestepping a lady holding coffee in the way and a man arguing over his order. The hum of conversation fades as they reach the booth, sliding into the seat with a sigh that feels heavier than the morning itself.

Miss Liza walks over with their order before they could pull out their phone to text Claire they are here. The plate lands with a soft clatter, steam curling up from the eggs and toast.

“Morning, hon,” She says, voice warm and worn from years of early shifts. “You look like you ran here.”

Knight smiles, half‑sheepish. “Something like that.” Liza chuckles, filling the coffee cup without asking then moves on to the next table, leaving behind the faint scent of syrup and cinnamon.

Ten, maybe fifteen minutes go by. Knight’s stacking the little creamer pods into a pyramid carefully and deliberately like balance might mean something this morning. The diner sounds float around them, plates clinking, coffee machines sighing, the low murmur of half‑awake conversations. The pyramid wobbles — steadies and Knight smiles faintly, waiting for Claire to notice them entertaining themself.

“Knight, are you okay?” Claire asks, her voice carrying the slightest bit of worry. “Do you want to tal–” “No… thank you!” Knight cuts in, sharper than they meant to. The words hang between them, awkward and heavy, before dissolving into the diner’s noise. Claire nods slowly, eyes soft and understanding, she reaches for her coffee instead of pressing further.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to say that so stern.”

“Don’t apologize, Knight,” Claire says again, firmer but her eyes stay soft. The words settle between them like dust in sunlight — quiet, steady, impossible to ignore. Knight looks up, caught between guilt and relief, unsure which one feels heavier.

“You can always let your feelings go,” Claire adds, her voice low. “Just know that you have the Pack,you have Genevieve, you have Seer, hell you could even talk to Ranger.” Knight does what they always do when the world feels too heavy — too much to bear — they go quiet. Not because silence helps, but because it gives them space to think, to find a way around the feeling instead of through it.

The check comes quietly, slipped on Knight's side of the table. Knight stares at it for a moment before reaching for it but Claire is faster — already handing her card to Miss Liza with a small, practiced smile. “I’ve got it,” she says and Knight doesn’t argue. The exchange is quick, familiar, the kind that happens between people who’ve done this dance before. Miss Liza nods, runs the card, and slides the receipt back with a wink. “You two take care now,” she says. Claire gathers her things, the faint jingle of her keys breaking the quiet. “I’ll head to the den, stay out of your head ok! ” She murmurs, and Knight nods, watching her go. Knight lingers for a moment longer, tracing the rim of their cup, before standing.

As they turn toward the door, someone bumps into them — hard enough to make the table rattle. “Sorry,” the stranger says, voice apologetic and steady. Knight looks up, meeting their eyes that are too familiar.

“Oh..Hey…Knight what a coincidence,” They said awkwardly before sliding into the seat across from them. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here.” Knight exhales, the tension in their shoulders easing just enough to speak. “Yeah… neither did I?”

“You ok?”Seer’s voice is softer now, the edge gone. Knight blinks, realizing they’ve been staring at the floor too long. “Yeah,” they lie, the word barely audible. Seer tilts her head, studying them like she can see the truth hiding behind the syllable.

“You don’t look it.” Knight exhales, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach their eyes.

“Just tired.”

“Tired,”Seer repeats, like she’s testing the word. “That’s what people say when they’re breaking quietly.” The words land heavier than Seer intends, but they don't take them back. Knight’s jaw tightens, a flicker of something — hurt, maybe — crossing their face before they look away.

“You think I’m breaking?” Knight asks, voice deep. Seer leans back, eyes steady.

“I think you’re trying not to.” The silence that follows isn’t awkward — it’s thick, charged with something unrecognizable.

Knight’s fingers tap against the table, restless while they ask “Do you ever get tired of pretending you’re fine?” Seer’s lips curve into something that isn’t quite a smile. “I used to,” Seer says. “But pretending’s easier than explaining.” Knight nods slowly, the tension in their shoulders easing just enough to breathe. “Guess we’re both good at that.” “Um do you want to stay or get out of here Beth's already at the den, probably rage-batting Ranger.” Seer flicked a glance toward the door, a silent cue that they should head to the den too. Knight follows their gaze, the faint rhythm of the diner fading into the background. The world outside feels heavier, but somehow easier to face with Seer beside them.

“Claire just went on her way over there so...”

“Oh I know..wait..um..no I don’t ha ha.”

Knight smirks, shaking their head. “You’re a really bad spy for an oracle.” Seer laughs, brushing it off with a flick of their wrist.

“Hey, I never said I was subtle. Seeing things doesn’t mean I’m good at pretending I didn’t.” Knight chuckles, the tension easing between them. “Guess that’s fair.” “Fair,” Seer echoes, grinning. “But don’t tell Claire I said that. She still thinks I’m mysterious.”

Time is a concept when two people are having a good time. In that diner, laughter became the clock’s heartbeat and every second stretched into something infinite. The world outside could wait; inside, it was just them — suspended in a moment that refused to end.

CHAPTER 3 Love’s Script

Giggles, snorts, and cackles break through the sounds of a town. The laughter drifts like sparks in the cool air, bouncing off brick and glass, echoing down narrow streets. Knight and Seer move slowly, hugging the wall to their left, their steps syncing with the pulse of the morning. Time folds around them — not gone, just forgotten — as the town hums its quiet song of joy and memory.

“Tell me what is so special about Evie?” Seer’s tone is curious, not mocking but it cuts through the town's sounds and Knight doesn’t hesitate; they just go off on what they love about her.

“She has fire in her eyes; she’s a goddamn goddess…so divine. For someone who depends on the dark, she’s the brightest light I’ve ever known. She’s gentle, far too kind for someone like me — she’s fucking ethereal. She brought back my smile, made me better, made me whole. She’s my everything. I can’t fathom a world without her and I promise to find her in every lifetime, in every universe just to tell her that I love her one more time than the lifetime before this one.”

The words hang between them, heavy and alive. Seer studies Knight for a long moment, their expression unreadable — half awe, half ache. “You talk like love’s a vow,” they say finally, voice low. Knight meets their gaze. “Maybe it is.”

Knight has a true smile, one that has been hiding under unspoken agony. It’s delicate at first but with the image of Genevieve smiling in the sunlight, they fall in love with her all over again. Seer watches, and for the first time the silence between them feels like peace instead of pain. Knight’s entire morning has been in fear of coming back home to the love of their life dead and in a pile of her own blood. The thought claws at their chest, trying to get through the walls put up around their heart. Hoping to turn every heartbeat into a countdown. The streets blur past, familiar as if the universe itself recoils from what might await. They imagine the silence — heavier than any scream and the way sunlight would fall across the floor, indifferent to loss.

Seer, thinking of the moment they heard the words “I love you, beautiful” left Beth’s lips. The memory glows faintly, like a candle refusing to die out. It flickers in the quiet corners of their mind, thawing out the cold edges of grief. They can still hear the softness in her voice, the way those words carried both promise and farewell. For the moment it feels like the earth has been slit into two. One side sees the dark pit they have worked so hard to climb out of, and the other is having a dream — one where Beth’s laughter still fills the air, where love hasn’t learned how to end.

Seer and Knight get snapped back into reality when someone bumps into the two of them. The jolt breaks the fragile stillness, scattering their thoughts like glass. For a second, the world rushes in — the chatter of strangers, the hum of engines, the pulse of life that refuses to wait. Knight steadies Seer with a hand on their shoulder, both blinking as if waking from a dream. The town moves on, unaware that two hearts just returned from somewhere far deeper than memory.

They speak about love and loss, about how stories find their way into the quiet corners of ordinary lives. Knight and Seer don’t hear the words, but somehow the air feels charged — as if their own story is being told just a floor above, carried into the world by someone who doesn’t even know their names.

Above the diner is a scrambling podcaster who finished the latest episode and is rushing to pack up her gear for her date with Welder. The room hums with the chaos of cables, notebooks, and half‑empty coffee cups. She laughs at herself, tripping over a mic stand, heart racing with the thrill of something new. Below, the town moves at its own rhythm — unaware that love is unfolding in small, ordinary ways, both upstairs and down.

“Shit… fuck… damn it… ugh… mother fu—cker… why can’t I function like a normal human?” The podcaster mutters, tripping over a tangle of cords as her laptop screen flickers. A coffee cup teeters dangerously close to the edge of the desk. She catches it just in time, breathless, hair sticking to her forehead. The clock ticks louder than it should, reminding her that Welder hates waiting. Somewhere below, the diner hums with life — laughter, clinking plates, stories unfolding — and she’s just one more heartbeat in the chaos of the town.

“Fuck, I gotta go — I can’t be late.” She snatches her bag, nearly tangling herself in the headphone cord, and bolts for the stairs. The door slams behind her, leaving the room in a whirl of scattered notes and the faint echo of her laughter. Down below, the diner hums on — unaware that above it, someone’s story just took a breathless turn toward something new.

Abby takes a muffin off the tray Liza holds, the scent of blueberries and sugar filling the air. Liza grins, brushing flour from her apron, watching Abby juggle her coffee and the warm pastry like it’s a delicate secret. The diner hums around them — chatter, laughter, the clink of plates — ordinary sounds that somehow feel like the heartbeat of the town. Outside, the world moves quickly, but here everything slows just enough for a smile to mean something.

Welder passes back and forth outside the diner, hands shoved deep into their jacket pockets. The rhythm of his steps matches the pulse of the street — impatient, uncertain. They checked his watch, then the door, then the sky, as if any of it might give them an answer. The scent of coffee drifts through the air, mixing with the faint hum of traffic. They aren’t angry, just nervous — the kind of nervousness that comes when you care too much and time refuses to move fast enough. His breath fogs in the cool air, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets as if they might anchor him. Every sound — the creak of the diner door, the hum of passing cars — feels like a signal that she’s near. He rehearses what he’ll say, then forgets it, then starts again. Love, he thinks, is just waiting dressed up as hope.

Inside, Abby laughs at something Liza says, the sound spilling through the window and brushing against Welder’s nerves like a reminder that life keeps moving even when hearts hesitate. They glance up just in time to see Abby rushing down the steps, hair wild, bag slung over her shoulder, breathless and radiant. For a moment, the world stops — not because time allows it, but because love demands it.

“Oh wow.” The Welder whispered. They get absolutely mesmerized, caught between disbelief and wonder. The world around them blurs, the diner lights softening into halos, the hum of conversation fading into silence. Every detail of her — the way her hair catches the light, the nervous smile tugging at her lips — feels impossibly vivid. For a heartbeat, time bends, holding them both in a delicate stillness that feels like the start of something they’ll never forget.

The Welder forgets how to function for a couple of seconds, completely forgetting how to form a sentence without stuttering.

“Um baby are you ok?”

The Welder gets down on one knee and pulls a bouquet of flowers from behind their back.

“Tulips, my lady — from your majesty’s royal garden. They are for you. Take them. I do not want them; they’re for you. Please, take the tulips — I don’t want them.”

Abby stares, half‑amused, half‑speechless. The Welder’s grin wavers somewhere between pride and panic, the kind that only comes from trying too hard to be romantic and somehow succeeding anyway.

Abby blinks, torn between laughter and disbelief. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” Welder says, grinning, “You fell in love with me so ha.” They both begin walking to the picnic spot Welder has set up — a patch of sunlight and mismatched blankets waiting beneath the trees. The tulips sway awkwardly in Abby’s hand as they walk with their hands interlocked, the excited conversations gets more intriguing with every story ether tells it always end to beging

“Vertebrae C6 is always smiling.”

“What is up with you today?”

“I don’t know, I saw a TikTok of it. I'm not that mentally insane..I think.”

Abby looks them up and down with absolutely no expression.“You’re a walking meme.” Welder blinks, then laughs — too loud, too sudden. “And yet, somehow, still charming.”

“That’s debatable.” Abby says, but there’s a flicker of amusement she can’t quite hide.

The laughter fades, swallowed by the hum of the town. Knight and Seer walk on, their shadows stretching long across the concrete. “Maybe love isn’t a play,” Knight says at last. “Maybe it’s the pause between acts — the part no one sees.” Seer smiles faintly, eyes on the horizon. “Then let’s not rush the curtain.” The morning light spills over them, soft and warm. As the world keeps turning the town plays a quiet song that folds into the rhythm of their steps.