#ithaqua x reader

“Give it up, sweetheart. You can’t run with that leg.”

He’s right, but he’d have to knock you down before you ever yield to him. Your nose crinkles as you steel yourself to run just a little farther. If you can give your teammates even ten more seconds to decode, then this spearing pain would be worth it. You circle around a row of graves, locking eyes with Fool’s Gold, who has caught up just a few meters away from you.

“I see why Ithaqua likes you,” he says, taking his pickaxe back from the grave. “You look so easy to break.”

The earth rumbles around your feet, and you lurch forward to catch your balance.

“Is that why you’re chasing me? To spite him?” you huff.

“Partially,” he cracks a wide, stone-cold smile. He rounds the corner after you, steadily closing the distance. Your blood runs cold. There’s nowhere for you to go. You scan the area for a pallet, a rock, anything to throw at him, but he has backed you into a corner. Fool’s Gold once again hurls his pickaxe at the wall behind you, then glides forward, sealing your fate. Your eyes screw shut, expecting to be knocked down.

“Don’t think I’ve been ignoring the way he lets you escape every match,” he continues. The jagged fingers of his ungloved hand crawl up your collarbone, while his free hand rests on the pickaxe embedded in the wall. You’re caged between his arms. “Let me get one thing clear: I don’t care if he keeps ‘toys’ around the manor. But disrupting my kill count is where I have a problem.”

“Sh-Shouldn’t you take that up with him, not me?!”

The ground rumbles again. Tremors roll through your calves, weakness overtakes your muscles, and as you much as you try to resist, your knees buckle beneath you. With you crumpled at his feet, Fool’s Gold drags you to the nearest chair.

“I’m making sure he won’t get a chance to spare you this time.”

He does not leave your chair after that.

Something vicious has bubbled up inside of him today. Your teammates begin piling at your feet like flies because every rescue attempt results in a terror-shock.

At some point, Florian finds the strength to stand up again. Seconds before your timer is up, he unties you. You take the chance to sneak away while Fool’s Gold is monitoring something in the distance. The headstones shield your frame, and through the cracks you keep a close eye on your hunter. Then you realize what has caught his attention: from the tram tracks come the hollow clinking of stilts against stone, accompanied by Ithaqua’s emerging silhouette.

Your heart catches in your throat. Ithaqua has never threatened the other hunters to spare you, nor does he expect them to give you special treatment. You both know the rules of this game. Other hunters have chaired you countless times after you began associating with Ithaqua. But one look at him now makes it clear that he is upset, and you’re not entirely sure why.

“What are you doing?” Ithaqua hisses. He gestures at the unsuccessful rescuers, slugged and mounded around your vacant chair.

Fool’s Gold shrugs. “Couldn’t chair them all yet.”

“Where’s (Y/N)? Don’t lie to me.”

“Probably still hiding in the graveyard.” He picks up Florian, having downed him again, and callously tosses him in the chair. Ithaqua scours his surroundings, ears pricked for any hint of movement. You’re not sure what to do now. Keep hiding? Would Ithaqua protect you? Going against the rules so overtly would put himself at risk. It’s not like this game is leaning in your favor, though—all of your teammates have gone down.

You opt to peek over the headstone. Ithaqua’s eyes latch on you immediately. He takes in the grime dotting your cheeks and the bloodied bandage on your leg, then surges forward, weaving through the gravestones to grab your arm.

“You’re hurt,” he observes bitterly. His hand hovers above your leg but he doesn’t venture to touch it. “Why did you let Campbell find you?”

“I-I tried to run,” you argue.

“Liar. Why did he attack everyone but you? What were you doing with him?”

“Nothing! He hit me too!”

Ithaqua’s head cocks to the side as he picks you apart, scanning your arms and turning your head from side-to-side to check for any other wounds. When he decides there’s nothing else to fuss about, he shoves you behind him, then turns to face Fool’s Gold.

The other hunter clearly isn’t keen on the idea of letting you go.

“We’re one away from a flawless victory,” he says, jutting his pickaxe towards you.

Ithaqua’s grip tightens around your wrist. “I don’t care. Get out of my way.”

He doesn’t give Fool’s Gold a chance to react before he glides forward, ice axe poised. You wish you had the foresight to tug him backwards; it’s just like Ithaqua to let his control slip like this.

“There it is,” Fool’s Gold mutters, clearly unenthusiastic about this little tussle. A harsh scraping sound fills the air as their axes clash.

This is not the outcome you envisioned. You should take the chance to sneak away, to search for the dungeon while your teammates inevitably bleed out. With your movements stifled by the scuffle in front of you, you crouch down, edging along the row of graves. The dungeon could be just across the street. At least, you really hope so.

Just as you reach the last of the tombs, the pickaxe once again whirls through the air. It lodges into the fence next to you and misses your nose by a hair’s breadth. You freeze in place, already bracing for what comes next.

“Itha—!” tears out of your throat. Your voice quakes with the earth and your knees buckle. Fool’s Gold comes to retrieve his axe, and as he does he roughly hooks his fingers under your collar. You’re wrenched forward, legs scraping against the gravel.

It’s only a matter of seconds before you’re slammed into that familiar chair again.

Leather straps cinch tight around your arms. In front of you, Fool’s Gold straightens, letting out a terse sigh. Ithaqua has gone still. You lock eyes with your Night Watch, a little bewildered by what just happened.

By morning, he was long gone; the fire that once warmed your fragile form reduced to a smoking pile of burnt wood under his boot, and the wagon and horse that carried you so far into your journey disappeared into the night.

Thus, you were forced to retreat into a small cave, getting by on a handful of berries you’d found in the otherwise dead forest. But so little could only sustain you for so long, and come evening, you were clutching your stomach from hunger pangs, made worse by the needy life growing inside you.

And when the night fell? You were drifting in and out of consciousness, growing weaker by the hour as the chill of the winter wasteland seeped through your woolen clothes and stabbed into your very bones. Your pulse grew weak, your breathing slow, and your words, as you sobbed tearless apologies to your baby, became slurred.

The stab of stilts into the snow-covered ground came late into the night, accompanied by soft lantern light as a tall, masked figure approached your makeshift shelter. You raised your gaze to them, half-convinced you were hallucinating.

“Please…” You muttered, watching your words swirl into vapor before disappearing into the howling wind. “Help me… help me…”

The creature stared unblinking for what felt like an eternity before they set their lantern aside, burying the hilt in the snow to keep it upright. They then crouched, examining your exhausted, starving form, and reached out one long, bony hand toward your stomach. Only when you flinched at the sight of their horrifically long nails did they hesitate, fingers curling as they opted to touch you with their knuckles instead of their palm.

As if sensing their presence, your baby began to kick, and you instinctively placed your hand over it. The stranger noticed and immediately shifted their hold, fingers intertwining forcibly with yours as they pressed against the kicks. That earned them a soft, panicked shriek.

“No…!” You gasped, flailing as much as your body would allow, trying to put distance between your stomach and this… thing. “D-Don’t… don’t hurt my baby! They’re all I have left!”

The creature, ignoring your outburst, did not remove their hand, but the pressure on your stomach did lessen. Still, it was a ghastly sight, one which you’d have averted your gaze from had you the strength to do so; their hand was almost branch-like, too large to belong to a human, and appeared so rotted you’d have thought it had necrotized.

But despite that… they were gentle, achingly so, especially when they dared press their thumb to the little lump created by your child’s kicks and rub it carefully. They blinked, or at least you think they did, but it was hard to tell with the mask.

Finally, they spoke, “...Why are you here?”

The voice that just barely reached your ears was soft, much like the touch on your belly, and its soothing quality made it all the more difficult to think clearly. Nevertheless, you forced out a response as best you could:

“My husband. He left me. He left me and our… my baby to die.”

Before the words had even fully left your lips, the creature was already removing their cloak, coaxing you into leaning forward so they could drape it over your shoulders. You could do little more than breathe a silent ‘thank you’ in return. They said nothing in reply. Rather, they curled their arms under your back and knees, unbothered by the layer lost even when the wind picked up, and stood effortlessly.

“Hold the lantern,” they commanded.

You reached for the axe holding the light.

"Only the lantern.”

You paused. Then, gingerly, you plucked the lantern as instructed, cradling it to your chest. It did not burn hot as you expected, only providing a pleasant warmth instead which, coupled with the safe hold you found yourself in, helped lull you into a deep sleep.

Your savior did not disturb you.

When next you awoke, it was not in a frozen wasteland, vulnerable for the elements and wild animals to leave you a forgotten memory, but on a worn sofa by a crackling fireplace, bundled up in blankets. The sound of boots and scent of cooking meat dragged your senses out of their dulled state. Your attempt to sit up, however, was prevented by a firm hand on your shoulder, pushing you back down.

“Don’t strain yourself,” came that same soft voice from earlier.

Turning, you found the hand belonged to a thin, pale-haired man, handsome yet ordinary in all but his eyes, where blue irises glowed against black sclera. The sight had you jerking back in surprise.

The man narrowed his eyes at you. “I said, don’t strain yourself . You’re too weak to be wasting your strength on pulling away from something hideous.”

“That’s not… I don’t think-” you tried to argue, but he was already pulling away to tend to something in another room.

That gave you a moment to think, to breathe; everything leading up to that point swam in your head, but what weighed on you most heavily was your concern for your unborn child, who would likely enter the world without a second parent, and perhaps even without a home should your savior choose to throw you out. Thus, when he returned with a bowl of soup and loaf of bread, you immediately took the opportunity to speak, “May… May I stay here?”

He said nothing as he took a seat beside you, gaze owlish as he handed you the food. You continued: “Only for a little while, until I can find a way back to my village. Please, I promise I won’t be a burden.”

Silence.

Your face flushed hot in embarrassment, fearing you’d spoken out of line, and you could only console yourself by indulging in the food he’d provided. Mid-bite, however, he spoke up, catching you off-guard:

“Why did your husband leave you to fend for yourself?"

You paused in your eating, fiddling with the spoon between your fingers. “He… he said I was selfish. He said that I was asking for more than I deserve, and that… I was ungrateful and attempting to hurt him.”

“You’re with child,” he muttered, eyes squinted as they raked up and down your vulnerable form. “You need more.”

“...He didn’t see it that way,” you sighed, resuming your meal. As your hand reached up to rub at your neck, the man’s gaze followed, finally noticing the faint bruises adorning it: plentiful and too distinctly shaped like a large hand to be self-inflicted or the result of rope.

“Have you anyone to return to?” he asked.

“Well… my family, but it’s a long journey from here, and I’m in no state to travel.”

Once your bowl was empty, you set it aside on the creaking, old table between you and the fireplace, folding your hands over your stomach. The soft kicks that met your touch set your heart alight.

“...You will stay here.”

You perked up at the sudden declaration. “Pardon?”

“You will stay here, with me ,” the man clarified. “Permanently.”

“What?! But-”

He raised a blackened, bony finger, silencing you. “You said it yourself, you’re unable to travel, and I am the only one who can provide for you.”

“But…” You tried to speak up, shoulders sagging in disbelief. “My family…”

“The same family who left you to journey with a man willing to make an attempt on not only your life, but our child’s as well?”

His words caused the color to drain from your face. “They’re not-”

“I will hear no more of it,” he said, reaching out to press his hand to your stomach. You flinched. “There is no sense in arguing with me… save your energy and rest.” There was a pause before his expression softened almost imperceptibly as he leaned down, eyes locked on your plush stomach. “...the same applies to you, little one.”

Your baby kicked at his hand. The man pressed the spot gently in response.

Then, as though he’d not altered the course of your life only a minute prior, he let go of you and stood, features schooled back into the perfect mask of no emotion. “My home is humble, but I will prepare a room for the three of us.” With that, he turned sharply on his heel, footfalls heavy against wood as he made his way to a staircase leading up.

“Wait-” you called, instinctively reaching for him.

The man paused on the first step, letting only the sound of the crackling fire fill the room for a moment before he replied coolly, “Ithaqua”.

“...Ithaqua,” you echoed, softer, which left nothing more to be said between you.

with your dear night watch being a borderline misanthrope, it’s safe to say that the two of you reside far from society and the people within it. you both live peacefully in the same little cabin he grew up in, tucked away in between a labyrinth of trees

unless he’s bedridden or dead, ithaqua will always leave a few hours after sundown to survey the woods surrounding your home. it’s to make sure any unwanted visitors know they’re not welcome—at least that’s what he says

truthfully, the nightly ritual is cathartic for him. he can’t let himself rest unless he’s sure that the only living, breathing people within the forest are the two of you and the two of you alone

he tends to bring you things from his treks out in the snow. it’s not something he consciously does, barely thinking whenever he plucks a perfectly frozen blossom from an outstretched branch. all he knows is that he saw the flicker of your smile in the way the moonlight caught against the frost, so he took it with him

in addition to all the little gifts he brings home, he likes making things for you as well. woodworking is one of the few things that he enjoys, and he’s quite good at it too

he whittles you birds from leftover firewood. small and cute, they’re perfect for the shelf above the fireplace. whenever the two of you nurse a stew above the flames, he can’t help the fuzzy swell of pride in his chest whenever his gaze falls toward the mantle

he’ll tease you about it though, despite the fact that he was the one that gave you (or made, in this case) all of those gifts in the first place. “so fond of little wooden birds… it doesn’t take much to make you happy, hm?”

the way he says it is a little mean, maybe, but itha’s always had a habit of teasing you. and besides! it’s ridiculously endearing to him to see you get all huffy

though, his grin never fails to stretch a little wider whenever you decide to bite back. he’ll always end up getting the upper hand eventually—he’s good at things like this—but the back and forth is fun

oh, and speaking of! he most definitely has a penchant for biting. no, i will not elaborate

,,i lied i will definitely elaborate. perhaps this is a bit out there, but the conclusion of ithaqua’s eighth deduction quest mentions an abandoned wooden hut with several books that had been chewed and torn. it’s never said explicitly, but i firmly believe that he gnawed on those books

like his little gift-gathering habit, it’s not something he actively thinks about. he’ll just start gnawing on his spoon as you talk about your day during dinner, or maybe chew on the cracked corners of his lips underneath his mask while he’s out hunting

there are even times where he lowers his nose into the crook of your neck and absentmindedly (but gently) presses his teeth into your shoulder. he’s just weird like that

he also very much enjoys the way it flusters you whenever he does so, but shh

be mindful if you’re scolding him with a finger held out in his direction. he has half the mind to lean down and bite it in the middle of your rant. he doesn’t, of course, but he’s tempted

while he doesn’t stop you from going into town every once in a blue moon, he will always attempt to talk you out of it. there’s no need for you to go outside of the forest, he can provide you with whatever you wish. all you need to do is ask

if you’re stubborn about it, he will eventually relent. despite his excessive protectiveness, the freedom for you to decide for yourself is important to him. he’ll always respect that, even if it’s something he disagrees with

that being said, he will follow you without your knowledge. he was too late to save his mother—he refuses to be late for you. call him paranoid, but he won’t take that risk

while he trusts you, he refuses to put any faith in others. what if they hurt you? suddenly decide to lock you away? he’d sooner bathe the cobblestone streets in blood than allow a single hair on your head to be harmed

ithaqua isn’t one for pet names, but if you ask him (or if he hears enough couples in town while trailing after you from afar), you’ll eventually notice him begin to call you things like ‘little bird’ or ‘hare’. perhaps not the most conventional, but he finds them fitting

if he’s feeling particularly protective or in softer moments during the evening, he’ll even throw in a little ‘my’ before each name. he just likes how it sounds

despite the two of you having been together for quite a bit, he places no stock in things like marriage or legal bindings. he loves you and you love him in return, yes? then why bother with silly things like that?

you don’t need some priest to tie the two of you together. you’re already bound to him, as he is to you. no matter what—regardless of how harsh the wind blows or how long the night is—he’ll always return to your side

buut if that sort of thing is particularly important to you, he’ll figure out a way to fulfill your wishes. maybe it’s a piece of matching jewelry the two of you can wear, all silvered and pretty under the glow of the moon. yeah… perhaps he’ll take a trip of his own to the town

why? ah, no reason. “it’s nothing to worry your pretty little head about,” he reassures one night, long fingers ruffling your hair before he disappears into the cold. he’ll be late, but he promises to be back before you wake up

Ithaqua / Eta Viluf

Physical Touch

he doesn't seem like someone too big on physical touch in general. HOWEVER, when it's cold, he loves cuddling with you. it's a must! he readies the fire and gets close to you on the couch (if you guys have one, that is). he's holding onto you for dear life--scared that he might lose you like how he almost lost his mother.

Receiving Gifts

he would appreciate anything you gave to him, really. knowing that you love him is enough!

even if you were to gift him a rock, he'll still appreciate it a ton just because it's you. he's just happy that you have him in your thoughts.

i can see him gifting clothing he has sewn specifically for you, or different kinds of tea leaves. tea leaves because he lives in a forest... you know... Haha. drinking warm drinks while chatting together is fun! to him at least...

Quality Time

quality time is so important to him. from his wiki, it says he does a lot of hunting, setting traps and woodworking. i think he would love to do these things with you! if you inexperienced in these hobbies of his, then he'll teach you

something that is also mentioned in his wiki is that he loves listening to books! he probably had his mother read him stories while dozing off to sleep. he would really enjoy it too if you read him fairytales <3

Words of Affirmation

i don't see him as someone of many words. but when he says "i love you", he truly means it from the bottom of his heart.

when he's teaching you about something and you struggle with it, he wouldn't get angry at you. he'd get angry at himself LOL

Acts of Service

oh he's fixing your clothes asap if they have a rip or tear

other than that, he makes food. after a hunt, he's always in the kitchen preparing some kind of meaty food. he seems like the type to want you eat nutritious food. if you don't like something, but it's good for your diet--be careful! he's going to secretly put them in whether you like it or not.

if you're neurodivergent, i don't think he would secretly put the foods you dislike. he understands your struggles well. he'll try to find strategies for you to warm up to certain foods.

Joseph Desaulniers

Physical Touch

he'll completely crumble just by holding hands. he hasn't felt the touch of another person in so long--well, warmth of another person to be exact. he's literally gripping your hand as tight as he can so he can remember what you feel like.

he's adores holding your face, stroking his hands against every little crevice he can find. he kisses your cheek gently with a small smile <3

Receiving Gifts

he's thankful for (mostly) anything you gift him, but he appreciates handmade gifts the most! a simple drawing of the two of you, a card or something knitted is all that he needs from you. his wiki also states that he likes silverware. i bet he'll be extra happy when gifted some sort of fancy looking for or plate :)

Quality Time

joseph loves painting you! it's his way of eternalizing you without using his soul-sucking camera thing. he enjoys having conversation with you while painting. he likes having you just sitting still, close to him and observing your features.

since he's apart of the nobility, he should know some dancing, right? if you play any instruments, he dances along the music. however, if you don't, he also likes just dancing with you.

Words of Affirmation

he expresses his appreciation for you late at night, saying how thankful he is for you. he's really glad for you being in his life in general <3 you've lightened his world up so much.

whenever he's painting you, he also compliments your features. specifically your face though, as he thinks it's the most appealing part of you to him.

Acts of Service

his hair looks really well kept, so i think he'd also like doing your hair. helping you brush through it, putting oils in it, etc!

Joseph

Joseph liked to hide away in his study, it kept him calm as he looked into the fire and imagined burning everything down.

They took you from him. He remembered. Thought about it all the time.

The idea of being friendly after what they’ve done was outrageous.

His brooding was interrupted by that voice that always made his heart flutter.

“Good evening, Joseph.”

His chair scraped across the floor as a loud crash was heard from his sudden movements. Wine had spilled across the floor as glass shattered. Eyes wide as he stared down at you in your beautiful dress now dirty from the mud and earth that you were buried in.

He would’ve scolded you for tracking dirt in with your feet and how you should’ve worn shoes but no, he could care less.

“No.” He said backing away, “You aren’t real. No, you’re a figment of my imagination. Too much alcohol. Yes, that has to be it..” he mumbled.

“Why would I trick you, my love? I’m real, and I’m here for you.” Your honeyed words seemed to soothe him, for he allowed you to come closer, mimicking your movements until you were in his arms again. Suit now dirty as well.

He held you for a while in front of the fire. Eyes glued to the top of your head as he processed how this could be.

Alva

He was always one to focus on his blueprints then face his problems. And one of his problems was grief. A sudden loss in his life that crushed everything he built. With you.

Hunched over his desk next to the fireplace, the glow illuminated his blood, sweat, and tears. Equations flowed as he created, but his thoughts were thrown into the darkness as the voice called out to him. The only one that ever scolded him for being a workaholic, or for being to cooped up.

“Good evening. It seems you’re overworking yourself again. Care to take a break with me?” Your voice echoed across the room in a teasing way.

He nodded standing up from is hunched over position. You almost winced at the sound of his back popping, even he did too.

“You know that’s not good for you.” A slight scold but Alva knew you meant well.

His hands were shaky by the time he gently brought your face into his hands, cupping your chin and making his way up to your cheek. “You’re really here..” he mumbled.

You hummed in return, nuzzling into the warmth of his hand. “And I’m not leaving ever again.”

No words were exchanged after that. Only the slight tension in his grip while he held you, trying to believe that this wasn’t a dream. That god or whoever out there gave you and him a second chance.

He wonders if you were really destined for eachother.

Ithaqua

He had just come inside, kneeling now infront of the fire that resided in the living room. Snow still clung to his shawl and the fire did little to warm his frigid bones.

Ithaqua had heard a commotion of sorts while he was by the lake seeing if any fish had gotten caught in his traps. But with a careful eye he noticed only the light hints of footprints. Too small to be any man’s. He had wanted to check if your grave was still ok by the sight of these but the cold was too much as a storm began to roll in.

He wouldn’t be able to help whoever was out there. And now as he sits in front of the fire coat discarded and hair damp he found out he didn’t need to. They already knew where to look. The knock was soft and barely audible. But he heard it. Of course he did.

He was careful, and wary, picking up his blade he approached the door. And instead of opening it he listened, trying to see how many were out there. Was this a trap? Was it the girl whose prints he had found?

“Blue cardinals” was all he heard. all he needed really before the blade dropped and the door swung open.

He knew that voice. He knew those words. Too well. It was your safe word of sorts, in case anything happened. The word you both knew incase you needed to drop everything and run.

But he couldn’t believe it, there you stood. In your favorite dress, soaked at the bottom and a bit muddy with damp hair. (If you have it)

“Good evening, Ithaqua.” You mused, that smile he stared at for who knows how long was etched onto your face and he would be ashamed to admit to anyone else that he almost cried as he hurriedly trapped you in his arms.

He was breathing you in, trying to make sure everything was real and not some foolish trick.

“Oh! Well hello to you too!” You gasped as his nose nuzzled your pulse point, and his hands wandered anywhere they could reach.

“Your real?” He wondered, hot breath against your cold skin gave you goosebumps. And you laughed, pulling him away as he looked displeased by that.

“I’m very real. And I’m not leaving. Ever again. I promise.”you whispered to him. Eyes trained on his.

Ithaqua always liked the silence cause he never really felt like talking. But he loved it when you did. He’d listen to you for hours if he could. And maybe that’s what made your absences worse.

The rest of the night was spent warming up on the living room carpet cradled in each other’s arms as you took turns talking about what you missed or experienced.

FG

Norton was a down right mess. He was angrier than usual, he wouldn’t look anyone in the eye unless it was to tell them off or to leave him alone.

He was soft, because you showed him that the world wasn’t as cruel and greedy as it seemed. That people actually cared, you just had to look for them.

But when you passed, when he buried you himself, he wouldn’t leave your grave for days. He’d find himself there after work or after a bar visit.

He worked. And he worked hard, cause if he wasn’t working then what was he living for.

It was too cold to suffer by your headstone that night, and instead he found himself eating some bread he most likely stole from the market and sat infront of the fire place you helped decorate. He never moved or touched your things. Only straighten what needed to be.

The knock on his door took him out of his thoughts and his first reaction was to yell “Go away! I’m not taking visitors tonight.”

But the knocking didn’t stop. And finally he was fed up, he stormed out of his chair, bread long forgotten on his plate, and the door was swung open with a force no one’s seen. He was coughing a bit before he opened his eye and yelled again, “Don’t you have ears?! I said-!”

He was caught off guard and his heart sank. He genuinely was mortified. Because how in the absolute hell were you infront of him. Smiling like he hung the stars. Like he didn’t just outright almost insult you.

“Good evening, Norton. It seems you haven’t changed.”you said softly grabbing his hand off the door frame and leading him back inside.

He was eyeing, thinking of all the reasons why this shouldn’t and can’t be possible. He was dead. Definitely. Had to be. You were sent to retrieve him, maybe take him to hell where he belonged. Died choking on that dry ass bread those markets always made.

“Am I dead?” He choked out, hands clenched as he watched you kneel infront of the flames.

“If you were dead I think you’d know it. No, hun. You’re not dead. And somehow I’m not either. Well, anymore.” You rambled a bit, but it was true. You had no idea what had happened. Suddenly it was black, then a bright white light had blurred out everything and then you awoke.

He followed you after shutting the door. Kneeling next to you. He studied you quietly, and you could see the gears turning. But nonetheless his armed found its way around your shoulder and pulled you in.

“If this is some sick joke. I might blow this entire town.” He mumbled into your hair. (If you have it)

You assured him it wasn’t and leaned closer. And you stayed like that, curled up on the floor and let sleep take your worries. And for the first time since you died, he had hope.