The quiet hum of the Slendermansion was a rarity, but tonight—somehow—it was calm.

No screaming from the halls. No fights echoing through the walls. No blood-stained footsteps across the hardwood floors. Just the low creaking of the old structure and the rhythmic tick of a broken clock. Well, not broken. Just… embedded into the eye socket of the woman lying beside you.

Clockwork lay on her side, one arm beneath your head, the other draped lazily over your waist, her fingers occasionally twitching like they still remembered the shape of her blades. Her hoodie was still damp from the night’s earlier storm, and the scent of pine, sweat, and metal lingered faintly in the air. You didn’t mind it. In fact, it was her. Everything about her was intense-even her scent, even the way she breathed when she slept. If she ever really slept.

You shifted slightly, adjusting to the softness of the mattress, letting your eyes trail across her face. Her one vibrant green eye glowed faintly in the dark. It always did. The pocketwatch eye ticked quietly, a constant reminder of her past—and the thing she never talked about unless you asked.

Her skin was cool to the touch. Not cold. Not lifeless. Just… always a few degrees shy of warm, like something had taken part of her away and never given it back.

And yet, with you, she tried to give you the part that was left.

“Did you go out again tonight?” you asked gently, already knowing the answer. Her boots by the door were splattered with something you didn’t want to think about. Her knives were missing from their usual place under the bed.

Clockwork hesitated for a moment. Then she nodded. “Yeah. Just a short run.” You simply nodded at that answer, not wanting to press.

She pulled you tighter against her. Her hoodie was rough and smelled like rain. Her arms were bruised from another fight you didn’t ask about. Her smile was still stitched at the corners, but the real one—the one she only gave you—was shining in her eye. Tick. Tick. Tick. But here. the ticking wasn’t ominous.