The night was thick with fog, curling around the trees like ghostly fingers. You sat by the window, your room dimly lit by a small bedside lamp. The outside world was a blur of shadows, distorted by the mist that clung to the glass. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted—a lonely sound in the quiet of the forest.

You sighed, pulling your knees to your chest. It had been a long day, but no matter how much you tried to focus on the mundane, your mind always wandered back to him. To Jack.

The first time you had seen him, you’d been terrified. But over time, fear had morphed into something else—something softer, something you never thought you’d feel for someone like him.

A soft creak echoed from outside your window. You turned, your pulse quickening. The fog seemed thicker now, pressing against the glass like a living thing. Then, as if stepping through it, Jack emerged from the darkness.

His tall frame was partially hidden in the mist, his black hoodie blending seamlessly with the shadows. The only thing that stood out was the smooth blue porcelain mask covering his face and those telltale drips of tar-black liquid slipping from the hollow eye sockets.

You didn’t scream.

Instead, you stood up and walked to the window, pushing it open just enough for the cold night air to rush in.

“You’re late,” you said, voice softer than you intended. “You didn’t have to come tonight.”

Jack let out a quiet huff—almost amused. His clawed fingers twitched at his sides before he reached out, brushing the edge of your sleeve with his own. It was a ghost of a touch, hesitant but deliberate.

You smiled. “Hungry?”

Jack made a soft noise in the back of his throat, something between a growl and a sigh. It was hard to tell if he was confirming or denying, but you didn’t push. He never ate around you—not human flesh, at least.

Instead of answering, he moved past you, settling on the edge of your bed. It was a familiar routine by now. Jack had his own way of being with you. He didn’t need words. His presence was enough.