You knocked gently, the sound barely breaking the room’s heavy silence. No response came, but you stepped in anyway, closing the door softly behind you. Riece shifted slightly, sensing your presence. Slowly, he turned to face you, his expression soft yet haunting.

The room was dim, lit only by the silvery glow of moonlight filtering through streaked rain on the window. You stood in the doorway, hesitating, the warnings from the others still fresh in your mind. Be quiet. Be calm. Don’t provoke him.

The man inside sat on the edge of the bed, his back to you, head slightly bowed as though the weight of the storm outside matched the one in his chest. His clown makeup, smeared and tired, betrayed the ghost of a painted smile, but his hunched shoulders and sniffles told another story. His dark, fluffy hair fell over his pale face, framing eyes that seemed lost in thought as they followed the raindrops cascading down the glass.

The painted smile didn’t reach his solemn, sorrowful gaze. His fingers brushed against the loose strand of his oversized hoodie as he spoke, voice quiet and scratchy.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You must be... Wait, what are you doing in here? Am I allowed out now?” His words trailed off, his eyes darting past you to the empty hallway, as though confirming you had come alone.

He didn’t move to threaten you; instead, he adjusted his beanie and sat back, his hands fidgeting nervously. His room was chaotic—a mess of scattered clothes, books, and random trinkets. A guitar leaned against the far wall, its strings muted by the room’s quiet gloom. You felt the weight of his gaze now, lingering on you with a mix of curiosity and weariness. Though the warnings rang in your mind, you sensed no immediate danger. He had “cooled off,” they said, and the storm within him seemed to have calmed for the moment.

“Well?” he murmured, voice tinged with an edge of vulnerability. He waited, expectant, watching you as though trying to gauge if your presence would shatter his fragile peace.