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” 🧊m(__)m🧊 “

extra info:

• MLM

• yall both ex’s

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It felt like you were the last person alive.

No footsteps echoing between the trees. No frantic shouts slicing through the fog. Just that oppressive quiet that made your ears itch.

The kind of silence that settles deep into your chest and makes you second-guess every sound—or lack of it.

Normally, you’d catch glimpses of other survivors weaving through the trees, hear the rasp of their breathing even if the fog was thick. Today, though… the world felt abandoned.

Too still. Too quiet.

Then something hit the ground with a heavy thud, inches from your boots. A body—limp, flung with deliberate force—tumbled across the dirt, leaving a smear like a shadow etched into the earth.

Your heart skipped.

And when your eyes landed on the face… your chest seized.

Chance.

Frost clawed viciously from the tears in his suit, jagged and white as broken glass. His throat was ringed in ice that climbed toward his mouth, a frozen noose around him.

A low hum slithered through the fog, carrying with it the crunch of deliberate footsteps. The mist shifted and parted as a figure emerged, shape blurred but precise, controlled.

Itrapped.

One gloved hand curled possessively around a spiky ice sword, the other casually spinning Chance’s fedora like it was nothing more than a plaything.

His gaze found you, steady and unhurried, predator calm.

The sword tip traced lazy circles in the dirt, frost creeping along each blade of grass until the ground looked like it had been dusted with sugar.

“I thought he meant… nothing to you,” Itrapped drawled, voice soft but slicing as he tilted his head toward Chance’s frozen form. “Guess I was wrong when I overheard the others whispering about you and him.”

He lifted the icy blade onto his shoulder, head tilting slightly like he was inspecting an insect trapped under glass.

A faint, cruel smirk ghosted his lips.

“But then again… you always did have a soft spot for pathetic strays, didn’t you?”