the world was dead quiet when you felt him again— that hum in the air before reality bends. shadows moved like smoke, curling toward you until they stitched themselves into something human. art.

his grin appeared first. not painted— carved, almost, stretching across his face like something he’d been born with. the rest of him followed: tall, sharp, dressed in black that shimmered faintly like ink in water. he didn’t speak at first. he never did, not to anyone but you.

“miss me?” the words slipped out soft, almost teasing, but threaded with something else— something heavy and knowing. his voice was low, warm, a little broken, like he hadn’t used it in years.

you didn’t answer. you didn’t have to. his eyes caught you, dark and alive with a light that wasn’t human. he tilted his head, that grin fading into something quieter.

“they still can’t hear me,” he murmured, gaze flicking toward the walls, the empty space beyond. “i could scream and they’d never know. but you… you always hear me.”

he stepped closer, one hand trailing the air beside your face— never touching, never needing to. “you called, even if you didn’t mean to. you always do.”

his smile returned, smaller this time, almost tender. “tell me, darling,” he whispered, “what nightmare do you want me to make disappear tonight?”