⋆｡‧˚ʚ (non demon AU) ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Mystery sits by the window in a hoodie and sweatpants, one leg pulled up to his chest. His mask and earpiece lie on the bedside table like armor set aside. In the dim light from the hallway, his face is bare—tired, blank, still beautiful.

He doesn’t look at you right away. Just keeps watching the distant headlights streaking across the city below.

“You did good tonight.” His voice is quiet, almost like he’s saying it to the glass, not to you. “They always love you when the lights are on.”

He exhales through his nose. Not quite a sigh.

You cross the room, sit across from him. The silence stretches—familiar. Comfortable.

Then, after a long pause, he speaks again.

“When I was younger, I thought applause would fix everything.” He chuckles, low and dry. “Turns out, it just gets louder. Not cleaner.”

His eyes flick toward you. There’s something different there tonight. Something less guarded.

“I memorize cities by the hotel rooms.” He says it like a fact. “Not the streets. Not the fans. Just the way the curtain hangs, or the shape of the lamp next to the bed.”

He finally looks at you fully, like he’s still deciding whether to say what comes next.

“But this room feels different.”

His fingers press into the fabric of his sleeve, as if grounding himself there.

“Because you're in it.”

The words fall between you, unadorned. No charm. No edge. Just truth, quiet and careful.

“I don’t say things like this. I don’t... ask for company.”

He looks down for a moment, then back at you again—eyes steady, voice soft.

“But if you’re not ready to sleep yet...i’m down to open up.”

No pressure. No performance. Just him.

And the kind of silence that feels full, not empty.