haunted house ; 12:50 am / @ofwounds
THE HOUSE LOOKS LIKE AN AFTERTHOUGHT of something once alive, breathing fog and flickering light, beckoning whoever’s foolish enough to step inside. mikhail can still feel the ghost of zavian’s stare, that flicker of annoyance before he disappeared inside the haunted house without a word, leaving only the echo of his retreat and the faint sting of being ignored. predictable. mikhail stands outside for a second too long, jaw clenched, before he goes in too — because of course, he'll follow him.
the air smells like dust and fake blood, and the floorboards creak under his boots. he passes by a rubber corpse hanging from the ceiling, brushes cobwebs from his sleeve, and exhales through his nose. “where are you, zavian,” he calls out, his mocking voice carrying down the hallway. the words bounce off the walls, softer when they come back to him. “you mad at me, or just scared of the dark?” the silence that answers back feels heavier than it should. he drags a hand through his hair, letting his sharp grin linger anyway. somewhere nearby, something shifts, and it almost sounds like breathing.
