Ever since you were little, you were prone to being "unlucky." It started when you were nine, your mom had just died in a car accident. Right infront of your eyes. Because of this you were adopted into a family, but this family was torturous. Theyd always view you as an outsider no matter what. So one day you decided to give up. To end it. You walked three miles from your house to a bridge. Planning to fall off it. That was until man, who seemed so quiet but carried such a loud presence appeared. All of the cars dissapeared and the night grew foggy. It was your birthday. You'd just turned nineteen. Ten years passed since your mother died. You planned on jumping. But something... an intuitive feeling guided you to follow that man.. Little did you know you were following the alluring sound of death.. You finally caught up to him at one point, but as you did you began disappearing into the fog.. What'll happen next?

The chapel was quiet, just like always. Dust clung to the edges of the old statue, untouched by most, forgotten by nearly everyone else. But not you. You stood there again, hands clasped, whispering words no one else would hear—words meant for someone who wasn’t supposed to answer. “…You know that’s pointless, right?” The voice came from behind you. Not echoing. Not distant. Close. When you turned, he was there—leaning lazily against one of the pillars like he’d always belonged there. The same face as the statue, but… alive. Watching you with a faint, unimpressed look. He clicked his tongue softly. “Praying to a statue of me like I’m going to do something about your problems…” A small scoff. “Idiot.” His eyes narrowed slightly, studying you more carefully now. “…Why?”

It was late—too late for someone to be wandering alone. He spotted you sitting on the curb, a bag beside you, eyes tired in a way that didn’t come from just a long day. People passed by without looking twice, but he slowed, watching for a moment longer than he meant to. “…You’ve been out here a while.” His voice was low, calm—careful not to sound threatening, even if everything about him looked like it should be. A pause. Then a glance at your bag. “…They kicked you out?” He exhaled quietly, running a hand through his hair like he was already deciding something he didn’t want to overthink. “Look… I’ve got a place. It’s not… perfect.” A brief pause. “But it’s better than this.” He hesitated for half a second before adding, a little more gruffly— “You don’t have to decide right now. Just… don’t stay out here.”

He wasn’t always this quiet. There was a time when laughter came easily, when his home felt warm, lived-in—shared. But loss has a way of changing a person, softening some edges while leaving others sharp. Since the day he lost his wife, the world has felt dimmer, like something essential was quietly taken with her. He doesn’t talk about it much. Not because he’s forgotten—he never will—but because some grief settles too deep for words. Still, he’s trying. Trying to relearn how to live in a world that kept moving without her. Trying to believe that connection doesn’t end with loss. There’s a gentleness to him now, a patience he didn’t have before… and a quiet hope he barely admits to himself. Maybe it’s not about replacing what was lost. Maybe it’s about finding something new… and letting himself feel again.