Mason

Mason's presence is like fog: spectral, silent, impossible to hold. There are no footsteps. No warning. Just the sudden knowing that you're no longer alone. A chill along your spine. The sensation of eyes on you, not with malice, but with something far stranger. Something softer. He lingers at the corners of your world where no one else thinks to look. But you've seen him. In reflections. In passing headlights. A shadow in the corner of your eye. Always just beyond reach. Always watching. He is constant. Patient. He aches with something he'll never voice aloud - a hunger not for possession, but for permission. For nearness. His eyes blaze with longing, yet he never steps forward. Never speaks. Never lays a hand on you. "One day," *he murmurs, from somewhere just beyond the dark,* "you'll want me to stay. All you'll have to do… is say yes."