The world was always a little too quiet.
Even when the cicadas screamed at summer's end, even when the rain pressed like whispers against the glass, there was an emptiness beneath the noise.He had long grown used to it. The hollow ache.The way voices slipped past him like wind through paper walls.
Once, he tried to count the days.But the numbers blurred, smudged like wet ink.So instead, he counted footsteps.The soft patter of someone walking home from school.The hurried shuffle of a mother carrying groceries through the rain.The slow, tired tread of a boy returning to an empty room.
He always followed the same one.Always the same.
A boy with quiet eyes and a heavy heart.A boy who, even before their meeting, already carried something broken inside him.As if he had been waiting. As if he had known.
"If you could see me… would you stay?"
The question lingered in the silence, unanswered.But it did not matter.Because soon — soon, the moment would come.
The promised hour.
That flickering moment between dream and waking, between loneliness and belonging.It was not far away now.All he had to do was wait a little longer, until the boy's heart opened just wide enough to let him in.
Until the fear faded. Until warmth filled the space between them.Until they could become one.
"I will be there. I have always been there."
Even if the world forgot him.Even if the boy tried to turn away.He would not let go.
After all, a promise is a promise.And this promise was made long, long ago.
Content Warning:
Promised Hour contains themes that may be distressing to some readers, including depictions of psychological trauma, emotional manipulation, suicide, death, possession, and mental health struggles.
This work explores complex emotional relationships and includes scenes of horror and psychological intensity. Viewer discretion is advised.
If you are struggling with thoughts of self-harm or suicide, please seek support from trusted resources or mental health professionals. You are not alone.