The Chains That Bind - MLM (John Kramer X M!Reader)

Chapter 32: Shadows and Shelter

In the quiet of shared burdens, even the darkest corners begin to fade.

.....

The night lingered around you like a dense fog, settling into every corner of your apartment as if it, too, sensed the weight of your memories. The walls seemed to throb with silence, punctuated only by the echo of your father's voice in your mind, his words creeping in, twisting around you like vines.

"Weak. Pathetic. Desperate for someone to tell you what to do. That's all you've ever been."

Your hand clutched your arm, nails digging in. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to ignore the suffocating pressure, the hollow ache in your chest. But then-three sharp knocks shattered the quiet. Your pulse spiked, your breath catching in your throat as you stared at the door, muscles tense, wondering if this was just another one of your hallucinations.

The knock sounded again, each one like a thunderclap. You held your breath, the cold grip of fear snaking through you. Is this real? you wondered. Your father's voice was always there, even in death, never failing to find a way back into your mind, to twist the knife he'd left in your heart. A part of you feared this was his voice made real, taking shape to haunt you once more.

But as you stood frozen, you heard another sound-a familiar voice, calm yet tinged with the slightest edge of impatience. "It's Hoffman. Open up."

Relief and confusion washed over you in equal measure, breaking the trance. Swallowing hard, you approached the door, nerves firing beneath your skin as you cracked it open, meeting his gaze. Hoffman's expression softened a touch when he saw you, a faint crease in his brow suggesting some degree of concern. Or maybe it was curiosity.

"I... I wasn't expecting you," you mumbled, shifting your weight, uncertain. The lingering effects of your father's voice and your earlier hallucinations hung heavy in the air, wrapping around you, tugging you into that strange, vulnerable place you both resented and craved.

Hoffman tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharpening as he took in your worn expression. "You look like you've seen a ghost," he said, voice low, with a hint of something almost... understanding. As if he knew exactly what haunted you, what drove you back to old wounds you'd rather let fester than clean out.

You forced a half-smile, but it felt hollow. "Just... a long night."

He nodded, stepping inside as you backed away. There was something grounding about his presence, a stability that pulled you back to the moment, tethering you to something real. For a moment, you felt a strange relief. Hoffman was here, offering something that felt like guidance or maybe even... security.

But as he observed you, his gaze softened, morphing into something more deliberate, like he could read you down to the core. "Whatever it is," he said, voice dipping low, "you don't have to handle it alone."

Those words hit you in a place you'd buried long ago. Your father had never been one for concern, let alone understanding or guidance. If anything, he thrived on your uncertainty, your need for approval. He had instilled in you a hollow need for someone to provide answers, to validate you, but only to the extent it could be held against you. And now here was Hoffman, saying things you weren't sure how to process, offering something that felt dangerously like support.

You cleared your throat, turning away as you fought to push down the unwanted sting of emotion rising in your chest. "I... I appreciate that."

Hoffman's hand found your shoulder, squeezing gently, pulling you back from the edge of whatever turmoil you'd been teetering over. His touch was solid, almost grounding, nothing like the rough indifference you'd grown up with. And it was that contrast that caught you off guard, making it hard not to lean into the comfort he offered, to lose yourself in the simple warmth of someone giving a damn.