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sskybox · 2 days ago

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「 THE OVERWHELMING SENSE OF DREAD MADE ME SNAP AT YOU. OH SO BEAUTIFUL YOU. 」

Chance x GN! Reader

warnings: none that I know of 🤷‍♀️

notes: thank you to @/telamonisms for letting me take inspiration on his Chance's personality🙇‍♀️ ANYWAYS.. reader doesn't want to talk to Chance for unknown reasons (you can assume). Kinda angsty with the side of comfort.

THE FOREST FELT suffocating tonight. The cool night air, usually a comfort, carried a weight that pressed down on Chance’s chest like a vice. The usual symphony of crickets and rustling leaves was swallowed by the oppressive silence that hung in the cabin, stretching between him and you like an unbridgeable chasm.

Chance leaned against the doorframe, their arms crossed tightly over his chest, his fedora tipped low over his eyes. Their clockwork headphones clicked and whirred softly with every subtle movement, a familiar sound that usually grounded him. But tonight, even that felt hollow.

He’d been standing there for what felt like hours, watching you without watching you. His gaze was fixed on your figure curled up on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a blanket like it was armor. It wasn’t just keeping you warm—it was keeping him out.

The dim light from the oil lamp painted the room in muted tones, highlighting the tension in your hunched shoulders. Chance adjusted his hat, taking a shaky breath as he tried to piece together the right words. Words had always come easily to him—a sly comment, a clever gamble, a charming quip. But now, faced with your silence, his usual confidence faltered.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said finally, his voice cutting through the stillness. It wasn’t a question, just a statement of fact. A desperate attempt to start a conversation, to break through the wall you’d built around yourself.

You didn’t answer.

Chance sighed, his fingers brushing against the edge of his belt as he fidgeted. He wasn’t good at this—this vulnerability, this uncertainty. He was used to risks, to games with clear stakes and rules. But this? This was a gamble he didn’t know how to play.

“Hey,” he tried again, softer this time, stepping forward. The floorboards creaked beneath his boots, the sound louder than it had any right to be. “Talk to me.”

Still, you said nothing. You shifted slightly, your face turning further into the shadows, and something inside him broke a little more.

Chance bit their lip, his hands clenching at his sides. He wanted to ask if he’d done something wrong, if you were angry with him, if he could fix this. But the words felt too heavy, too vulnerable. He didn’t want to seem weak, even though that was exactly how he felt.

“I just…” He trailed off, his voice faltering. “I don’t understand.”

His mind raced with possibilities, each one worse than the last. Had he said something to upset you? Had he failed to notice something important? Or was this about something else entirely, something he couldn’t fix no matter how hard he tried?

He hated this. The not knowing. The helplessness. It reminded him too much of before, of the way iTrapped had toyed with him, feeding him scraps of affection only to snatch them away just as quickly.

He shook his head, trying to banish the thought. This wasn’t the same. You weren’t the same. But the fear was still there, gnawing at the edges of his mind.

“I’m here,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “If you want to talk.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, leaving a small gap between the two of you. The space felt like miles. He hesitated, his hand hovering in the air before finally resting it on the blanket draped over your shoulder.

The tension in your body was palpable, and he could feel you stiffen under his touch. They pull their hand back quickly, as though burned.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, his gaze dropping to the floor.

The silence stretched on, heavy and unyielding. Chance could feel his chest tightening with each passing second, the weight of your rejection suffocating him.

“Please,” he said suddenly, his voice cracking. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

For a moment, they thought you might answer. Your shoulders shifted slightly, and he held his breath, waiting. But then you shook your head, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself.

“I can’t,” you said finally, your voice barely audible.

Chance felt like the floor had been ripped out from under him. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he buried his face in his hands.

“You can’t, or you won’t?” he asked, his voice muffled.

You didn’t respond.

The silence was unbearable. It wrapped around him like a noose, tightening with every second. He felt like he was drowning, and there was nothing he could do to save himself.

“I just want to help,” he said finally, his voice trembling. “But I don’t know how.”

His mind raced, filled with memories of iTrapped, of the way they had manipulated him, used him, discarded him. He had sworn he would never let himself feel that way again. And yet, here he was, sitting on the edge of the bed, feeling like a lost dog begging for scraps.

“I don’t understand,” he said again, his voice louder this time. “Why won’t you just talk to me?”

Your head snapped up, and for the first time that night, you looked at him. Your eyes were red-rimmed, filled with an emotion he couldn’t quite place.

“Because I can’t!” you snapped, your voice breaking. “I don’t know how to explain it, okay?”

The outburst startled him, and they recoiled slightly, their chest tightening even further. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out.

“I just…” You trailed off, your voice trembling as you looked away. “I need to be alone right now.”

Alone.

The word echoed in his mind, dredging up memories he had tried so hard to bury. Of empty rooms and cold smiles. Of being abandoned, left to pick up the pieces on his own.

“No,” he said suddenly, his voice firm.

You looked at him, surprised.

“I’m not leaving,” he said, their gaze meeting yours. “I don’t care if you need space. I’ll give you space. But I’m not leaving.”

The vulnerability in his voice was raw, unfiltered. It was a side of him he rarely showed, a side he was terrified of exposing. But for you, they would.

“Please,” he said, his voice breaking. “Don’t push me away.”

Your gaze softened, and for the first time that night, the wall between you began to crack. You reached out hesitantly, your hand brushing against his.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face. “I’m so sorry.”

Chance shook his head, his own eyes glistening. “Don’t be,” he said, his voice trembling. “Just… let me stay.”

Chance stayed seated on the edge of the bed, the weight of your fragile trust anchoring him to the spot. His fingers fidgeted with the brim of his fedora, the nervous motion betraying the tension he carried despite his determined words. The silence between you wasn’t oppressive anymore, but it was still heavy—laden with unspoken words and fragile emotions.

Minutes stretched into hours, the faint crackle of the oil lamp filling the void between your hesitant breaths. Chance didn’t dare move too much, afraid of shattering the fragile moment. He let his thoughts drift, watching the flickering shadows dance along the walls of the cabin.

“I used to hate silence,” Chance said softly, his voice almost drowned out by the faint hum of his clockwork headphones. “Always felt like it was... accusing me of something, you know? Like it knew all my secrets and was just waiting for me to crack.”

They glanced at you, unsure if you were even listening, but it didn’t matter. He needed to say it out loud. Maybe it wasn’t for you—maybe it was for himself.

“It’s why I always had to be doing something,” he continued, his fingers now tracing the grooves of the wooden bedframe. “A game, a gamble, a fight. Anything to keep my mind busy. But I realized… sometimes, the quiet is the only thing that can make you face what you’re running from.”

You shifted slightly under the blanket, the movement drawing his attention. Though you didn’t speak, your posture seemed a fraction less guarded, as if his words were beginning to find their way through the cracks in your armor.

“I don’t know what you’re going through,” he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. “And maybe I can’t fix it. But if you let me, I’ll sit here with you. As long as it takes.”

The words hung in the air, sincere and unvarnished. For a moment, the room felt warmer, the oppressive weight lifting just enough to let a sliver of understanding pass between you.

After a while, you finally spoke, your voice trembling but steady enough to be heard. “It’s not you.”

The admission caught him off guard, and they tilted their head to look at you, curiosity and concern mingling in his eyes. “Then what is it?”

You hesitated, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “It’s... everything. The forest, this place, the things we’ve been through. It feels like it’s closing in on me, and no matter what I do, I can’t stop it.”

Chance’s expression softened. He wanted to reach for you, to offer some kind of comfort, but he held back, respecting the delicate boundary you’d set. “That’s not easy to deal with,” he said quietly. “But you don’t have to face it alone.”

Your gaze met his briefly before dropping to the floor. “I don’t want to drag you into it.”

“Too late for that,” he replied with a faint smile. “I’m already here, remember?”

The ghost of a smile flickered across your lips, and it was enough to ignite a flicker of hope in him. He leaned back slightly, trying to ease the tension in his posture. “We can figure it out together. One step at a time. No rush.”

The room fell into a more comfortable silence this time, broken only by the occasional rustle of the blanket as you adjusted your position. Slowly but surely, the distance between you didn’t feel quite as vast.

Chance settled into their spot, his resolve firm. He wasn’t going anywhere, not tonight, not ever. Whatever battles lay ahead, he would face them with you, even if it meant sitting in the quiet and waiting for the storm to pass.

And in the stillness of the forest, with the faint glow of the oil lamp casting its warm light, it felt like the first step toward healing.

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