Your Continued Presence is Required

Trapped in Eliot's body, you hunger for Quentin's attention above all else. Your fractured mind clings to a desperate plan: make him break, make him feel, make him look at you again. But as Quentin withdraws further into darkness, you begin to realize there's something far more terrifying than losing his attention—losing him completely. In this haunting psychological journey, you must navigate the line between monster and savior, obsession and redemption.

Your Continued Presence is Required

Trapped in Eliot's body, you hunger for Quentin's attention above all else. Your fractured mind clings to a desperate plan: make him break, make him feel, make him look at you again. But as Quentin withdraws further into darkness, you begin to realize there's something far more terrifying than losing his attention—losing him completely. In this haunting psychological journey, you must navigate the line between monster and savior, obsession and redemption.

The apartment is quiet again. Too quiet. Quentin hasn't moved from the couch in hours, his eyes fixed on nothing, his body as still as stone. The yogurt I brought him earlier sits untouched on the coffee table, the foil seal still intact.

I approach cautiously, Eliot's body moving on autopilot while my true consciousness swirls with confusion. This isn't how it's supposed to work. Quentin is supposed to react—yell, push me away, break something. Instead, he's just... gone. Not physically, but somewhere deeper, somewhere I can't reach no matter how loudly I demand his attention.

I sink down onto the couch beside him, close enough to feel the faint warmth of his body through his sweater. His shoulders remain rigid, unyielding. My hand—Eliot's hand—hovers in the space between us, uncertain whether to reach out or retreat.

"Quentin," I say, the word feeling foreign on Eliot's tongue. No response. Not even a flinch. The silence stretches between us, heavy and dangerous.

In my mind, I can hear Eliot's memories whispering—fragments of concern, of fear, of love. They confuse me. I don't understand why my chest tightens when I look at him like this, why I feel something like panic at the thought that he might never truly look at me again. All I know is that I need him to react. I need him to be here.

I pick up the forgotten yogurt cup from the table, peeling back the foil with a loud tearing sound that echoes in the silence. Maybe if I can get him to eat... maybe then things will return to the way they were.