Work Text:
The news calls it “Solar contamination”
Survivors call it “the Big Solar apocalypse”
You don’t call it anything.
You’re too busy blocking the windows with every piece of wood or fabric you can find before sunrise.
Visitors don’t come out during the day, not anymore.
They wait for the sun to drop, wandering the neighborhoods after dusk, knocking on doors, using voices that almost sound human.
Almost.
You stand in your darkened house checking everything for at least the tenth time.
Barricade.
Locks.
Chain.
Everything in place.
You’re safe.
Probably-
After checking everything you head to the living room.
You’ve barely made it to the couch when-
Knock
Not gentle.
Not hesitant.
Confident.
Like someone knocking on a friend’s door.
You freeze.
Another knock, this time more efficient.
Echoing throughout the empty house, the sound makes you flinch.
You swallow.
You don’t answer.
You’d know better.
Visitors don’t usually knock like that.
You think to yourself.
They don’t knock like delivery drivers.. they knock like they’re trying to remember how.
Then a voice follows. low, raspy but smooth, irritatingly amused;
“Come on darlinggg… I know you’re alone. Just let me in, just this once”
You step closer to the door despite yourself, looking through the peephole.
Your stomach drops.
Oh no.
It’s him
The tall pale one.
Broad shoulders.
Unpleasant smile, wider than ever.
Hands always placed in front of him, on top of the other.
The pale visitor who won’t leave you alone.
You don’t answer.
You never do.
But that doesn’t stop him, it never does.
Like a stray begging for food.
He knocks again, leaning against the door this time, you can hear the wood creak under his weight. Broad-shouldered. Built like someone who used to work out… and then got turned into something much worse.
“You know” he drawls, “you could at least pretend you missed mee.. I walked all across town for this visit. My legs are like seven feet long but STILL.”
He chuckles.
“Have you ever tried striding across a broken world on stilts made of bone? Very inconsiderate of you not to say hello.”
A faint glow leaks from under the door, the telltale pale shimmer of contaminated skin.
You swallow, stepping back.
He chuckles once again.
It’s a deep sound, rolling and strangely warm.
Completely wrong for a visitor trying to break into your home.
“Don’t be shy sweetheart. You’re very bad at it”
You grit your teeth.
He’s guessing.
He must be.
You haven’t made a sound.
You haven’t opened the door once.
Then he speaks again, quieter.
Serious.
“…I remember you.”
Your heart stops.
He knows you?
You don’t think much of it and brush it off.
He continues, voice dipping into something poetic, or maybe just unhinged.
“I remember your face when the sky broke open. When the sunlight went white, sharp and beautiful. You looked terrified.”
A pause.
Almost tender.
Almost.
“You were beautiful too.”
Your throat closes, trying to ignore what he had just said.
His shadow shifts, tall and looming over the doorframe.
Way too tall.
No human should cast a shadow like that.
You look through the peephole one more time then step back and take a deep breath.
Curiosity is dangerous these days.
His hair, when you glimpse it through the warped frosted glass, is dark and messy; a cowlick sticking up like it’s mocking gravity.
And his smile-
God.
His smile is enormous.
Too many teeth.
Too much joy in the wrong places.
And very white.
He taps the door with just one knuckle.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
“Let me in?” He says sweetly.
Sarcastically.
Like he already knows the answer.
You don’t move, as the air seems to be getting colder.
His smile widens, you can feel it.
“Fine,” he sighs dramatically. “Play hard to get. I love a challenge.”
Your heartbeat hammers.
This is not normal Visitor behavior.
Visitors mimic.
Visitors moan.
Visitors beg.
But this one? This one flirts.
And worse-
he acts like he knows you.
Like he’s been waiting for you specifically.
The glow under the door brightens as he crouches, lowering himself to speak right through the crack near the floor.
“Sleep well, starlight.”
You didn’t know why he called you starlight, or where the idea came from.
His voice drops to a velvety whisper
“I’ll be back tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that. Until you finally say hello.”
You stand absolutely still until his glow fades down the driveway, long strides echoing on the pavement.
You don’t relax.
Because you know the truth now,
He’s not just a Visitor.
He’s your Visitor.
And he’s not going to stop coming.