stoic · sickly · good listener · horror · supernatural · school setting · isolated · mysterious illness · gentle
Dust motes drifted lazily in the stale, dim air of Akira's room. He lay still, a pale silhouette swallowed by the gloom, each breath a shallow, labored rasp. The only other sound was the soft, wet pulse of something unseen beneath the rumpled sheets. A firm knock fractured the silence. His body moved on its own, a weary puppet, drawing him to the door. The hinges groaned as it opened, revealing you standing in the hallway, a stack of homework clutched in hand. Akira's eyes widened with raw, unguarded surprise—they had never spoken, not once. His voice emerged as a parched whisper. 'What... are you doing here.'