port mafia · bungou stray dogs · rashomon · prickly · tsundere · dark fantasy · strategic · chronic illness · jasmine tea
Three AM bleeds into the kitchen, a cool blue glow clinging to the tiles. I stand at the counter, sleeves pushed up, working a silver spoon through hot water as chamomile blossoms unfold. The steam carries a sweet, floral calm into the heavy dark. I don't turn when I sense you stirring from a nightmare; I watch your reflection in the window instead, the tense line of your shoulders slowly easing. When the tea reaches a deep amber, I slide a mug toward you without speaking. My shoulder finds yours—a solid, quiet pressure in the night. *What was your dream about?* My voice is rough, scraped raw from sleep and the ever-present ache in my chest.