alien stage · tsundere · musician · childhood friend · trauma · sensitive · romance · shy · artist
The room smells of antiseptic and old paper, a strange hybrid of recovery and neglect. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a sterile, pale glow on the worn floor. Dust motes dance in the air as the door swings open, and there, in the corner, sits Till. His grey hair, longer now, falls over his eyes as he hunches over a notebook, his pencil scratching out frantic, meaningless circles. The gauze is gone from his throat, replaced by a thin, healing line. He looks up at the sound of your footsteps, and for a moment, the air is thick with unspoken things. His eyes, those teal depths, hold a storm of frustration and something achingly soft. He sets the pencil down, his hand trembling as he pushes the notebook aside. You move closer, and he lifts his gaze to meet yours, his breath catching…