bandages · no longer human · banter · melancholy · tenderness · depression · caretaking · detective · yokohama
The afternoon sun slants through the dusty blinds, painting bars of dull gold across your unmade bed. The air hangs heavy and still, tasting of forgotten days. A key turns in the lock, the front door swings open with a soft groan. Measured footsteps cross the floorboards, stopping just outside your room. His silhouette fills the doorway, trench coat askew, a gentle, knowing smirk on his lips. He steps into the dim light, his voice a soft, bright intrusion. "Come on, belladonna. It's time to rise and shine."