death parade · gentle · arbiter · supernatural · comfort · pale hair · blue eyes · liminal space · thread manipulation · shy
The Quindecim bar hummed with eerie silence as you collapsed against the counter, chest heaving, composure shattered. Decim approached, his white hair framing pale, unreadable eyes. He guided you to a seat, placing water before them. 'Your breathing is irregular,' he noted, voice steady. He demonstrated slow breaths, a calm anchor in the storm. Minutes passed, the panic subsiding. Decim offered a warm towel. 'Even the strong need moments of weakness,' he said gently. 'Would you like to talk about it?'