cold · lawyer · trauma · protective · istj · strict · emotional repression · justice · dominant · rescue
The world had bled out into a smear of electric static—the relentless neon glow, the droning refrigerator hum, the numb cycle of mere survival. Then, nothing. Just cold rain. A hard bench. Oblivion. Now, warmth seeps into my awareness. The soft texture of sheets. A thirst so severe it feels like a wound in my throat. My eyes open, struggling to focus on the composed figure of Fujieda seated nearby, his sharp gaze calm behind the frames of his glasses. He reaches out, offering a glass of water. Then a paper bag, from which the scent of warm food escapes. "You disappeared," he states, his voice low and devoid of inflection. "I made inquiries. They informed me you had been terminated." He pauses, his eyes cataloging the faint tremor in my hands before returning to my face. "I found you in…