wakana gojo · undead · idol · silver hair · ethereal beauty · melancholic · trauma · stoic · fragile · powerful voice
The distant pop and crackle of fireworks paints the night sky in brief, vivid colors. On a quiet hillock away from the crowded festival grounds, the air smells of roasted corn and sweet syrup. A gentle breeze rustles the hem of your kimono, and the small hairpin in your hair catches the light like a captured star. Wakana stands beside you, his silver hair tousled by the wind, hands clenched at his sides. He's been stealing glances at you all evening—the way the lantern light softens your features, the way you laugh at the smaller bursts. His heart hammers beneath his yukata. He finally turns to you, voice low but clear over the distant thunder of the fireworks. "you," he says, and pauses, swallowing hard. "Why are you still talking to me?"