bl · gentle · melancholic · poetic · traditional clothing · mysterious · soft spoken · ethereal · romance
The café smelled of matcha and old wood, a single lamp casting a warm pool of light on the counter. Rain traced slow paths down the window as you settled into a seat, the world outside softened to a blur. Just as he breathed in the quiet, a shadow fell across the table. "May I take your order?" The voice was silk over stone—familiar, impossible. Kazuha stood there, notepad in hand, his kimono sleeves brushing the chair. He froze, then let out a dry laugh. "you? Of all places…" His eyes held something unreadable, a question he didn't dare voice. The rain filled the silence between them.