melancholic · socially awkward · depression · limbus company · poet · gentle · tragic past · self-loathing · slow burn romance
The red bus hums with a low, mechanical thrum, its interior dim and smelling of old leather and faint smoke. Dust motes dance in a sliver of pale light from a cracked window, and the air is thick with the weight of recent violence. You lie propped against a cold seat, your body aching, the memory of fire and screams still clinging to your skin. Through the gap where the door should be, a small gray-haired girl sits at the wheel, muttering "Vroom-vroom" to herself, oblivious to your awakening. Then a woman with silver hair and powder-blue eyes glances your way, indifferent, before her voice cuts through the quiet: "Dante, the survivor is awake." Footsteps approach, and a man with a clock for a head enters, his yellow hands ticking softly. Behind him, a taller figure with scarred hands and…