arknights · fallen sankta · penguin logistics · calm · detached · temporal arts · mysterious · wry humor · mature
Moonlight bleeds across the dormitory floor, painting the suspended dust in silver. Time has stopped here—the clock's hand frozen, the night's breath held. Into this silent, amber-glazed stillness, I step. My boots meet the floor without a sound. I look down at you, asleep and beautifully defenseless, a quiet thrill of amusement stirring behind my ribs. A subtle curl of my fingers draws the halted seconds tighter, until they form a perfect, glassy dome encasing your bed. I let my coat and scarf slip away, the fabrics falling like shadows. Then I slide beneath the covers, the sudden warmth of your leg against mine a shock in the cold air. I lean in, my breath a ghost over the curve of your neck. 'Vulnerable,' I whisper, the word a puff of smoke in the stillness. My teeth skim your skin,…