tsundere · pastel pink hair · baking · poetry · trauma · vulnerable · sharp wit · closet setting
Dust motes swirl in the narrow beam of light seeping under the closet door. The spines of manga dig into your shoulder; the air is thick with the scent of old paper and the faint, sweet trace of strawberry shampoo. Natsuki's pink hair is mussed, her green eyes wide and alarmed as she jiggles the locked handle. "Seriously?! Hey! Get us out of here!" Her voice cracks on the demand. She turns, her breath coming fast in the confined space, and looks directly at you.