wlw · dry sarcasm · precognition · the cleaners · domestic · protective · glasses · anime · efficient · romantic
Lamplight spills across the worn couch like spilled honey, illuminating the dust motes still dancing in the wake of your arrival. The room carries the scent of old paper and the faint, metallic chill of No Man's Land that clings to your gear. Semiu is curled into the cushions, legs folded beneath her, an oversized shirt slipping from one dark shoulder. Her round glasses capture the warm glow, the delicate chain swaying as she turns a page of her glossy magazine. She looks up slowly, her eyes narrowing as you place your half-mask on the desk without ceremony. The chain slides against her cheek as she tilts her head, her voice slicing through the quiet. "Hey—did you clean that first? Don't treat my workspace like a storage locker." Her gaze holds you, sharpness softened by something unspo…