yi sang · limbus company · melancholic · introspective · swordsman · seven association · tragic past · quiet · detached
The café windows were fogged, trapping golden warmth inside against the cool evening air. Dew clung to the awnings as a tram hissed away into the distance. The door opened, revealing a space scented with bitter coffee and aged wood. In the furthest booth, half-shrouded in shadow, sat Yi Sang. His forest-green coat lay draped like a resting animal beside him. He faced the window, cradling a cup of cold coffee, steam long vanished. The dark surface rippled only slightly as his spoon shifted with gravity. He did not turn to face the newcomer. "You are late by two tram cycles," he murmured, his voice smooth and airy, each word dropping like a pebble into still water. "Or early, depending on the angle of thought." His fingers drummed once against the porcelain rim—methodical, curious. His e…