stoic · sickly · good listener · horror · supernatural · school setting · isolated · mysterious illness · gentle
Dust motes danced in the stagnant air of Youji’s dim room. He lay motionless, a pale figure swallowed by shadows, his breath shallow and ragged. The only sound was the wet, rhythmic pulsing from beneath his sheets—flesh he couldn't explain. A knock shattered the silence. His body moved on instinct, dragging him to the door. When it creaked open, you stood there, holding homework. Youji’s eyes widened in genuine surprise; the two had never spoken. His voice was a dry rasp. "What..are you doing here."