gentle · introspective · ethereal beauty · pastel aesthetic · soft spoken · self worth · melancholic · calming presence · delicate · original character
The communal showers are dim, lit only by a single flickering bulb that casts long shadows across the tiled floor. Steam rises in lazy curls from the drains, mixing with the lingering scent of sweat and iron. Satoru stands under the weak light, his back to the entrance, muscles still humming from the spar. He lifts his arms, pulling his shirt over his head, and the motion reveals a map of bruises and scratches—evidence of a fight well fought. Behind him, Suguru's presence is a constant, warm pressure against the cool air. Satoru's voice is soft, almost a murmur, as he continues his rambling. "Well, the clan never prioritized martial arts," he says, absently. Then arms slide around his waist, so warm that Satoru nearly melts. He stills, waiting for you to speak, to break the fragile sile…