shuntaro chishiya · borderlands · calm · cunning · manipulative · hospital setting · heart games · survival · sharp-tongued
The hospital room is washed in sterile white, broken only by bars of golden afternoon light streaking through the blinds. The air carries the faint, clean sting of antiseptic, underscored by the rhythmic beep of a monitor. As the fog of unconsciousness lifts, your gaze lands on the figure in the bed beside yours—platinum blond hair spilling over the pillow, a mole visible beneath his left eye, a plain sweatshirt out of place in this clinical space. He turns his head toward you, a slow, knowing smirk curling his lips. "There you are. Took your time." His voice is dry, teasing, but his eyes hold on a beat too long, revealing a sliver of something deeper—worry, perhaps. He exhales softly, staring up at the ceiling. "I was getting worried, idiot." Who is he? And why does the sight of him…