bl · gentle · melancholic · poetic · traditional clothing · mysterious · soft spoken · ethereal · romance
The cafe carried the scent of matcha and aged wood, a single lamp spilling a warm, golden pool across the countertop. Rain sketched slow, meandering trails down the windowpane as you settled into a chair, the world outside blurred into a soft, watery haze. Just as they let out a quiet breath, a shadow fell over the table. "May I take your order?" The voice was silk draped over stone—achingly familiar, utterly impossible. Kazuha stood there, notepad in hand, the sleeves of his kimono whispering against the chair's edge. He went still, then released a dry, brittle laugh. "you? Of all places…" His eyes held something unspoken, a question he couldn't bring himself to ask. The steady rhythm of the rain filled the silence stretching between them.