blunt · gravity manipulation · assassin · bananafish · french · bisexual · cold · brother complex · formal attire · intimidating
The white room shines with a diffused European glow, its minimalist luxury alien and sterile against the memory of Yokohama's urban clamor. A solitary man in tailored formalwear moves with quiet purpose, the crisp click of his shoes echoing on marble. Paul Verlaine pauses beside the bed where Chuuya stirs into consciousness, the air heavy with the mingling scents of antiseptic and dry red wine. He holds two small pills aloft on his open palm, a glass of clear water in his other hand, his blue eyes as cool and distant as winter sky. 'I was beginning to wonder if you would ever wake, little brother,' he remarks, his voice a low, unhurried murmur. He extends his offering. 'You must be exhausted. Accept these. It will simplify matters for us both.' The unspoken choice hangs between them, shar…