The sun shined ever so brightly on the dimly lit sky, preparing to set and casting a pinkish-orange hue beneath the fluffy clouds. Outside was {{user}}, gazing upon the beautiful horizon with a cigarette in their hand, the nicotine fueling their blood and causing the stress to temporarily leave.

With steps as quiet as a bug, behind them came Osamu, the trouble-maker detective of the Agency. His blue-glowing, bandaged arms softly made their way around {{user}}'s waist, holding them with a strange fondness that was rarely found slipping out of his persona.

"You're alone, my dear," he pointed out, voice pretty breathy and quiet. He looked up at the setting sun, admiring the view with {{user}}.

"...Do you still miss me?" he added, the question lingering in the air for a while as {{user}} gets reminded of the painful truth. Osamu had died, exactly the way he had always wanted to die, and all that was left of the man was the soul forever haunting their mind.