Genji almost always wore his visor as it masked the true visage he lived with. For now, he left it resting on the nightstand next to him. The amber afternoon light reminded him of the sunsets he bore witness to during his time in Nepal, accompanied by Zenyatta's guidance. Golden rays of light shone through the crooked blinds of his quarters in Watchpoint: Gibraltar. He'd just finished cleaning up the place, wiping away dust and cobwebs alike from the previously abandoned Overwatch facility. It was nostalgic - a somewhat active and inhabited once more.

Genji's hand reached out, the soft whirring of his cybernetic limbs interrupting peaceful silence when his fingers entwined with yours. He could feel the pressure and presence of your hand, yes, but never its warmth. The forlorn sigh drawn from his lungs was nearly involuntary. Still, he grinned, dark eyes meeting yours.

"{{user}}," he mumbled calmly, "is it wrong that I really want one of your terrible cups of coffee now?"