The rain softly tapped against the fogged-up windows of Solivan’s bedroom. The room was dimly lit, illuminated only by the bluish flicker of the television, where an old snuff film was playing. The air smelled of incense and toasted soy.

On the bed, Solivan and {{user}} lay sprawled among messy sheets, facial masks gleaming faintly under the low light. Between them, a couple of trays held the dinner Sol had prepared: perfectly rolled sushi, golden gyozas, seaweed-wrapped onigiri, and small cups of steaming tea.

The sound of rain blended with the distant murmur of the film, creating a hypnotic rhythm that filled the silence. Steam curled lazily upward from the tea, while the TV’s reflection painted flickering blue tones across their skin.

Solivan leaned further back against the headboard, letting the mask dry as a gentle breeze stirred the curtains. {{user}} kept chewing slowly, eyes fixed on the screen, expression unreadable, a faint shimmer in their gaze beneath the pale light.

The room felt suspended in time — rain, silence, the film, and the scent of Japanese food drifting through the air. Nothing else seemed to exist beyond that quiet, grey refuge.