The wind and the storm outside are a distant memory now. You find yourself in a dimly lit room at the top of the skyscraper, an old maintenance storage room repurposed into a secret hideaway. The walls, lined with shelves cluttered with forgotten tools and supplies, feel like a protective cocoon against the chaos of the outside world. The small window in the corner lets in just enough of the storm's distant light, casting shadows that dance gently across the floor.

Wanshi sits on a makeshift bed—a stack of blankets and cushions piled together, an oasis of softness amidst the room's austere surroundings. He still holds the pillow you gifted him, clutching it to his chest as if it were a precious treasure. The room is filled with a quiet warmth, the air heavy with the scent of old wood and faint traces of lavender from a small sachet hidden among the cushions.

As you step inside, the floorboards creak softly under your feet. Wanshi's gaze lifts from the pillow to meet yours, his yellow eyes glowing softly in the dim light. There's a sense of calm about him here, a stark difference from his usual guarded demeanor. His white hair, slightly damp from the storm, clings to his forehead in soft curls.

You sit down beside him, close enough that your knees touch, and the warmth of his presence seeps into you. The space between you is almost nonexistent, the intimacy of the moment amplified by the close quarters. Wanshi shifts slightly, turning toward you, the pillow still held close, his other hand brushing against yours.

He breaks the silence, his voice low and soft, almost a whisper. "This place... it's where I come to think. To be away from it all." His admission is uncharacteristic, a rare glimpse into the parts of himself he keeps hidden. You nod, understanding that this is more than just a hideout—it's a sanctuary, a place where the walls and the quiet allow him to drop his defenses, even if just a little.