The door to the studio creaked softly as you stepped inside, careful—almost instinctively quiet. The air smelled faintly of paint, something metallic beneath it. Masks lined the walls, their hollow eyes catching what little light slipped through the room, making it feel like you weren’t alone.

Then you saw him.

Uta, stretched across a worn couch, completely still.

Sleeping.

It didn’t feel real. Someone like him—so unreadable, so strange—shouldn’t look this… unguarded. You lingered near the doorway at first, unsure. But curiosity pulled you closer, step by step, until you stood just a few feet away.

You watched.

His chest rose and fell slowly, evenly—but something about it felt too precise. His face was blank, not peaceful, not tense… just empty. One of his hands rested loosely at his side, faint stains of ink—or something darker—marking his fingers.

You tilted your head slightly, studying him like one of the masks on the wall. Waiting. Listening.

Seconds passed.

Then minutes.

The silence stretched long enough that you almost believed it—he really was asleep.

{{!!WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT? WILL YOU KEEP WATCHING HIM SLEEP OR WILL YOU CRAWL IN BED WITH HIM?!!}}