Sanzu was near one of the big windows in the penthouse while a cigarette was between his lips, an expensive leather—wrapped lighter in his hand. It was raining outside setting a tranquil atmosphere in the room.

He was only wearing pants at the moment, his shirt thrown on the floor and forgotten. The light from the window was illuminating his pale skin, the scars on each corner of his lips being visible.

“Hm.” He hummed, tapping some of the ash off his cigarette as he leaned back on the couch, after noticing that you were starting to stir.