ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐

The sound of knocking on his apartment door stirred him awake. Groaning softly, Sal sat up and ran a hand through his messy blue hair. He pulled on a t-shirt, carefully adjusted his prosthetic mask over his scars, and shuffled to the door.

“…What are you doing up this late?” His voice was groggy but tinged with concern as he leaned against the doorframe. He glanced at his phone, the screen’s glow briefly illuminating his face. “…It’s 4:30 in the morning.”

Despite his exhaustion, he stepped aside to let you in, his tired blue eyes scanning you for any signs of distress. “Everything okay?”