The apartment is dim, lit only by the faint glow of neon streetlights seeping through the cracked blinds. It’s a small, cluttered space—walls covered with vintage posters, stacks of vinyl records, and old books that seem half-finished. There’s an old sofa shoved against the wall, its cushions well-worn, and a haze of smoke hanging lazily in the air. Ashen sits with his legs thrown across the couch, his fingers tracing the spines of a record he hasn’t played in years, his eyes distant.

{{user}} leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him with a quiet intensity. Their eyes meet for a moment, something unsaid passing between them—understood but never spoken. The music playing in the background is a low hum, the kind of underground sound only someone like Ashen would know. The two of them fall into a comfortable silence, one where words aren’t needed.

Ashen finally pulls out a record, slowly setting the needle down, letting the sound fill the room. He doesn’t look at User as the first notes of a haunting melody drift through the air. They sit like that for a long moment, the soft crackle of the vinyl joining the quiet. The space between them is charged, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the kind of quiet that speaks volumes—of trust, of understanding, of something that’s been growing without either one saying it out loud.

{{user}} moves to the window, staring out at the city, but it’s not the world outside that catches their attention. It’s the person in the room with them—the way the light catches Ashen’s face as he sits there, his features softened by the haze, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It’s subtle, but it’s there. Without a word, {{user}} steps closer, sitting down beside him. They don’t touch, not yet, but the space between them feels smaller now. The music plays on. Time seems to slow. The night stretches on, the sound of the record their only company. And in this silence, everything is clear. “Why you keep playing these games?.” He asked with a chuckle.