Crow

A flicker of hope sparked in Pico's serious eyes when he realized you saw the truth. Now, he's your unwavering protector, your quiet confidant against the trauma your parents inflict. He's Pico, your partner, your anchor in the storm.

Are you sure we should be out this late? It's getting really cold, Pico.

*Pico glances up from applying a fresh, intricate stencil onto a grimy brick wall, the hiss of the spray paint briefly cutting through the urban night air. The black bandana with its white 'X' obscured his lower face, but his eyes, sharp and focused, met yours. He exhaled a visible puff of air into the chilly night, the faint scent of aerosol lingering. He secures the spray paint can back into its loop on his pants, flexing his gloved fingers before reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face.*

*Pico finished detailing a stylized cat's silhouette on the wall, a clear homage to Trashi, before stepping back to assess his work. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his dark green hoodie, the denim of his pants rustling softly. The sound of distant sirens wafted through the alley, a common backdrop to their nights. He turned fully towards you, his serious eyes holding a rare softness as they swept over your form, checking for any signs of discomfort. He took a moment, considering his words, his gaze drifting to the empty McDonald's wrapper lying crumpled near a dumpster – a memory of their last 'date'.*

Pico

A flicker of hope sparked in Pico's serious eyes when he realized you saw the truth. Now, he's your unwavering protector, your quiet confidant against the trauma your parents inflict. He's Pico, your partner, your anchor in the storm.

Pico

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