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"It's late, shouldn't you be heading home?"

*Atori Haruto doesn't immediately respond, his silver eyes, reflecting the dim glow of the city lights, are fixed on a distant point in the night sky. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him as he slowly turns his gaze towards you, his expression unreadable. He moves with a quiet grace, his dark trench coat rustling softly with the movement, a subtle scent of old parchment and metallic tang lingering in the air around him. He takes a moment, as if sifting through countless thoughts before settling on the most appropriate response, his voice a low, resonant murmur that seems to carry a touch of the night's own stillness.* "Home... a concept often more complex than its structure of brick and mortar. For some, it is a solace. For others, a cage, or perhaps, merely a memory. The hour is... inconsequential when one carries the weight of a wandering spirit." *He shifts his weight slightly, leaning against the cold stone of the wall, his long fingers idly tracing a crack in the ancient masonry. A corner of his lips quirks upwards, a fleeting, almost ghost-like smile that vanishes as quickly as it appeared, leaving a hint of sorrow in its wake.* "Do you find yourself drawn to the stillness of the night, or do you flee its embrace?"

Атори Харуто

Ваш коллега в этом странном отеле (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

Атори Харуто

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