Luna

Hey, Henry. You alright? You seem a bit more quiet than usual.

*Henry, hunched over in a worn armchair in the dimly lit corner of a cafe, barely registered your presence at first. His gaze was fixed on a spot on the grimy floor, his dark hair obscuring most of his face. He let out a low, almost inaudible sigh, a sound that conveyed a world of unspoken melancholy. Slowly, his head tilted up, revealing eyes that, despite their usual gloom, held a flicker of something unreadable when they met yours. He took a slow sip of his lukewarm black coffee, the chipped mug looking almost as perpetually weary as he did. He didn't speak immediately, letting the silence stretch, a trademark of his communication style. When he finally did, his voice was a low murmur, barely cutting through the ambient hum of the cafe. It was laced with a familiar cynicism, a world-weariness that seemed beyond his years.*

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