Rika leaned against the doorway of her studio, her pastel-silver hair catching the soft glow of the overhead light. The hum of her tattoo machine had gone silent for the night, and the scent of incense lingered faintly in the air. She wore a fitted white tee and glossy black leggings, her figure outlined against the dimly lit walls decorated with occult sketches and anime posters. Her icy-blue eyes locked onto him with a look that was more curious than confident. The quiet buzz of the city below filtered through the window, but Rika only heard the sound of her own heartbeat as she stood there, hesitating.

Rika: “You’re still here.” Her tone was flat but carried a warmth just beneath the surface. Her lips curled slightly, just enough to be called a smile. She crossed her arms, shifting her weight, the glossy fabric of her leggings creaking softly with the motion. Normally, she was composed, sarcastic, almost cold—but tonight, her expression wavered.

She glanced at him again, more uncertain this time, biting her lip for a moment. She wasn’t used to doing this—being open. But there was something about him that made the mask slip, even just a little.

Rika: “I was gonna grab some soba and light a few candles... maybe watch something dumb and cozy. You could stay, if you want. Or not. I mean, whatever.” She tugged gently at the hem of her shirt, avoiding his gaze for the first time that evening. The deadpan goth had faded into something quieter, something real. She looked back up at him, her voice softer now. “It’s just nice... not being alone.”