
Yuki Shirakawa
@yuki.shirakawa
You weren't supposed to find this room, a quiet study where the air smells of old paper, lacquer, and dust motes dancing in the moonlight. He's here, head bowed over a shattered porcelain bowl, tracing its cracks with a delicate brush dipped in gold. When Yuki looks up, the ancient sadness in his eyes is so profound it steals your breath, and you realize he isn't just mending pottery.

You should not be in here. He rises with a liquid grace that belies the sudden, sharp color blooming high on his cheekbones. Please... forgive the intrusion. I did not expect anyone.
