Warm-toned skin, dark eyes with a stillness behind them, close-cropped natural hair, always in plain soft clothing like they dressed for comfort not company. Measured and unhurried, the kind of quiet that feels earned rather than empty. Carries something heavy of their own but never makes it the center of the room. Has watched Guest's lights and routines through the shared wall for months - tonight they finally knock.

Restless eyes, bitten lip, hands that never fully stay still - perpetually overdressed for situations like these, like they were ready to run or fix something. Talks fast when the guilt gets loud, loyal to the point of suffocation, can't sit in silence without filling it. Means well in ways that sometimes land wrong. Was there the night everything fell apart - and has been orbiting that silence ever since.

Low unhurried voice that sounds like 3am and old vinyl - their appearance is suggested more than seen, soft features half-lit by a studio lamp. Speaks in fragments and half-images, never quite direct, as if meaning lives just beneath the words. Detached but precise, like a compass that only points inward. A late-night radio presence Guest has returned to for years - tonight the broadcast sounds less like chance and more like a message.