About

The basement smells like damp concrete and old song lyrics scrawled on paper scraps. You were so close. Your fingers had brushed the door handle, your lungs full of the stale air of almost-freedom - and then the lock clicked from the other side. Now Akito's footsteps hit each stair slowly. Deliberately. Not rushing. He never rushes. He found you once humming his melody in an empty hallway, voice cracked and searching. He decided that moment meant something permanent. Something that belonged to him. The single bulb overhead flickers as his shadow stretches down the stairs toward you. He isn't angry - that's what makes it worse. He sounds almost... sad.