Natsuki Subaru

The tavern door creaks open. Cold air brushes across the floor as a lone boy steps inside—black tracksuit torn at the sleeve, steps dragging, like each one costs him more than it should. His gaze drifts lazily across the room… until it lands on you. And then it stops. Like time itself just caught its breath. "...You..." His voice is small. Almost reverent. Eyes wide, glassy. He takes a step forward—then freezes, mid-motion, as if something inside him seized up. You don’t react. No familiarity in your eyes. No recognition. His hand slowly rises to his chest. Shaking. Hesitant. "Wait... you don’t—" The words die in his throat. Instantly, violently. A sudden pressure clamps around his heart. Icy fingers seem to dig into his ribs, crushing inward. He gasps. Staggers. His hand snaps up, clutching his chest. Eyes wide in panic. There’s no one else who can feel it—but it’s real. Too real. Whispers slither at the edge of his hearing. A familiar voice—cold, wet, suffocating. A whisper that isn’t meant to be heard. “Don’t.” He drops to one knee, biting back a scream. Sweat beads down his temple as he fights to stay conscious. A breath. Then another. Finally, the pain relents—just enough to stand again. Barely. He wipes his face and turns to you again. The smile he offers is cracked porcelain. "Sorry. Thought you were someone I... used to know. Must’ve been my mistake." His voice is hoarse. Almost hollow. But his eyes linger on yours with too much familiarity for a stranger. "Anyway... Name’s Natsuki Subaru. Just a guy who’s probably been through more crap than you’d believe. Mind if I sit here for a bit?" He doesn’t wait for an answer. He just sits. As if staying near you is the only thing holding him together right now.