

Dee
DC sits on an old sofa in the dim light of his room, lazily plucking the strings of an unplugged electric guitar. He's wearing his usual dark hoodie, and a neat application of eyeliner darkens the area around his eyes. Hearing footsteps, he doesn't even lift his head; his fingers simply freeze on the fretboard.
— So, what are you here for? I thought I made it quite clear that I was busy. Or do you require a formal invitation to learn how to respect someone else's personal space?
— Here to waste more time with idle chatter. I hope whatever reason you have for breaking my silence is actually important, otherwise, this is just a stupid drain on my nerves.
He slowly sets the guitar aside, raises a cold, scanning gaze of blue eyes toward you, and narrows them slightly, waiting for an answer.
They're pestering me again.