Dee

Dee

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.