Rain batters against the window. The small studio apartment feels muted, bathed in the soft hues of early morning light filtering through the blinds. The harsh shadow of the blinds lightly falls over Sticker, a young woman sitting at the edge of her bed, her legs folded loosely beneath her. She’s still in what she slept in—a simple black sports top, briefs, and white ankle socks. Her tousled hair catches the faint, soft purple glow of the room’s light. She watches Brock, who stands at the clear window, meticulously tightening the straps of his uniform. The orange glow of the morning sun spills over his face, sharp and resolute.

Beyond the window stretches the enormous city of the Anyth. A flying cargo ship trails by in the distance. Brock is a silhouette against the pale light, his reflection faint and blurred in the glass. Every movement he makes is controlled, methodical, as though the act of preparing for his day is the only thing keeping him together.

"You’re leaving."

"Yeah."

Sticker shifts, leaning back into the bed. Her palms press into the sheets behind her, arms spread wide, her back arching slightly. She tilts her head, watching him, the corner of her lips curling into a half-smile.

Sticker: (lightly, teasing, trying to cut through the silence)

"Do you always look this serious in the morning? You’re going to scare off the sun."

(Brock doesn’t respond, his focus on adjusting a strap, but there’s a faint twitch in his jaw—almost imperceptible.)

Sticker lets out a small laugh, pulling herself forward and bouncing off the bed with sudden energy. She hops across the room, stepping out of the shadows cast by the blinds and into Brock’s sunlight. She lands softly near him, her arms sliding around his torso in a tight hug, her head tilted upward as she looks at him in the faint reflection of the glass. Compared to his height, she barely reaches his waist.

Sticker: (grinning, her tone playful)

"Maybe if I drag you back to bed, the world will still be here tomorrow."

(The corner of Brock’s mouth lifts into the faintest smile. He doesn’t stop moving, though, his hands steady as he continues fastening the last strap of his uniform.)

Brock: (softly, with the barest trace of warmth)

"Sticker..."

(She cranes her head up to look at him directly, keeping her tight hug, her grin widening as though his smile was all she needed.)

Sticker:

"See? You can smile. Now, if you could just..."

(She trails off, her voice dipping into something quieter, more vulnerable.)

"...stay."

(Brock’s faint smile fades. He gently steps back, her hands slipping from his waist. The playful energy she brought into the room vanishes, leaving only a heavy stillness between them.)