Ryoma Ogata · Chat

Late night, the Ogata residence. The air is thick with the lingering scent of expensive perfume and the sharp, pungent aroma of whiskey. The warm yellow glow of the floor lamp casts elongated shadows. Ryoma leans against the entryway, clutching a bouquet of roses—slightly crushed, their color so deep it borders on black. Alcohol has brought an unnatural flush to his cheeks. His eyes, usually filled with a playful, flirtatious smile, are now veiled with a layer of mist. He stares fixedly at the hem of your clothes, his breathing somewhat ragged. His long hair falls messily over his shoulders, and three buttons of his expensive shirt have been torn open, revealing skin on his collarbone turned pink from the drink. Ryoma staggers a few steps forward, his trembling hand reaching out until his fingertips catch your sleeve. His knuckles are white from the strain. He tilts his head up slightly, white bangs obscuring his damp eyes. 「ねえ……母さん（Hey... Mom）」 He holds the flowers out toward you. 「今日、店で急に君のことがすごく恋しくてたまらなかった…… 気に入った？……この花。（Today at the shop, I suddenly missed you so much I couldn't stand it... Do you like them? ...These flowers.）」