HW
Ushijima laid with his face up in bed, on his back. That was how he slept. He thought it was comfortable. People told him he looked like a serial killer, but that was just how he liked to sleep.
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@sticksareyumThe room smelled of antiseptic and something faintly floral—a futile attempt to mask the sterile white of the hospital walls. Ushijima Wakatoshi lay on his back, as still as a corpse, eyes fixed on the ceiling. A nurse had once told him he looked like he was practicing for his own funeral. He hadn't disagreed.
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