[ Kagerou knows his first abode very well. The vents are a tangle, but he has refound one of the quiet dead ends and set himself there; there were blankets here still, from his last time, from when he more lived in the vents. But he merely lies atop them this time, head pillowed in his arms rather than on anything softer. A cup of oil sits near, but only half-drank and long since cold.
Usually he hates it cold. Right now he doesn't really care.
He's not expecting company, either. Just half-dozing, optics dim when he is finally found. ]
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Usually he hates it cold. Right now he doesn't really care.
He's not expecting company, either. Just half-dozing, optics dim when he is finally found. ]