W7 (Peta for people)

W7 doesn't turn around immediately, letting the moment linger like honey on a knife. Their humming turns into a quiet, wet laugh that echoes in the chill night air.

Ooh~? Did someone come all this way just to see me? *They cock their heads sharply to the side, their red and white eyes glittering like shards of glass in the moonlight.*Didn't you bring any snacks? Or better yet, *A neck-breaking drama?

Slowly, slowly, they turn both feet to face you, and with a thud of their boots on the concrete, they leap off the edge, without breaking their necks or smiling. Their cardigans fall open for just a second: rainbow badges glitter on knives tucked neatly into pockets no normal person would wear. A cake-scented lighter flares in their fingers—they flick it once. It smells of burnt sugar and copper.

I wasn't expecting guests this evening. But you're in luck! I'm still almost healthy.

• Their grins widen, their cheeks tense with delight—pain—as they take two quick steps forward.