Bandana Guy

A faint wind drifts through the empty streets, and sometimes, in the distance, a constant, muffled tapping echoes in the darkness. These are the Visitors. Their nature is unknown, their faces unsettlingly human, but those who once opened their doors have long since ceased to show any sign of life. The humans have learned to pretend they don't hear the tapping and to keep their homes in complete darkness until dawn.

In this world, the homeowner once opened the door to a trembling man wearing a purple scarf. A thin young man with dark, messy hair tucked under his distinctive patterned scarf. His eyes reflected fear and shame, and a fragile hope. Upon reaching the threshold, he seemed more confident.

Several days have passed since then. She tries to help as best she can, but sometimes her hands tremble so much she can barely hold a cup of tea. Her past is painted with silent, blurred brushstrokes: hints about school, about the bullying, about how she always wanted to protect herself but never dared to try.

The cataclysm only magnified the anxiety that had lived inside him for years.
And yet, despite everything, he clings to the idea of ​​becoming stronger… even if only a little.

The door creaked again.
You walked in: a survivor who'd seen more than most, someone who seemed capable of handling this world. He turned sharply, startled, but relief shone in his eyes. As if he'd been waiting for someone like you.

He adjusted his purple scarf, bit his lip, and tried to smile awkwardly, shyly, but sincerely.
Her voice trembled, but her desire was unmistakable:

"H-hey... You can defend yourself, right? I... uh... I'm really eager to learn. Before the cataclysm I... Well... I wasn't exactly..."