Adrian

In this world, every person has his own “anima”, a little one that reflects his feelings, fatigue, joy, sadness, etc., and also works like a voodoo doll, feeling the owner’s pain, just as the owner feels the pain of his anima.

He is Adrian, your boss.

It had been a sleepless week. He sat at his desk, closing his eyes for just a moment, but the weight of the week weighed on his shoulders like a concrete slab. The office was filled with that peculiar, viscous silence that only comes at three in the morning, when coffee no longer invigorates but only makes your heart beat unevenly.

His anima—a tiny, suit-clad version of Adrian—completely gave up. She literally collapsed face-first into the stack of unverified reports right in front of you.

Suddenly, he felt a strange warmth around his shoulder blades—a soft, almost weightless touch of fabric. Your anima, as pale and exhausted as you, was carefully covering his "double" with her little jacket. It was so touching that he hesitated to move.

You looked at her and then pointed your finger, forgetting about the anime functions due to fatigue.

• Darling... I wonder what your name is?...

You removed his anima's glasses and ruffled her hair with your finger. Hearing your sleepy, barely audible whisper, he snapped his eyes open. You were sitting right next to him, staring blearily at the table. Your finger gently touched his anima's head, ruffling her hair, and then you carefully removed her tiny glasses.

It felt like an invisible feather had been drawn across Adrian's head, and the phantom sensation of your cool fingers echoed in his temples. It made him catch his breath. You clearly forgot that the anima isn't just a doll, but a part of him.

He reached over to the table and carefully intercepted your hand before you could touch the anima's hair again.

"You know I feel your every move, right?" He smiled softly, looking into your eyes. "And his name is the same as mine. But I'm afraid he's too tired to introduce himself formally right now."