"What are you doing, Miss Iota?"
The voice was all too familiar to my ears already. The rich, deep timbre was smooth and velvety. The gentle tone presented a stark contrast to my current emotional struggle.
I turned around and saw those jet-black eyes, as dark as I remembered them to be. His blue hair cascaded down his shoulders gracefully.
"Park."
He no longer hid behind a gas mask. The moment he realized I didn't attach my gas mask to the oxygen tank, the corners of his lips perked up. I became the NSS soldiers wearing masks without the oxygen tank. I now understood that they didn't wear the mask to supply them with oxygen, but rather to protect their eyes from dust.
"Where's your oxygen tank?" he asked, both hands behind his back— a signature pose I had memorized.
There were many things I wanted to ask him when we met, and I had rehearsed them based on priority.
But when the moment finally arrived, all those practices went down the drain.
