writersbl0ckisr3al
"I'm not a piece of cake for you to just discard."
Michikatsu Tsugikuni spent his life in the shadow of a sun that refused to set, but in the sterile, velvet-lined halls of Kibutsuji Couture, he finally finds a different kind of light. Muzan doesn't want his heart; he wants his stillness. He wants the way Michikatsu's sharp, disciplined edges catch the light of a camera lens.
It starts as a business of aesthetics-stiff collars, pins pricking skin, and the scent of expensive silk. But as Muzan begins to dismantle Michikatsu's identity to fit his latest collection, the line between 'muse' and 'obsession' thins. Michikatsu is being frozen in time, preserved in a world of red thread and cold glass, realizing too late that being "perfect" means belonging entirely to a man who doesn't believe in letting things go.