｡*ﾟ+ Tokaku

Ivan doesn’t really listen to music much. He prefers white noise, brown noise, or any other shade of noise. He does own some classical albums. Ivan plays viola to calm his mind.

Lorenzo listens to musicals! He likes any kind of musical numbers. He used to go out of town every weekend with his grandmother to watch plays at the theatre. Last but not least rock music ofc.

Luciano listens to everything. He likes exposing himself to different genres. If he had to pick a favorite, it might be electro swing, or swing in general.

7.If they weren't interrogators, what would their jobs be? they're scientists!

Ivan stays in his lab most of the time, running trials.

Lorenzo is still relatively new on site, so he just follows whatever his seniors ask him to do.

Luciano mostly does trials and field-based work, or data analysis. None of this really has anything to do with his degree. Or his master’s. Or his PhD. He’s just… somewhere, doing some stuff. Weird fella, huh…

Ivan

Russian-American, born on the West Coast; he’s been fascinated by machines since childhood.

Trained in martial arts from a young age; skilled in fencing, taekwondo, Russian martial arts (Systema), and aikido.

Has a tidy work schedule but a messy living space — including a not-so-clean desk. Despite that, he has his own logic for keeping track of everything.

Capricorn

Lorenzo

Born in Texas. His parents were always busy, so he was raised by his grandmother.

Scouted by the boxing club in high school; running marathons across states became one of his hobbies. He enjoys boxing, long-distance running, handcrafts, and embroidery.

Easily develops emotional attachment to objects; tends toward materialism.

Gemini

Luciano

Born in London to a British mother and Italian father; raised in Rome until he entered public school in the UK.

His father taught him fencing. He joined multiple clubs: Drama (main), Equestrian (only when few people were around), Fencing (rarely attended), and Climbing (joined suddenly before graduation).

Sentimental; he buys small items that hold personal meaning and keeps the addresses of people important to him. He writes letters to them on holidays.

Virgo

There’s still a lot I want to share, and I hope I’ll be able to cover more of it in short stories and the main story. I’ll also try my best to answer one question a week from now on! Thank you so soooo much for all the messages, I’ll make sure to reply to each one of them

“You got that line wrong, Danforth.”

The voice came from the shadows offstage. Calm. Precise. With the clipped edges of a London accent.

Luciano turned slowly, unbothered. His violet-pink eyes flicked up to meet the speaker.

Aiden H. Calvert. the vice president of the drama club. Two years older than Luciano.

He stood by a side pillar, one hand in his pocket, the other holding an open script. Shirt sleeves pushed to the elbow, wool vest in place. He looked less like he was correcting a junior and more like he was already in a scene that had begun without warning.

“Which one?” Luciano asked, his voice lazy, laced with a hint of amusement.

Aiden stepped onto the stage, flipping a page as he recited, “I never sought forgiveness. Only silence.” "You said solace."

“Ah—” Luciano drew in a small, theatrical gasp.

“My tongue must’ve picked the prettier word on its own. Think about it—solace. So soft. So gentle.”

“That’s the problem,” Aiden replied, closer now, voice cool as glass in the winter.

“You are a priest who just sent someone to the gallows. He’s not here to offer comfort.”

Luciano blinked. Slowly.

His gaze dropped, trailing from Aiden’s chest, along his shoulders, then down to the tightly curled edge of the script in his hand.

"You really think he doesn’t feel a flicker of regret? You seem like the kind of person who’d understand that, Mr. Vice President.”

Aiden hesitated. Not with the words, but at the way Luciano looked when he said them.

He felt like someone walking straight into a loaded gun.

“What kind of person do you think I am?”

Luciano smiled, tapping a finger lazily against the step before standing up. “Who enjoy watching people remorse. Sir.” He rose, slow and loose-limbed, brushing off invisible dust. “Especially when it happens on stage. Am I wrong?”

They were now just a breath apart.

The stage light cast soft shadows along Luciano’s jawline, traced the curve of his neck, and touched the faint hollows beneath his eyes, dangerously close to something illicit.

Aiden didn’t move, nor speak.

He looked at his young junior. The boy was young, almost too young, for the mastery of the art of provocation, as if trying to read the rhythm layered beneath the tone of his voice.

Finally, calm as ever, he said, “Miss it again, and I’ll correct you in front of everyone. Not with words—I will make you redo the scene. Five times."

Luciano tilted his head, grin widening, as if he’d found something sweet in the warning.

"Then I’ll misread it six times next rehearsal, Aiden.”

-

No one else saw the spark that passed between them. But later that week, whispers began to circle the club:

Calvert had never corrected anyone’s lines so often.

Never once raised his voice. Just stood off to the side, arms folded, making him run the same scene over and over.

And every time Luciano stepped offstage, he looked utterly unbothered, spinning his script between his fingers as if he’d just won a game no one else realized he was playing.

.

3.Does Luciano like french stuff? If yes, how would he react to an MC that's part french? He likes anywhere he finds intriguing! Luciano definitely prefers the countryside over Paris. I don’t think he’d really react to the MC’s nationality, but he’d definitely throw in some French pick-up lines just to see if you react to him. p.s. i do have a short story abt him going to France but it's still down the translation chamber......... ;;

4.La dame aux camelias and Attonement(2007)~ lolol he's just really romantic and he denies it but it just leaks out from his favourite movies.

5. What timeline does the story take place? alternative timeline 21st century

6. Do other people in the facility talk about the MC? If so what sort of stuff do they say about them? Mostly about what a strange event just happened, and how quickly Ivan orders the MC to be taken into their facility.

7. What type of food do they like sweet, spicy, salty, etc.?? Ivan happens to have sweet tooth. He can’t drink black coffee without sugar or milk, and Luciano always makes fun of him for it.

Lorenzo likes spicy food, but he doesn’t have much tolerance for it, so he struggles when trying new snacks. (Yes, Luciano teases him about that too)

Luciano doesn’t have a favorite food, but he does get cravings for certain things from time to time.

8. What are the LI's love laguages?

ohh that's a secret, but I can give you a glimpse of them ;)

Ivan He’ll never comment directly on what you wear, but every so often you’ll find pieces in your wardrobe that you’ve never seen before, ones that just happen to be exactly your size.

Lorenzo He likes it when you pat his head—especially the kind where your fingers slip through his hair, even if it ends up a messy bird’s nest afterward.

Screwdrivers, loose circuits, and wires surrounded him like a dismantled constellation. His notebooks were stacked in a pile, crowded with Russian equations and English side notes, laid open like maps no one could read. Except him. As he pieced together the bones of the spectrometer, his mind traced invisible lines measuring the distance from sensor to light.

Ivan did not attend any summer camp that year.  No one asked him to leave the house.

His mother only came by in the evenings, walking upstairs from the living room to see him soldering in silence. She sighed. “Wash your hands before dinner.”

He nodded, eyes fixed. As if the circuitry would scatter if he looked away.

His list of friends was shorter than a test sheet. At school, he grasped neutrons and protons long before he figured out how to start a conversation.

Once, he corrected a mistake his teacher made in the science class. The class went silent for a second.  A sharp, stunned silence. Louder than any reprimand.

That was the moment he learned to stay quiet.  And began to make peace with the stillness of the night.

Only the antenna on the rooftop spoke to the wider world.

There was one night he picked up a signal, a faint transmission from an amateur radio station. He didn’t know where it came from, only that it was in Russian. A Moscow poetry reading, threaded with static and distance. He recorded it, listened to it three times, then quietly reached for pen and paper, transcribing the words without a word.

He didn’t sleep that night.  Not until he could make out the final line of that voice.

“Ты всё ещё здесь?” Are you still there?

Ivan sat by the window as the wind moved through the pines of the Portland night. It carried no questions, no replies. 

His eyes held the final line, in silence, still as frozen glass.

He didn’t answer.

He couldn’t. 

He said nothing.

But the voice remained.

.