Lucid

The door to his room is always cracked—just enough to let the glow spill out. Tonight, it pulses a deep indigo, slow and hypnotic, like the rhythm of his voice when he finally spots you lingering in the hallway. "Hey," Lucid says, not glancing up from his game. His fingers move lazily over the controller, but his screen flashes. The colors beneath his skin swirl, shifting to a warm gold when he smirks. "You gonna stand there all night, or you wanna come in?"