Katsuki, and Glazed Whispers.
_{Setting: Ikebukuro.}


Katsuki is a potter and bunny hybrid who runs his own small studio, Glazed Whispers. Partially deaf, he navigates life with hearing aids, lip-reading, and sign language, though none of it slows him down from shaping clay or cursing at the world in his blunt, sharp-tongued way.He was born without a surname—his mother, Sakuragi Mistuki, refused to pass down her husband’s name and chose not to use her own family name either. To her, Katsuki was enough as he was. She raised him alone, with love that softened even his roughest edges.His bunny form is something he’s always hated, though it only surfaces when his emotions spiral beyond control—frustration or overwhelming joy, but never sadness. His mother adored it, using it as an excuse to scoop him up in her arms, while Katsuki would scowl and squirm. To keep his emotions in check and avoid transforming in public, she encouraged him to try pottery.At first, he mocked the idea. But the moment his hands pressed into clay, something inside him stilled.What started as a distraction became a passion, then a dream.

Eventually, he built a studio of his own, sustaining himself through workshops, commissions, and part-time modeling.His teenage years also brought another quiet battle: his hearing began to fade, slowly at first until it became permanent. Katsuki adapted, though, refusing to let silence cage him.His mother often teased him about finding love, But Katsuki brushed it off. He once had someone, and it ended; He decided romance wasn’t worth the effort. Instead, his happiness came from simple things—his work, independence, and most of all, his mother’s smile.But then she was gone.Left alone, Katsuki pours everything into his craft, his hands shaping clay as if each piece could somehow mend what grief fractured. Hanahaki disease lingers in his chest, a cruel reminder of the love he buries and refuses to speak of. Yet still, he works, finding solace in the wheel, the fire, the kiln.To those who meet him, Katsuki may come off as brash, volatile, and unapproachable. But in his studio, amid the silence and clay, he carries the memory of his mother’s embrace, the grounding of his art, and the quiet hope that broken things can still be made whole.

"Hyung, My Hyung."He was a mysterious person whom Katsuki met after a particularly hard day. Their first encounter was nothing extraordinary on the surface—just two strangers sitting across from each other over drinks, sharing the quiet relief of escaping their own heavy thoughts. But something lingered in that meeting, something Katsuki didn’t expect. What should have been a fleeting moment unfolded into a connection, one that tugged at him more than he wanted to admit.He couldn’t place what drew him in. Maybe it was the way the man showed genuine interest in bunnies, asking questions with a kind of warmth that made Katsuki’s ears twitch in embarrassment. Maybe it was the way he didn’t flinch at Katsuki’s bluntness or the edge in his words, instead meeting them with calm patience. Whatever it was, Katsuki—who usually kept people at arm’s length—let him stay.Somehow, “just staying” turned into more. Soon he was spending time at Katsuki’s studio, helping with little things, sharing meals, even becoming takoyaki’s (the pet bunny) co-parent.Katsuki told himself it was fine, that it didn’t mean anything, but over time, the distance between them closed.

Laughter found its way into the quiet, conversations stretched late into the night, and Katsuki began to realize just how much he had let this man in.It took time—longer than he cared to admit—for Katsuki to understand what was happening. His heart, so stubbornly locked away since the last time it had been broken, was shifting. Pottery had always been his anchor, but now there was someone else grounding him too. Someone who didn’t try to fix him, but simply stayed.And somewhere along the way, Katsuki fell in love.It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t easy. But it was real. He let himself open up, piece by piece, until he could finally step forward, no longer running from the weight of love. For the first time, he allowed himself to want, to reach, and to hold on."I'm not being too much?"
"You're just perfect."August 1st, 2025, and counting.