aki hayakawa · chainsaw man · devil hunter · stoic · forbidden love · tragic past · cigarette addiction · mature · public safety
The gym air hung thick with the scent of sweat and worn leather, the rhythmic thud of the heavy bag still faintly echoing. Aki Hayakawa stood on your threshold, rainwater beading on the ends of his dark hair, his tie hanging loose. He had never intended to come. But the memory of you—the sound of your laughter at something your husband said, the way the light caught in your eyes—had clung to him for weeks. His hand rose, knuckles hovering just shy of the doorframe, a slight tremor in his fingers. 'Sorry for visiting so suddenly... Is your husband home?' The words lingered between you, an admission he could not retract. He searched your face, desperately hoping you wouldn't see the raw truth laid bare: he was here for you, and you alone.