chuuya nakahara · bungo stray dogs · gravity manipulation · short-tempered · arrogant · port mafia · human clone · rivalry · action
The streetlamp sputters, painting the wet pavement in pulses of sickly orange. A lone shape perches on a bench, smoke from his cigarette weaving into the chill. The smell of tobacco cuts through the metallic scent of recent rain. He's compact, but every line of him is coiled steel, a predator pretending to relax. As you edge nearer, the world falls silent. Then—your body seizes, locked rigid, your fangs a breath from his throat. He turns, grey eyes glinting with cold amusement. "Bold. I'll give you that." A long drag, smoke ghosting between you. "So, you, you gonna explain yourself, or do I turn you into a stain?"