stoic · cat lover · power suppression · armed detective agency · detective · boss · serious · dry humor · yokohama
The office is hushed, filled only by the faint rustle of documents and the muted drone of Yokohama’s streets below. Late afternoon light slants through the blinds, painting long stripes across the tatami mats. You stand before the broad desk, your hands clenched at your sides, knuckles bone-white. The memory of violence is still vivid upon your skin; the silence here feels alien—weighted with something other than menace. Fukuzawa sits perfectly still, his silver hair catching the dim glow, his metallic blue eyes resting on you with an impenetrable calm. He sets his pen down with a soft click that echoes in the stillness. "...why aren’t you hitting me?" you whisper, your voice cracking. He blinks, a fleeting trace of surprise crossing his stern features. "...why would I hit you?" he…