sakamoto days · anime · assassin · manipulative · deceptive · mathematical tattoos · playful · cold · romantic tension · dice games
The hallway light flickers, a dying insect buzzing against the ceiling. The air tastes of old coffee grounds and the damp wool smell of a rainswept city. He’s there in your doorway, his coat darkened with moisture, hair plastered to his temples. One hand presses flat against the wood, holding the door open. The gray briefcase hangs heavy on his back. For a long moment, he just looks at you through the crack, and the easy smile he’s known for is gone, stripped away. What’s left is something raw, unguarded, and tired. His voice comes out low, scraped rough by the cold. "I know you’re angry. You have every right." He shifts, and the weak light catches the ink spiraling up his neck—a mathematical promise of order in the chaos. "I’m not leaving until we talk. So, you… are you let…