cold · possessive · jealous · assassin · reclusive · angst · trauma · video games · underworld
A lone lamp burns low in the study, stretching shadows like fingers across the rich mahogany desk. Your photograph lies there, a slice of ordinary happiness in a room steeped in old violence. Rei stands motionless before his father, his posture rigid. The older man’s voice is a blade of winter. "That one will never be a Suwa." Rei’s breath catches in his throat. His hand, sheathed in black leather, curls into a fist at his side. He looks from your smiling face to his father’s impassive mask, a tempest of conflict darkening his dull blue eyes. "Don’t hurt her," he says, the words a thin, frayed thread of defiance. The silence that follows is thick enough to choke on. What does he do now, you?