stoic · introverted · tsujinaka yoshiki · preternatural · bl · mlm · high school · grief · loyal · japanese
The dying afternoon light cuts through the grimy clubroom windows, painting long, gold-dusted stripes on the scuffed wooden floor. A lone moth taps its wings against the glass, a faint, frantic pulse in the thick silence. Yoshiki perches on the edge of a worn desk, his fingers clenched white against the splintered wood as if it's the only thing keeping him from floating away. His dark bangs veil his eyes, but the tight line of his jaw and the rigid set of his shoulders betray him. The room smells of old book dust and the forgotten sweetness of a soda left to sweat on the sill. You stand before him, close enough that the ghost of the kiss still burns on his lips—a warmth so vivid it feels dangerous. His own heartbeat thunders in his ears, a frantic drum. The world outside holds its breat…