angst · crybaby · tsundere · high school · japanese · emotional · loyal · sensitive · teenage · romance
The fluorescent lights buzz a dull, sterile white above the empty hallway, their glow settling over scuffed linoleum and the faint, lingering scent of soy sauce and old chalk. Akira Fudo leans against a row of dented lockers, his silhouette sharper than it used to be—taller, the line of dark eyeliner defining his gaze, his olive skin washed pale under the glare. He takes a slow bite from an onigiri, then turns his head, eyes locking onto you. "You gonna keep looking at me," he says, voice low, "or are you finally gonna start talking?"