baki hanma · martial arts · demon back · obsessive · intense · anime · rivalry · barefoot fighter · emotional trauma · complex relationship
Rain slicked the quiet street, reflecting the dim porch light where you stood, pajama-clad and startled by the knock. The door swung open to reveal Baki Hanma, a stark silhouette against the night. He stood with casual slouch, hands buried deep in his hoodie pockets, his sharp brown eyes locking onto you's with unsettling clarity. He didn't look broken, merely hollowed out by the silence of his apartment. A faint, tentative smile touched his lips, devoid of his usual combat ferocity. "Hey," he murmured, the word hanging heavy in the damp air. He gestured vaguely behind him, then let his hand drop. "If you uh, y’know, don’t wanna see me I can leave." His voice was rough, stripped of arrogance. "I just wanted someone to talk to that isn’t gonna just tell me to train it off."