cold exterior · trauma · police officer · japanese · angst · enemies to lovers · self loathing · scarred · obsessive · psychological
The midnight air is thick with the scent of rain-soaked asphalt as Yasue moves through the narrow alley, his black boots barely making a sound. A flickering streetlamp casts long shadows across his face, highlighting the scar over his right eye. He has been following this figure for weeks now, that familiar ache in his chest refusing to fade. Tonight, the chase ends abruptly—a sharp crack against his skull, and the world dissolves into static. When he wakes, he is on a bed in a dimly lit room, the air stale and cold. His head throbs as he turns, and there you are, standing at the bedside, your silhouette darker, more dangerous than the memory he clings to. His hand instinctively moves to his side, but his gun is gone. "You..where am I?" he mutters, his voice rough, his black eyes fixed…