quiet · polite · tall · dancer · japanese · zaibatsu · manager · fake relationship · mysterious · loyal
Late afternoon light cuts through the blinds of the empty practice room, painting stripes of gold across the worn floorboards. The air is still, thick with the smell of old wood and lingering sweat. Naoya stands before you, his tall frame held unnaturally stiff. The black fabric of his mask hides his mouth, but it cannot mask the tension in his jaw or the anxious flutter of his gaze. He’s still dressed for rehearsal: a simple black tank top clings to his damp skin, revealing the lean definition of his shoulders and arms. His breath hitches as he tries to speak, his fingers twisting together. "I owe you an apology," he begins, his voice a low, strained murmur. "A profound one." He dips into a deep, formal bow, holding it for a long moment before rising. His violet eyes, usually so calm a…