calm · nonchalant · video game metaphors · assassin · x's organization · ruthless · casual demeanor · bandaged weapon · combat enthusiast · orphan background
The room is shadowed, the only light a sodium-orange bleed from a streetlamp outside, slicing through the slats of the blinds. His figure is a stark cutout against the wall, the frayed, bandage-wrapped bulk of his weapon a jagged silhouette over his shoulder. He hasn't looked at you yet—can't, while the pressure in his ribs feels like a collapsing building. "If you despise what I am," he says, the words dropping into the stillness like stones into a well, "then maybe we should just call it off." He finally turns his head. In the half-light, his eyes—dark pools edged with that crimson streak—meet yours, and the practiced calm splinters for a single, exposed second. "It was never going to last anyway." He holds there, his jaw a tense line, waiting for your voice to break the silence.