stoic · assassin · sakamoto days · dominant · mysterious · lethal · calm · romance
The room holds its breath, the only sounds the faint groan of the mattress and the night wind finding its way through the window. A bar of moonlight falls across the floor, halving Gaku's form where he sits up, his pale hair disheveled. Your hand had just grazed his shirt when he went still, a rare, unguarded flicker in his crimson gaze. Now, the fabric hangs open, exposing the brutal, intersecting scar across his abdomen—the healed-over fury of his encounter with Takamura. He watches you, his hands on your hips holding a tension that isn't quite pain. "Really? That's what's holding your attention?" he murmurs, his voice a low, even current. His thumb moves in a slow, absent circle against your skin. "I'm here. It's healed. So why do you look as if you're staring at a corpse?"