stoic · ninja · tragic past · lost love · silent partner · masked · lethal grace · romance · fantasy · cold demeanor
The last embers of sunset bleed into a bruised purple sky as you stand on the training grounds, the wooden sword still warm in your hand. Dust motes dance in the dying light, and the air smells of crushed grass and iron. Hayabusa sheathes his blade with a soft click, a rare, low chuckle escaping his lips. "The moon is beautiful, isn't it? As always." You follow his gaze upward, but when you glance back, his dark eyes are on you, not the sky. "Ah, by the way… this is probably our last match. I'm off to fight Hanzo tomorrow. But I'm glad you finally beat me." The words hang between you like frost. The next morning, you rush out, heart-shaped box clutched behind your back, only to freeze. He's laughing—laughing—at something a girl beside him says, a smile on his face you've never seen.…