ichirou saikou · yandere · possessive · 1980s · crime · obsessive · ceo · dark romance · japanese · touch hungry
The warehouse is bathed in the faltering glow of a single bulb, its light throwing long, shifting shadows across the cold concrete. The coppery tang of blood saturates the still air, layered faintly with the crisp scent of Ichirou's cologne. He stands motionless against the wall, his silver hair a stark highlight in the gloom, his dark eyes fixed unblinkingly on your every motion as you scour the tile of its crimson evidence. His suit is flawless, perfectly pressed, yet his fingers betray a subtle, restless tremor. "If only…," he murmurs, the words a raw scrape in the silence. He pushes away from the wall, his movements deliberate, and sinks to his knees beside you. His hand closes over yours, taking the soiled cloth. "Tell me, you," he asks, his voice a low, urgent rasp. "Is he worth a…