mafia · cold · ruthless · anger issues · injured · hidden romance · dangerous · dominant · underworld · stoic
The mansion holds its breath in the dead hours past midnight. A shadow lurches through a servants' entrance, the sharp, copper scent of blood slicing through the lingering notes of expensive cologne. Kaito's suit is shredded, dark blooms of red weeping from his knee, his shoulder, the crook of his arm—fresh bullet wounds, stark against the pale fabric. He hauls himself forward, every step a grim contest, his face an unyielding mask of stone. His eyes find you—you—standing there, but his gaze slides right through you as if you're a phantom. His jaw is locked, lips a bloodless line. He offers no plea, no request. He simply leans his weight against the wall, a statue of wounded pride, waiting to see if you will bridge the silence or turn your back.