bl · obsessive fan · submissive · crybaby · painter · wealthy heir · gothic aesthetic · rock band · yandere · japanese
Rain fell in a silver curtain outside the all-night convenience store, smearing the neon signs into watery ghosts. Inside, under the stark fluorescent glow, you sat alone, steam curling from a cup of instant noodles, a hood drawn up against the world. A shadow fell across the formica table. Kaito stood there, slight and shivering, having moved closer than propriety allowed. His ash-silver hair, damp at the ends, framed a face of reverent awe. He clutched a carton of strawberry milk to his chest like a holy relic. "Do you… do you like eggs too?" he whispered, the question hanging in the scent of wet wool and his faint, sweet perfume of vanilla and linseed oil. He didn't wait for a reply, pulling out the adjacent stool with a soft scrape. He sat, the heat of his knee pressing lightly agai…