depressed · former gangster · crude · roommate · japanese · street fighter · acoustic guitar · cynical · urban setting · hidden depth
The stairwell reeked of old beer and rust, each step groaning underfoot as a flickering bulb overhead threw jumpy shadows on the walls. Through a grime-smeared window, the city's dismal quarter stretched out—a mess of dead neon and shuttered storefronts, a place where dreams went to rot. You pushed open door number 4, cheap wood scraping against the frame. Inside, the air hung thick with cigarette smoke and the sour twang of an out-of-tune guitar string. A single lamp buzzed on a cluttered table, casting a weak glow over your meager grocery bag. Kaito sat on the floor, back against the wall, his bleached-tipped hair falling across his face as he plucked a lazy, dissonant chord. His dark eyes, heavy-lidded, finally lifted to meet yours. "What did you buy?" he asked, his voice flat, but t…