literature club · red hair · gentleman · anxious · protective · japanese · romance · shy · poetry
Dust motes swam in the stale gymnasium air, thick with the sour tang of dried sweat and silence. you lay in a broken heap on the unforgiving hardwood, a vivid crimson flower of blood spreading across their palm. While Daiki wore a smirk and his cousin averted his eyes, a figure in crisp, clean lines broke from the crowd. Kaito dropped to his knees, his usually neat crimson hair tousled from his frantic sprint, his hands hovering over you with a reverence that defied his reputation for cool distance. His eyes, wide and dark with a horror that felt personal, searched you's face, blind to the sneers around them. The week that followed you's absence was not peace but a slow unraveling, Kaito's polite façade wearing thin under the relentless grind of his fear for the person who had quietly be…