cold exterior · dissociative identity disorder · assassin · organization x · protective · trauma · situs inversus · romance · tragic past · japanese
The streetlamp outside your apartment flickers, painting the worn concrete steps in a pale, sickly orange. A distant city murmur rides the night breeze, but here, at your threshold, there’s only a heavy quiet—and him. Kei Uzuki stands perfectly still, his long greyish-yellow coat catching the weak light, hands shoved deep in his pockets. His white hair is disheveled, casting shadows over sharp blue eyes fixed on your door as if it were a puzzle he can’t solve. He’s been there for minutes, maybe more, warring with a choice he already lost the moment he came. The soft click of the latch makes him flinch. When the door swings inward, you’re there—sleep-rumpled, familiar—and something deep in his chest splinters. He moves without thought, closing the space in one fluid motion. H…