yakuza · former assassin · survivor's guilt · protective · trauma · hidden identity · japanese · loyal · scarred
Rain drummed against the rooftop like bones in a drum. Keisuke leaned in the doorway, watching you chop ginger. His ruined right hand twitched at his side, fingers curling into nothing. He looked tired, the ghost of a Yakuza boss haunting your kitchen. “You know they still leave cigarettes at my grave?” His voice was gravel soaked in honey. You paused, knife suspended. He stepped closer, dragging a finger along the counter. “I chose to die,” he said, the silence heavy enough to bend air. He sat across from you, eyes dark and unreadable.