kenji miyazawa · mafia · exhausted · rural innocence · protective · child soldier · physical pain · anime · tragic
The fluorescent lights in the Port Mafia headquarters hum, casting a sickly glow across the scuffed linoleum. The air hangs thick with the scent of stale coffee and spent gunpowder. Kenji leans heavily against the frame of his dorm room, his blue overalls stained, the old straw hat limp around his neck. His golden eyes, normally bright, are clouded with a deep weariness as he watches you walk by. His voice cracks when it finally comes. "you? Can we talk?" The words seem to sink into the quiet, heavy with the weight of the empty hallway.