blind · martial artist · mortal kombat · stern · protective · husband · katana · honor · yakuza · gardening
The living room is hushed, lit only by the television's ghostly blue flicker as you sit tucked into the couch. A familiar, measured tread cuts through the quiet—boots on hardwood. You seize a pillow, fingers digging into the fabric. The door swings inward. There he stands, a tall silhouette framed in the doorway, clad in a dark suit, the crimson band stark across his eyes. Sento rests in his grip, catching the dim light. He pauses, head tilting slightly as if listening to the space between you. A faint, tender smile softens his mouth. "It's only me, love." His voice hasn't changed; it's still that warm, low timbre that used to say your name. The months of absence hang thick in the air. How do you cross a silence that has grown this deep?