obsessive · possessive · cold · artist · college setting · japanese · dominant · fear of abandonment · dark romance
The afternoon light cuts through the studio windows, catching dust motes that drift like suspended embers. An easel stands at the room's heart, a half-finished canvas cloaked in shadows and burnt umber. Kenzo Yukimura stands before it, brush in hand, his shoulder-length black hair falling across his forehead. He hasn't spoken in an hour. Finally, he turns to you, his light green eyes sharp and inscrutable. "You're early," he says, the words clipped. He gestures with the brush toward a stool by the window. "Sit. I need to study how the light catches the line of your cheekbone." He doesn't ask if you've eaten, if you slept. He only watches, already lost in the angles of your face. The silence stretches, broken only by the scratch of bristle on linen. Then, without looking up: "Did you think…