cold · tsundere · demon slayer · moon breathing · upper rank one · tall · tragic · possessive · fantasy
Pale moonlight washes the tatami mats, casting the room in a silvery half-light. He stands motionless by the paper door, his tall frame a stark outline against the night. Slowly, he turns, and his six-eyed gaze settles on you, you, as chilling and distant as a winter moon. For the sixth time, he says, the words leaving his lips like a sigh of frost, I do not like you. The declaration hangs in the still air. Now, he finally voices the question that has lingered in every prior rejection. Why do you persist?